Wyatt
About a year ago…
“DADDY, WE GOTTA go,” I said, grabbing my father’s jacket out of the closet and stepping into the family room. My father, who was supposed to start chemo today, still had his butt planted in front of the television, volume pegged on ninety-two, as always, and watching one of the Real Housewives shows. No, not watching, pretending to watch.
“Daddy!” I growled over the television, grabbing the remote from the side table and turning it off.
“Hey, I was watching that.”
I shook my head. “We need to go.”
“Bullshit,” he countered. “Why won’t you just let me die already?”
I bit back tears. “Get your ass in my car, old man, or I’ll spend every last dime I have finding a way to make you live forever.”
“There’d be a lot more dimes if you’d let me die so I can leave you your fucking inheritance.”
“Daddy, I don’t need your money. I’d rather have you.”
God, he was impossible. He and Teddy were all I had left. My older brother was currently in an assisted living facility, having a limited mental capacity due to oxygen deprivation at birth, and he’d been there since my mother had died ten years ago.
My brother was a giant. A lean six-feet-two with blond hair and blue eyes. At first glance, you’d never know anything was wrong, until you watched him for longer than a few minutes or tried to have a conversation with him.
He could do much more than anyone would have ever expected when he was born, but he struggled with outbursts of anger when he was frustrated or scared, and being so big, he was difficult to handle, so Dad had made the decision to institutionalize him when Mom died. Mom didn’t want Dad in charge of the finances, and quite frankly, he didn’t want the responsibility, so she’d left me access to a huge trust, along with power of attorney to pay Teddy’s medical bills. Dad hadn’t wanted to deal with any of it, so he’d signed off.
Mom had also put a substantial amount in a trust for me to access after I turned twenty-eight, but so far, I hadn’t touched it. I owned a successful PR firm and I loved my work.
But I’d had to take a little time off to deal with my dad, which meant my second in command, Ripley, was taking over my clients until my dad’s health was stabilized. He was pushing seventy-five, and this new cancer diagnosis meant he was living on borrowed time.
Dad groaned as he pushed himself out of the chair. “Can’t just let an old man smoke his reefer and die quietly,” he muttered. “Gotta try and save my life.”
I rolled my eyes as I settled his jacket over his shoulders and helped him to my car. We pulled up to the oncology center and I helped him into the building, sitting him in a lobby chair before checking him in.
When I walked back to where I’d set him, he was asleep. I bit my lip, once again forcing back tears. Maybe this was all too much for him. Maybe I should just let him die. I knew I was being selfish, but I just couldn’t imagine him not being around.
“William?” a nurse called.
I tapped his shoulder. “Daddy?”
He blinked up at me and then we walked slowly back to his chemo area. We arrived to find a man sitting near where Dad would be, a needle in his arm, and a vomit bag in front of him, which he was using quite violently.
“Mr. Graves,” the nurse cried as she rushed to him. “Let me get you something for the nausea.”
“I think we’re well past nausea, sweetheart,” Mr. Graves retorted, and my heart squeezed.
Lordy, he had the sexiest voice alive.
“I’m good,” he said.
“I’ll just get Mr. Bates settled and then I’ll get you something to calm your stomach.” She turned back to my father. “I’m Tina. I’m so sorry, we’re a bit short staffed today.”
Dad grunted in reply.
“It’s okay,” I said. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Don’t we, Daddy?”
“I want to sleep, so if I can sleep, then we got all the time in the world.”
“He’s having a rough morning,” I explained.
