Before I can answer, Ford speaks for the first time since they got here. “A paramedic friend I know from high school called me. Said it was bad.”
Wes’s head snaps toward him. “Wait. You already knew?”
Ford’s mouth tightens. “Yeah, I found out around the same time as Jesse did. Last night.”
Noah looks between us, confusion sharpening into something else. “Okay—hold on. Then how doyouknow?” he says to me. “When somehow Wes and I are just finding out now?”
Wes leans forward, forearms on the table. “That’s a real good question.”
Fuck. This is it. “I got a call too,” I say.
Wes frowns. “From who?”
I stare at the tabletop, at a scratch in the wood I’ve never noticed until now. “A guy Dad plays cards with.”
Noah’s voice is careful. “Why would a friend of our dad have your number?”
Ford exhales slowly, like he already knows the answer and hates it.
Wes’s eyes don’t leave my face. “Jesse?”
I meet his gaze. “Because I see him sometimes.”
That lands harder than the accident.
Noah blinks. “See who? Dad?” His tone makes it seem like he already knows the answer to his question but can’t quite wrap his head around it.
Ford straightens. “Let him finish.”
“Yeah. I still see Dad from time to time,” I admit. “I talk to him, bring him groceries, I check in. I…help him out when I can.”
Wes pushes up from the couch and takes a step toward me. “Youwhat?”
“I didn’t want him dead,” I snap, then immediately regret how sharply it comes out. I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “I wasn’t asking you to deal with him. I wasn’t asking you to forgive him. I just—couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist.”
Noah’s expression shifts from hurt to anger as the pieces fall into place. “So, you’ve been lying to us.”
“Yes.”
Ford’s jaw flexes. “For how long?”
I swallow. “Five years.”
“Jesus.” Wes stares at me like he’s seeing a stranger. “Have you been giving him money?”
My silence may as well be a confession.
“For fuck’s sake, Jesse,” Wes says flatly. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“He can barely work. He hardly functions. It’s a fucking miracle he’s still alive, honestly. You have no idea how bad it is. I wasn’t trying to fix him or even forgive him, I was just…trying to make sure he didn’t starve to death.”
“Is he conscious?” Noah asks quietly.
“He was, briefly,” I tell him. “This morning when I went tosee him, he cracked his eyes open for a second. He’s breathing with a tube. He’s in really rough shape.”
Wes runs a hand over his face. “Jesus.”
Noah exhales slowly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
