He glances away quickly, his lips pressed flat, his jaw quivering behind the tight line of his mouth. “It’s not what I meant.”
“Sure it is.” I was wrong when I told myself his disdain didn’t hurt. I can see the shame in his face, and it sears me to think my injury has given him the excuse to think even less of me than he did before. “You want to know the truth? My life got infinitely better after I lost my leg.”
His head slowly swings back to me, disbelief in his glassy eyes. I give him a cold smile.
“It got better because I got away from Bayside, away from this house. Away from your contempt for me. I made a better life for myself.”
He swallows, his scowl deepening, a mottled redness filling his sallow cheeks. For one perverse moment, I wish he had better control of his motor skills, if only so he would strike me. God knows, I’ve wanted to bruise him too.
And now that I’ve torn the dressing off this wound, I have to let it bleed out.
“You know, it shouldn’t have surprised me that you never came to see me—not even once—while I was at Walter Reed. Sometimes, I actually think it helped. Your absence during those months of my recovery. Your total disregard for me, even before my injury. I got better just to spite you, because I knew you didn’t give a shit if I lived or died.”
He stares at me. “At least you give me credit for something. All this time, I assumed you only blamed me for fucking up your life.”
I take a step back from him, blowing out a sharp breath. I push my hand through my hair and curse, low and bitter, through my clenched teeth. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me. You never even tried. Why the hell should I care if you’re lying in a puddle of your own piss on the floor? Why should I lift a goddamn finger to help you? I shouldn’t give a damn what happens to you, old man.”
He’s trembling now, whether in humiliation or futile rage, I have no idea. “You think I want pity from you? Of all people, you think I want you feeling sorry forme?”
He tries to stand up, but only stumbles back down. His ass drops onto the toilet seat, the stench of urine and sweat invading my nostrils as I reach for his pajama bottoms and ruthlessly strip them off. I throw all of it into the tub beside us.
I wet a washcloth with warm water and soap and hand it to him to clean off. He really needs a shower or a bath, but Mom told me when we arrived that a visiting nurse was coming in the morning to look after him. He’ll survive a few hours until then.
And the way my blood is seething in my veins, I can’t get out of his house fast enough.
When I see that he’s finished with the washcloth, I take it from him and rinse it out, then make quick work of dressing him in fresh underwear and pajamas. I know he’s spitting mad. I can feel his depleted body vibrating with useless anger. But he’s too weak to fight back.
I hoist him to his feet and shuffle him back into the bedroom, easing him down onto the mattress. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes as he lay there, glaring up at me.
“Go back to the city,” he orders me in a low, raspy voice. “Do us both a favor. Don’t come back.”
I nod as if it’s a reasonable request. As if it’s exactly what I want to hear, I start walking away. But I’m angry too. I’m hurting, which only worsens my rage.
I pause at the threshold and lower my head on a curse. Then I glance back at him, my calm belying the furious storm that’s lashing me from the inside.
“I know I must be a terrible disappointment to you. You sure as fuck never hid that opinion of me. But I want you know that my life on the other side of thatbridge out there is damn good. In spite of your low expectations of me, I’m doing fucking great. Better than you can even fathom.”
When he shows no reaction, I feel a jab of spite pricking me. I have the need to wound him the way he’s wounded me, but I know the only soft target on my father is his Noble pride. As a provider, as the head of our family, and as a man.
“You want to know why I never wanted to be a cop like my brothers and you? Because I wanted to be something more. I didn’t want to live in your shadow or that of the rest of the Nobles.”
“And how’d that work out for you, son?” His flat reply hits me like a fist.
I feel the blow, but damn it, it’s not enough. I wish he and I had let this fight happen years ago. Would have saved us both a lot of time and grief.
“You tell me, old man. With the promotion I got a couple weeks ago, it won’t be long before I’m pulling down more in a year than you made in twenty busting your hump behind a badge.”
My father looks at me for a moment, seeming intent on denying me the satisfaction of his anger now. He simply nods. “Congratulations. I guess I had you pegged right all along, Gabriel. You always were too good for this family.”
I scoff sharply. “Everyone but you, right, Pop?”
I don’t wait for him to reply, not that he would.
As soon as I step into the hallway, I am met with the shocked and saddened stares of both my mother and Evelyn.
Fuck.It’s one thing for me to show such a humiliating lack of control in front of my old man. Formy mother to see it—to have heard probably every demeaning word that he and I exchanged—shames me even more than anything my father could ever say or do.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, my voice low and clipped. “I’m leaving now.”
