The room fell silent as my chest jumped with uneven breaths.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me now, princess—”
I scoffed. “Good. Because I’m not sure I can.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Arianna.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough after all you’ve done.”
“I know.”
“Stop!” Macy exclaimed.
My eyes panned over to my daughter, who was standing in the doorway of the living room looking out at us.
“I’m so sorry,” Dad whispered.
“Yeah, you really are,” I said breathlessly.
I looked over at Tommy, and he looked like nothing but the carcass of a former man I had once known. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, because I knew Simon coming back into town had something to do with him.
But Macy spoke up first.
“Are you staying, Dad?”
I held my breath like the rest of the room as we locked our gazes on him. He looked up at his father. He glanced over at mine. Then, he looked back at Macy, completely overlooking me.
Which hurt like hell.
“Yep, I’m here for good. Gotta take care of my kiddo, right?”
Then, he shot me a look that told me he was still upset with me. Still hurt. And while he had a right to be, so did I. No one cared about that, though. No one cared about what I felt.
Tommy sighed. “Okay, I think this has been enough for one day. There’s a lot to digest and pick through. And I’m sure Macy is tired. We can figure out the rest of this stuff in the morning. Legalities, and all that. But right now? Everyone needs some time apart to rest.”
I expected Macy to put up a fight, but she didn’t. She seemed so docile with them. So timid. Very much unlike the daughter I’d been fighting with for damn near eight years. It made me want to cry.
I felt so confused.
Which was only exacerbated by the looks Simon kept giving me.
Looks that made my skin tingle as I ushered Macy and my father out the door once everything wound down.
10
Simon
“Mr. Redman, your diet is more important than ever before. Fighting cancer isn’t just a physical fight. It’s also a mental and emotional one. I’m not asking you to cut things out of your diet only to help you be healthier. There are things that are injected into processed foods that have direct consequences on emotional and mental balance.”
I nodded as I took my father’s hand.
“He’s right, Dad. We can do it a little at a time. Slowly transition you over to—”
“Actually, the change needs to be as immediate as possible. Your life is on the line.
“I’ve got this, Doc.”
I looked over at my father, and he looked to be staring off into space, like he wasn’t really listening at all. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Not paying attention. Going off into his own little world. It had me concerned. And yet, I couldn’t blame him.
“Dad? You listening?” I asked.
He nodded, but he didn’t speak.
“I’ll help you do this. I’ll cook for the both of us and show you how good and easy it can be. Okay?” I asked.
“Sounds good, son,” he said.
“So, you’ll be around to help your father get to and from his chemo appointments?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be his primary caretaker,” I said.
“Good. Because my next suggestion was going to be admission into our cancer ward while he’s getting treated,” the doctor said.
“I’ll stay at my house just fine,” Dad said.
“Yes. And I’ll be with him,” I added.
“Well, then let me talk you through your options for in-home care. Because eventually, you’re going to need help,” the doctor said.
He spread out some pamphlets and started talking. But I found myself zoning out, too. Help? I’d eventually need help? What the fuck did that mean? I tried to throw myself into this appointment. Especially since we were setting Dad’s weekly chemo treatments up as soon as the end of this week. According to the doctor, pancreatic cancer wasn’t something to mess around with. I wasn’t happy that Dad already had the tumor removal surgery before he even told me his diagnosis. Nor was I happy that they couldn’t get all of the tumor pieces off his pancreas. I didn’t like the way the doctor talked with such urgency. Nor did I like how quickly all of this had started to spiral.
“Why are we moving so quickly, Doctor?” I asked.
Dad sighed. “Because my survival chance with something like this is only twenty percent.”
I looked over at him, stunned. “What?”
“Actually, it’s more like twenty—”
“Twenty-two percent,” Dad said with a chuckle. “Really, Doc. The extra two percent doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.”
I furrowed my brow. “It does if you’re in that two percent.”
Dad already looked defeated, and we hadn’t even started yet. Which was why it was imperative that I find a way to lift his spirits. My father had always been a fighter, so it shocked me that he seemed to simply be throwing in the towel.
Maybe he’s tired of fighting.
I pushed the thought away. I had to push all thoughts away. I had to stomach my anger and push away the meeting from yesterday and forget about how much I wanted to fucking strangle Mr. Procter. I needed to focus on my father and how the hell we were going to get him into that twenty-two percent.
“It’s going to be a hard fight. But together? I think we can do this,” the doctor said.
“Yeah. Sure,” my father said flatly.
“He’s right, Dad. All we have to do is pull together and charge head-on. That’s why I’m here with you. To help you do this,” I said.
He didn’t respond when I took his hand, though. Not even so much as a tremor of a movement.
After the doctor’s appointment, I gathered up everything we needed. The pamphlets. His chemo schedule that had already been outlined for us. Various appointments I needed to put on my calendar. I walked with Dad out of the oncologist’s office, and we made our way for my truck.
“Why don’t we go to one of my favorite places to eat for lunch. Yeah?” I asked.
“I take it you’re going to have me eating rabbit food already?” he asked.
I snickered. “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. Just give it a chance.”
I drove us across town, and I forced my mind to stay in the present. I hadn’t yet sifted through the bulk of the conversation with the oncologist. Part of me kept getting stuck on the fact that Ari almost died during labor, and part of me kept getting stuck on the absolute shithead her father had been to her. I’d thought the man couldn’t go any lower. And then, yesterday’s conversation happened. I was still upset at Ari for withholding my daughter from me, for keeping me in the dark. I was still owed an apology for that.
But I understood.
I mean, I didn’t understand. But Ari had been climbing some serious mountains, and all by herself. It was no wonder she didn’t want my father interjecting on anything. She had enough to deal with on her plate. Still, I should’ve been there for her. And I would have been, had she actually given me a chance to do that.
She hadn’t, though.
And that still made me frustrated.
“Nothing you can do about it now.”
My father’s voice pulled me from my trance as I pulled into a parking space.
“What?” I asked.
“Ari. Macy. What’s happened. Nothing you can do about it, so stop being so damn pissed off,” he said.
Then, he unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car.
I jumped out of my truck and jogged around. I held my hands out for my father, but he swatted them away.
“I’ve got cancer. I’m not dying—yet, anyway,” he said.
“Don’t say stuff like that. Are you insane?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe so.”
I walke
d with him into my favorite shop, a place I couldn’t believe was still standing. It looked dilapidated on the outside, but on the inside was a fresh, homemade menu free of processed carbohydrates and other junk we put in our systems. And it would be easy to avoid red meat this way, too. They had all kinds of meat—fresh seafood, chicken, pork, turkey, duck, even rabbit. Their menu was extensive. And outside of the red meat, there wasn’t a damn thing my father couldn’t have.
Including their dessert menu.
Instead of talking Dad’s ear off about things, I let him order. I let him try things for himself. I even let him pick off my plate. We picked two desserts to split, and he ate more in that one sitting than I’d seen him eat at any meal since I had been home. I grinned to myself when he ordered a dish to go, one of their salads with all the exotic toppings and meat on the sides. There was hope for changing my father’s diet, and there was hope that he wouldn’t be completely pissed off at me for overhauling his kitchen once he took a rest.
Because that was another frequent thing in his life now—rest.
Things were practically silent between us during lunch. Every once in a while, he let out a satisfied hum or asked me what I was eating. Other than that, though we didn’t talk. I couldn’t blame him, either. If this was overwhelming for me, I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him. It didn’t surprise me when he fell asleep in the car on the way home, or when I had to help him upstairs to his bedroom.
What I didn’t plan on was how winded I’d feel after helping a grown-ass man do those few things.
Shit. I might actually need some help with this.
My phone vibrated in my pocket as I closed my father’s bedroom door behind me. I wasn’t sure who I expected to be calling, but the Dean of the university wasn’t it. I furrowed my brow as I answered the phone, stepping quickly into my bedroom.
Where I was promptly met with anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me you hadn’t secured the schedules for the sports’ teams yet?”
I blinked. “Because we agreed I’d go on a sabbatical, so I figured everything would be handled.”
“What in the world were you doing all this time over the summer? Sitting in your office with your feet up?”
I paused. “Is there something wrong, Michael?”
“You specifically told me you couldn’t help run the sporting camps this summer because you had to work on the schedules. Because of the mass migration of seniors out of the program last year and organizing your starting lineups.”
“Yes. I did.”
“So, why the hell aren’t the schedules done?”
“Because—”
I sighed as I leaned against the wall. I didn’t really have a good answer other than the fact that I was tired. Worn down. Working a university head coaching position that taxed me more than any other thing I’d ever done in my life. I had drafts of the lineups, but none that had been confirmed yet.
“I’m waiting, Simon,” he said.
I sighed. “Sir, things with my family aren’t well right now. My father is sick. This summer was hell in terms of scouting for new recruits for the incoming freshman year. While I didn’t outright run the sporting camps, I was still instrumental in organizing them. Not much went without my touch behind the scenes this summer.”
“We don’t have the capability of putting together these lineups without you. We need your input on this.”
“I can’t come back to campus right now, Michael. My father is very sick. He’s got pancreatic cancer, and I—”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Simon. I really am. But you had a job to do this summer, and you didn’t do it.”
I scoffed. “Yes, I did. There’s more to my job than starting lineups and winning seasons.”
“Well, it’s winning seasons that keep you employed. Because without your winning seasons, we don’t get donations to pay you and upkeep fields.”
“All you have to do is go back and look at the stats from—”
“Can you do that from your laptop? I’ve literally got an entire staff of your people running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”
I snickered. “They know how to do this. I don’t have any of my work stuff with me. I’m supposed to be on sabbatical. You don’t take stuff like that with you on sabbatical.”
“Then, how are you going to do your research?”
I paused. “What?”
“Do you even know what a sabbatical is?”
I blinked. “It’s paid time off.”
“Yeah, with the intent of bringing something of use back to the university.”
“What are you talking about Michael? You told me to take time off, not to work while I’m taking time off.”
“Yeah, this is time you get to spend away from the university while working on something. Or researching something. Something that can be of use to this university that’s sports related. This isn’t an extended vacation. Most professors and coaches who take sabbaticals publish articles or write books.”
“Okay, okay, okay. So, I’m expected on this sabbatical to find some obscure subject related to sports at the university that I can research and write—somehow, someway—a book on?”
Michael sighed. “Did you not read the email I sent you?”
“What email?”
“I sent you an email outlining the standards you’re expected to meet while you’re on sabbatical.”
I pulled my phone away from my ear and pulled it up.
“I don’t see anything,” I said.
“I sent it to you a few days ago. I know I did,” he said.
“Well, it’s not there. Check your end.”
I heard Michael typing away before he sighed.
“I’m sorry. That’s my fault. I mistyped the email on my end. Let me resend—”
“No.”
I didn’t know what caused me to spit the word out. I didn’t know what the hell I’d do after the fact. But with my mind spinning and my anger flowing and my brain fogging up, the only thing I could think about was my father and my daughter and how I didn’t plan on leaving either one of them.
“What?” Michael asked.
“I said no. Don’t bother sending it to me.”
“You mean, because you understand what’s expected of you?”
“No. Because I don’t plan on coming back.”
Michael chuckled. “Okay, maybe I caught you at a bad time—”
“Actually, you didn’t. I just put my cancer-ridden father down for a nap after a very long doctor’s appointment where we talked about his survival chances, and I’m seeing clearer than ever.”
“Let’s take a step back for a second.”
“What you’re accusing me of is being inept at my job. Well, I can tell you that’s usually grounds for firing someone. I know you haven’t because there’s no one at that school ready to step up into my position. And maybe that’s why I’ve stayed on as long as I have.”
“Simon, don’t say something you’re going to regre—”
“Oh, I’m not. You’ve accused me of a lot of things you haven’t outright said. You’ve accused me of being lazy at my job, which I’ve been anything but. My clock-in times in the system will show you that. You’ve accused me of not training my staff right because they can’t come up with this schedule. And you couldn’t be more wrong there. It’s a lot to create starting lineups for teams. It requires looking over stats during the whole of their career. Watching videos to nail down their strengths and weaknesses. Taking chances on new guys and making sure those who have put in their time see enough of the spotlight to have a chance to be seen, if that’s what they want.”
“Look, we’re both under a lot of pressure right now, Simon. If you want, we can change the sabbatical. I haven’t put in the paperwork yet. We can take your paid time off and medical leave and lump it together. That should give you a couple of months’ worth of—”
“No,” I said.
“Simon.”
“
You must not be hearing me right now. My father is dying. He has no one else but me. I have a family back home that needs me, and you’re wanting me to throw that away for a starting lineup.”
He had nothing to say to that.
I scoffed. “I’m not abandoning my family for sports. My father gave up any chance he might have had at a professional coaching career because he didn’t want to abandon me after we lost my mother. I’m sure as hell not abandoning him now because no one wants to get on my computer and look up a few things.”
“You just said it’s not as simple as that.”
“And if anyone tried actually logging onto my computer, they’d see I have four different drafts of lineups I laid out with a pros and cons list attached to them. Right there. Saved to the home of my fucking computer screen.”
I drew in a sobering breath as I stuffed the anger down.
“My father’s health is more important. And if that means losing my job, then so be it. I’m taking care of my dying father. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.”
Then, I hung up the phone.
I took the battery out of the back of it and tossed it onto my bed. I paced my room, trying to get some of the angry energy out of my system. Hot tears of anger slid down my cheeks. I ripped the chair out from underneath my high school desk and flopped down. My father was dying. I had a kid. The mother of my child was keeping distance between us. And now, I had no fucking job.
Great.
I sighed as I made my way downstairs. I had to keep pressing forward. I had to keep my eye on the prize. I sat down at my father’s computer and toggled the mouse, waiting for it to boot up. The damn thing was ten years out of date and loaded at a painful speed. But it still worked. So, I got to work on my next task.
Finding a lawyer.
Because while I hoped I didn’t have to fight Ari for the right to see my daughter, I didn’t want to go into this unprepared. Hiring a lawyer would make a serious dent in my savings. Thank fuck I’d lived frugally all these years. I wanted a custody agreement for Macy. I deserved to know my daughter. And if Ari wanted to fight me on that, then I wanted a backup plan, a formal document to serve her with so we could hash things out in court.
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