“You don’t like talking to me?” I ask.
“No, I do. Way too much. I can’t seem to shut up when I should.”
I let the moment sit, giving him space to decide whether he wants to keep going or pull back. He takes a deep breath of relief and I take it as an invitation to go deeper. Get closer.
“What about your dad?” I ask softly. “You said he’s in Otisville. Do you visit?”
Taio’s hand stills on Black Cat’s fur. The purring continues, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere.
“Every other week.” His tone has gone careful, measured. “I make the drive, sit across from him in that visiting room with the plastic chairs and the vending machines and the guards pretending not to listen. He’s fidgety and paranoid. Otisville isn’t a maximum-security prison or anything, but the lack of freedom is driving him unhinged. Sometimes I get glimpses of the man I remember from my childhood. The one who taught me to ride a bike, who took me to Yankees games, who told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up. He’s more grounded when I visit. I’m a little worried about missing visitation this week, but he’ll be okay.”
“You’re missing visitation?”
Taio shrugs. “How can I be there, when I’m here?”
“I feel like an asshole now. I didn’t realize what we were taking you away from?—”
“Hey, I’m a grown man. I made a decision. And it’s actually nice to have a break from it.” He meets my eyes. “I’ve been on this mission. For years. Trying to pay back what he stole. The victims—the pension funds, the hospital, all those people whotrusted him—I’ve been tracking them down. Sending money when I can. It’s not much. A few thousand here and there. It’ll never be enough to actually fix anything. But it’s my constant obsession. It eats away at me. Since I got on the plane with you, I haven’t been thinking about it as much.”
“So you traded your dad’s drama for mine?”
“Perhaps.” He laughs bitterly. “But you’re much more fun to look at.”
“Glad to hear it.” I reach up to smooth his hair, pretending like it’s disheveled, but I actually just wanted to see how soft it is. Like silk weaving through my fingers. “Why are you so determined to pay back what your dad stole? Are they coming after you because he’s in prison?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s personal…like…some stupid part of me thinks that if I can undo enough of the damage, maybe he’ll go back to being the person I needed him to be. Maybe I can restore our name. Put our family back together. Maybe this can all end in something other than just…destruction.”
The weight of what he’s carrying settles over me like a physical thing. Years of trying to clean up his father’s mess. Years of hoping for a redemption that might never come. Years of loving someone who keeps disappointing him.
“Hope’s not stupid. Hope is all we have. And a son fighting for his dad is such an honorable thing.”
He doesn’t respond for a long moment. When he does, his voice is a murmur that’s soft and rough at the same time.
“Is it though? He hasn’t apologized once. He doesn’t regret taking the money, just getting caught. Money turns him into this cold reptilian. Sometimes I think…” He trails off, the sentence hanging unfinished between us.
“That he might actually be a bad person?”
Taio doesn’t confirm or deny. He just sits there in the warm glow of the flameless candles, looking more lost than I’ve everseen him. “I don’t know. But someone has to take responsibility for the pain he caused. If not him, then…me.”
“What’s the total?” I ask gently. “The debt. What does he still owe?”
Taio’s head snaps up, his expression shifting instantly from vulnerable to guarded. The walls slam back into place so fast I can almost hear them.
“Charlie, don’t.”
“I’m just asking. Maybe I could help. I have resources, and?—”
“No,” he says, sharp enough to make Black Cat lift his head and blink in sleepy irritation. Taio takes a breath, visibly forcing himself to soften. “Please. Don’t ever go there.”
“I wouldn’t think anything of it.” I reach for his hand, wrapping my fingers around his. “Taio, most of my relationships are transactional, that’s how my world works. People do things for me, I compensate them. It’s not personal. It’s not charity. It’s just how things operate at this level.” I squeeze gently. “You’ve basically been keeping me sane this entire time. You saved my tour. You should be rewarded for that. Let me help with this humongous burden you’re carrying.”
“Rewarded.” He scoffs, like the word left a bad taste in his mouth. “Charlie, no. I’m not going to take your money. I’m not going to let you pay off my father’s debts like I’m some project you’ve decided to fix.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“Every other relationship in your life can be transactional. Fine. That’s your world, and I get it.” His hand tightens around mine, his grip almost desperate. “But not this. This part is honest. I need that. I think you do, too.”
My heart is so full I’m not sure how it’s still fitting inside my chest.
