I’d been bracing for his passing all week but knowing it was imminent left me struggling to accept it. With an expiration date stamped on my father’s life, I felt desperate for more time.
One day?
“I’ll be right there.” I promised, pulling on my pants and rummaging for a clean shirt.
I rushed into the kitchen, wearing yesterday’s jeans and a faded radio station T-shirt from my teens, to find Eric and Hunter chatting over the remnants of breakfast. It was the exact scene I’d been trying to visualize only moments ago. Now, it barely registered.
Distraught and unsure what to do next, I made the awkward situation impossible. I kissed Eric. Arms around his neck. Hands in his hair. My mouth on his. And Hunter right there.
No introductions. Though, they’d clearly taken care of that themselves. No explanations. I didn’t have any good ones, anyway. No acknowledgment of what I’d done.
Hours passed in my father’s hospital room before it finally sank in.
I’d kissed Eric. In front of my son.
Heat crawled up my neck. I was an emotional decision-maker. Feel first, think later. It had led to impulsive choices and rushed resolutions before. But this?
My stomach twisted.
Leaving Hunter behind with Eric hadn’t been my smartest decision. Still smarter than the kiss, but in the moment, it had felt like the only viable option. I didn’t know what waited for me in my father’s room, how bad it might be. I wasn’t prepared to walk Hunter into something that dark.
But asking Eric to care for my child? That was different. Intimate in a way I hadn’t examined. I worried I’d crossed a boundary I couldn’t see. Worse, that I’d set my son up for confusion and hurt once we returned to Toronto.
What if I’d created a bond between Hunter and a man who, in a matter of days, would go back to being a stranger?
I’d told Eric I felt lost after my mom and sister died. I thought that was the deepest that grief had taken me. But sitting under the hum of hospital lights, everything felt disturbingly unbalanced. Tilted.
Nothing in my life looked the way it used to. Not my family. Not my future.
Not even me.
With fear overwhelming me, my instinct was to retreat to the bubble of security I knew best—the world where only Hunter and I mattered. Where, if I stayed locked in denial long enough, nothing could harm us.
Instead of calling Eric, I texted Hunter.
Grandpa seems okay. You should come to the hospital as soon as possible.
Between the lines, I was begging for my son to return to my side, praying he’d be safe when everything went to hell.
With a big, painful sigh, Dad roused from sleep. “Why’d you stay away so long, James? Missed you.”
For so many years, I’d convinced myself he was heartless. That alcohol had corroded his soul. But the truth was, he’d used it to hide from his emotions.
He’d run away, just like me.
Lost for words, I could only stare at him, my anxiety replaced by heartbreak and tears.
“I know I’m a bastard…I know I don’t deserve…anything. Not from you. I’m your father. Still. Just wanted to hear from you…to know you’re okay. Hoped I hadn’t fucked you up too bad.” His voice wavered, eyes closed, and my heart cracked at his raw, regretful words.
His honesty slashed a hole in my heart and fractured the dark perception I’d held for so long.
He may have been drifting in and out of awareness, but it was clear he’d been affected by our separation. Maybe even as much as me.
Had I been blind to it before?
Or were the guilt and resentment I felt simply lies I’d told myself? I’d promised Eric to stop pretending, but maybe I needed to make the same promise to myself. If I didn’t face reality, I couldn’t handle it when it hit me.
“Dad.” My voice cracked with emotion.
