Page 161 of Bad Run

“Let me.” I hit the button on the rails, lifting his bed up.

“Where’s your mother?”

“She went to shower and get breakfast. She should be back any minute.” I step back, giving him some space.

“Good.” He turns his head slightly to look at me, and his blue eyes—the same color as mine—pin me to my spot. “I am proud of you, Son.”

“You heard me?”

“Of course, I heard you blubbering over me like I was dead.”

“I wasn’t blubbering.”

He arches a brow. “You were a little.”

Same old Dad. Not wanting to talk feelings, but I’ll take it. I’d rather hear him grumbling than not hear him at all.

I roll my eyes. “Well, you weren’t waking up, so I thought you were dead.”

“Touché.” He sucks in a breath and exhales, cheeks puffing. “Listen, kid. I know I’ve been a real jackass. And I’m sorry.”

“What?” I ask, shocked at his admission.

The steady beep of the heart monitor fills the room. Dad stares at the ceiling and sighs as I stare at him, slightly dumbfounded.

He breaks the stuffy silence. “I said I’m sorry. Cutting you out like I did was dumb, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Growing up, my father was never one to talk to us boys about his feelings, so this is a big change. Hearing him admit he was wrong? It’s everything I’ve always wanted.

I could never really be mad at him. He’s my dad, and I love him. Kenneth Taylor was a wonderful father when I was a child. He was at every baseball game and school event. Sure, he was more of a “suck it up and do it” kind of dad, but he was there.

“I forgive you, Pop. And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said the things I did the last time we spoke.”

He waves me off, using his untaped hand. “Do not apologize. I was being an asshole. I didn’t listen to you. I let my anger and grief take over after we lost Arthur. Never really dealt with his death. Just shoved it down. Then you announced going into baseball, and I just shut down.”

“I miss him too, you know.”

“I know you do. You idolized him when you were little. When you didn’t follow him into the army, it felt like you were giving up on him. I know that thinking makes no sense,” he says, shaking his head.

“I never gave up, Pop. I just wanted something different.”

“I know. And you’ve done great things while wearing his number. Arthur would be proud of you.”

“You think so?” My voice cracks as I think about my big brother. His larger-than-life personality and toothy smile.

“Know so. He loved you, Lance.” My father’s words are strangled, and his eyes glaze over from unshed tears. “And so do I. You think we can forget about the past and start over?”

“I’d really like that.”

“Good. Because I have a bone to pick with you. Last week, I watched you get caught chasing a high fastball. What were you thinking? I taught you better than that. No high balls.”

Memories of Dad yelling at me to “lay off the high ones” from behind the backstop at the little league field float to the surface.

I bark a laugh. “I’ll try to remember that next time.”

“Good. Now tell me about this girl of yours.”

A smile tugs at my face at the mention of my girl. My woman. “Her name’s Gwen, and she’s amazing. Smart as a whip, kind, and so damn beautiful. Doesn’t put up with my shit and keeps me in line.”