The scent of cardamom and pumpkin fills the air as he speaks, his voice low, barely carrying through the room. “He’s my sperm donor.”
I figured it was someone important to him, that even if he’s not anymore, he was at some point. You don’t fight the internal battles Holden was showing unless they laid the foundation for who you are today.
“He called a few months ago to tell me he wanted to make amends.” He sighs. “I’ll spare you the details, but he mentioned he was dying.”
I gasp.
“He’s not. Sorta.” Holden raises his hand to help me stay calm. “He has some health complications as a result of years of alcoholism.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Honestly? I don’t know if I am. Karma is a bitch, and he basically found out what happens when shit comes back around.”
I nod, taking it all in. He sounds almost mad, maybe disappointed. No, this is more like regret, but not at what he’s feeling—at what he’s saying.
“I understand,” I mention, reassuring him I’m not judging. Life’s complicated; why would I judge with only two percent of the information? “So how did it go?”
His hand roams over his handsome face, over his stubbled chin, as he lets out a sigh that pulls from deep within him. “Worse than it could have been. He ended up getting transported to the hospital.”
I reach over to hold his hand. “I’m sorry.”
He holds my gaze, taking in my features, which I soften so he can see the sincerity behind my words. “That must’ve been hard.” I take my hand back to not make this situation awkward;no matter how much I may feel for him right now, he’s still a stranger and a customer.
“It was for reasons I’ll tell my therapist later this week, but now, I’m at a crossroads.”
Okay, I love the fact that this man talks openly about going to therapy. It’s such a taboo topic sometimes, especially in small towns—mental health in general, but especially men’s.
“Alright, tell me. I happen to be excellent at helping people cross streets.”
He chuckles.
“Too corny?” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Just enough.” He winks. My heart does this fluttery thing, and I don’t know how to handle it.
“So he’s doing dialysis.”
“Okay…”
“He needs the treatment to live, but he’s been skipping it, and he asked me to go meet him there.”
“So now you’re wondering if you say you’ll go, if he’ll commit.”
He hums. “That’s actually why I’m over in Baker today.” Baker Oaks is famous for its nephrology unit. It’s one of those random things that, even though we are a small town, people still come here from all over the place.
“Wait, you don’t live here?”
He shakes his head. “But not too far, I’m right off the highway in Magnolia Springs.”
Agh, I love that place. It’s a beautiful town with a giant spring-fed lake in the middle. It honestly looks like it was pulled from a movie.
“He’s in the senior center here, though.”
I nod, allowing his space to keep talking. “It’s deeper than him supposedly dying once and then showing up randomlyalmost twenty years later. He raised me—or better, tried to, but he had some issues, and well, he was not the greatest.”
It hurts my heart to hear anyone say their parents were awful, for one reason or another. We’re truly all doing the best, but if someone has these many negative feelings toward someone they should love with all their heart, it means they didn’t heal, parent, or child.
It breaks me, actually. And maybe it’s because Nick was the absolute best. He was the best husband, but that man was born to be a dad. It didn’t come naturally to him at first. He fought hard to break some of the patterns he thought were natural, like spending little time with the kids or doing house tasks, but he did it. He put in the work, and he wasn’t a dad his kids will have to heal from. Or, at least, not from his life.
