“He does. And he wants to work with you.”
I can’t seem to wrap my head around what my dad is saying. “Why…why would you do that?” I ask.
“Well,” he sighs. “When I heard you got hurt, I sat down with a glass of whiskey and thought about things. Your career, both in boxing and the industry. You know we may not see eye to eye on a lot of things, son–”
“Do we see eye to eye on anything?” I ask.
“Fair enough,” he chuckles, tilting his head from side to side. “But actually, we do. We are both stubborn, hardworking, and determined to be the best. Your mother used to tell me that all the time when you were little.”
“Mom said that?” I ask, a cut deep in my heart reopening slightly.
“She did. You and I used to butt heads even then. And I’d get so frustrated with you. And she’d tell me that the reason we did it was because we were both hard-headed. And that if we just worked together, we’d be unstoppable.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. My relationship with my father has always been strained, and I’m not exactly in a reconciling moodright now. It’s a lot more to unpack than just a simpleI forgive youconversation. But I decide to hear him out anyway.
“You want a drink?” I ask, nodding over at the bar.
“Sure. Anything good here?” he asks.
We walk over to the bar, and I walk behind it, grabbing a bottle of top-shelf whiskey. Then I pour a shot for each of us in two highball glasses and hand him one. My dad takes a seat on one of the stools, and I position myself across from him, leaning forward on my forearms.
“You know I never wanted to be as hard on you as I was,” he says after taking a sip of whiskey. “As I am.”
“Free will is funny like that, though,” I jab softly.
“I know. But I guess after your mom died, I didn’t know what to do. I was in so much pain; I didn’t know how to protect you. So I thought if I made you tough, your mother’s death would be the worst thing you ever went through, and you could take on the world after that. It’s why I got you into boxing.”
“You mean it wasn’t so you could knock me around?” I ask, only half joking, but he laughs.
“No, it wasn’t. Honestly, I was proud of how good you got at it,” he says, taking another sip of whiskey and wincing before sucking his teeth.
“Is that why you never come to my matches?” I ask. Even if he is considering waving a white flag right now, it’s going to take a lot more than that to make up for everything.
“I didn’t come to your matches because I am an egotistical asshole. At the end of the day, I’m still not good at takingyour mother’s advice about working together,” he admits. “Considering everything that’s on the line right now, I think we need to do just that.”
I take a sip of my whiskey before attempting to respond to that. “So, what are you proposing?” I ask after the alcohol has had a chance to coat my nerves.
“I’m releasing your inheritance,” he says, and my eyes flash up to him. “Make a bid on that company. A good one. Golden Rule is the best deal you could make in your career, but I don’t need to tell you that.”
“I will,” I nod, still not quite believing what he’s saying right now.
“What changed your mind?” I ask, and my dad takes a breath and lets it out.
“This might sound crazy, but sometimes, when I’m alone in the house, I think about your mom. I can see her. Hear her. It’s like she’s still there. Like she never left. Like she’s sitting across the table from me, sipping her coffee with a stubborn smirk on her face.”
“What’s she say?” I ask, my heart tight in my chest.
“To stop being an asshole and consider what my son is going through,” he answers, and I look up at him. “You wanna know why I tied your inheritance to marriage?” he asks.
“To make my life harder because you knew that getting married was never on my bingo card?” I ask, and he chuckles.
“To make your life better by adding marriage to your bingo card. I think…that using tough love on you made you tough towardslove. And that was never the intention. Your mom would hate me for it too because she was love personified.”
“Yes, she was,” I say, my words feeling strangled in my throat.
“Make the bid. Take the job. Marry the mother of your child,” he says, taking a sip.
I rub the back of my neck. “That last part might be kind of tricky,” I tell him.
