They all turned in my direction, but only one spoke. “Yes. Is there something that you need?”
“Yes. I need for y’all to get on y’all fuckin’ job! While y’all over here in a huddle, my father is sitting in his room practically naked!”
“Ms. Anderson.” I heard my name and turned to see a nurse rushing down the hall to my father’s room with a cart. “I’m taking care of him right now.”
“She’ll handle it,” the woman in front of me said, like she was dismissing me.
“Yes, she will and so will the D.O.N. Call her down here to speak to me, or she can speak to my lawyer when I sue y’all ass. Y’all got me and my daddy fucked up. Play with me if y’all want to.” With my promise to nut the fuck up in the air, I returned to my father’s room where the nurse was pulling his clothes out of the small closet.
“I just stepped out for a minute to take care of another patient after they brought him in from the shower. I wasn’t gone lo…”
“I don’t give a damn about nobody else in this place but this man right here.” I tapped my father’s back. “Every time I come here, y’all got an excuse for y’all negligence. Not today! There’s no excuse for this shit. You can go. I’ll dress him myself.”
“Ms. A…”
“Miss, I’m letting you off easy. Please get out before you have to see what it’s like to be the patient.”
Clear on the threat to her health, she took her cart and scurried out.
I could hear my father clearing his throat before calling out my name. “Thy…ri,” he made out slowly.
His voice still had a heavy slur to it after the stroke. While other people struggled to understand him, his words were always clear enough for me. It was my job to know what he was trying to convey, even if it took him a minute to get the words out.
“Gimme one second, Daddy,” I said, still facing away from him, so he wouldn’t see me crying. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand and took a breath to collect myself. “Let me get you some clothes.”
“O…kay.”
I was the definition of a daddy’s girl. And for most of my teenage years, it had always been me and him. My mother had been in the picture up until their divorce. She took it hard and decided that she couldn’t bear to live in the same state as the man who broke her heart, so she moved. I had a choice to go with her or stay, and to be honest, I didn’t know why she even asked. I couldn’t fathom moving and leaving my daddy behind.
My mother didn’t fight for me, nor did she force me to leave. She just packed up, said she loved me, and moved. Eventually,she moved on. She got remarried and had my little sister, Tiya. I visited with them in the summer, but it was clear that my mother and I would never share a bond as tight as me and my dad’s. I didn’t love her any less, and she didn’t treat me any different than my sister. That was smart on her part because my daddy would’ve let her have it if she did.
He was my guy, a hardworking man who was good with his hands. I called him Mr. Fix It because, somehow, he always knew his way around a tool, and not just the common ones. He taught me how to ride a bike. Taught me how to cook. Taught me how to shoot a gun and how to keep shit P before it was even a thing.
But the best thing my father could have ever taught me was how to be resilient and to always remember that I was the prize. It was the strength that he instilled in me and his constant words of encouragement that held me up, as I went through my divorce. He never threw dirt on Kaleb’s name or even spoke on what happened at the time. He just held his daughter down like the hero he was.
Before Kaleb and I made our move down to Atlanta, my father was fine. Still the life of any party, still teaching KJ to box while giving him lessons on financial literacy and still coming by my house to find something to fix just to spend time with me. Then the stroke happened not long after I moved back to New York and altered our lives. It hit me hard. But it hit him harder. My dad was an independent man who lived a full life and was used to taking care of people. To now be on the receiving end wasn’t ideal for him under the circumstances.
“It’s…cold…as…hell…” he murmured.
“I know, Daddy. I got you.” Pulling the blanket from his body, I carefully put on his thermals with the track suit I’d bought in the bag.
He did his best to help me help him, and all I could do was smile to show my appreciation. Having him move around as much as he could with me was my way of doing my own physical therapy with him.
“Put your foot up for me, so I can put your socks on, Daddy.” He did as I asked, and once he was warm and settled, his hand touched mine.
“Thank you.” He flashed a crooked smile and squeezed my fingers weakly.
“You don’t have to thank me, Daddy. You know your babygirl got you. And just as soon as Nurse Monarch get in here, I’ma let her ass have it. You know I’ll go to war about the best father in the world.”
His eyes softened again, and he nodded slowly. “I…lo…ve you, Thy…ri.” His eyes welled up, and something broke in me.
“I love you too, Daddy. I’m moving you outta here,” I told him. “I promise it’ll be soon. You’re gonna come home with me and KJ. Just give me some time to get everything situated. Hold on a little bit longer for me. I’m gonna handle everything.”
I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight. I knew the process of getting him home and set up with the continued rehab he needed would be no easy feat, but I also knew if I kept him at the rehab facility any longer, I’d be in prison. So, it was time for me to go into hustle mode. While it would be easy to just get the money from Kaleb, I didn’t want his help to come with stipulations. I was gonna take care of mine.
CHAPTER 3
A Hitman & His Baby Boy
