by S. Nelson
“Why would she? We have no business together.”
“Don’t be so naïve, Max. That woman wants you.”
He slapped the seat. “Oh, and Halloway doesn’t want you? Oh wait, he does,” he said sarcastically. “What’s to stop him from stopping by your office whenever he wants?”
I supposed he had me there.
“I’ve turned him down, and that was before I met you.”
“And I’ve dismissed her advances as well.” So, she has stepped over the line before. We both took a deep breath to try and gather ourselves. Finally, he parted his lips, but my cell rang again. I glanced down at the screen but didn’t recognize the number. Who would be calling me at one in the morning?
“Look,” he finally said, “we’re upset about the same thing. At least we have that in common.” He shrugged and followed the gesture with a half smile.
“I guess you’re right.” I knew we had more to discuss, but I was willing to put it on pause for the time being.
“So you’ll come back to my place then?”
My teeth played with the corner of my lip as I looked at him, stalling for effect because I already knew the answer. Finally, I replied, “I guess so.”
“Good. I knew you’d see it my way,” he teased, leaning across the seat to give me a kiss.
“Watch it, buddy, or I’ll change my mind.” Before he could jest in response, my cell rang once more. “What the hell?” I mumbled, looking down at the screen. Same number as before.
“Maybe you should just answer it,” he suggested.
With an annoyed swipe of the screen, I held the device to my ear.
“Hello?” I practically shouted.
“Is this Alina Winthrop?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m calling from Mount Sinai hospital. You’re listed as Randall Winthrop’s emergency contact.” There was no pregnant pause before I started rambling, my thoughts flying off in every direction possible.
“Oh my God. Is he all right? What happened? How long has he been there?” I fired question after question at the poor woman, barely giving her a moment to respond.
“He’s stable now. But I’m going to need you to come as soon as you can. You can discuss everything with his doctor.” She ended the call before I could ask her anything else.
Max reached for my hand, the warmth of his touch doing nothing to dispel the panic in my heart. My relationship with my father was complicated at best, but I loved him, and I wasn’t ready for anything to happen to him.
Twenty minutes later, I rushed through the emergency room, practically tripping over myself to find someone who could help. Max was directly on my heels, being supportive the entire time with encouraging words. His actions showed his true character, especially considering the way my father had treated him, casting him aside without a second thought, or benefit of the doubt.
When we’d finally arrived on the fifth floor and stepped from the elevator, my steps slowed the further we walked down the hallway. My entire life my father had been an unyielding and stubborn man. Someone who dominated every situation and commanded respect with his mere presence. Even when I’d disagreed with him, which happened quite often, I still respected him. And now it seemed as if I was on the precipice of losing him. The past few times I’d seen him he looked a little off, but nothing that would’ve indicated what had happened, whatever that was because I still didn’t know how he’d ended up in the hospital. All sorts of scenarios filtered through my head, but I’d drive myself insane with all the possibilities until I spoke to his doctor.
Stopping outside room five twenty-two, I took in a ragged breath before placing my hand on the door.
“He’s going to be fine. Trust me. That man isn’t checking out yet.” Max gently squeezed my shoulder before placing a kiss on my temple. “Do you want me to wait out here?” I nodded, still facing the door. “Okay, sweetheart. If you need me, I’ll be right over there.” I assumed he pointed toward the waiting room, but I never turned around to see.
Counting to ten, twice, I finally pushed his door open and stepped inside, never expecting to see my father lying there. Delusional, I knew, but I half expected to walk in and find a stranger, but my crazy hopes were dashed when I saw Randall Winthrop in bed with tubes up his nose and wires sticking out of everywhere.
Without warning, a sob tore from my throat, the sound slicing through the room and almost getting lost under the continuous sound of the monitors.
I witnessed a small twitch of his left lid, then the right. My father eventually opened his eyes, focusing on the ceiling before noticing I was standing in the corner of the room.
“Alina? Is that you?” The corners of his mouth turned down. “I told them not to call you. No one ever listens,” he grumped.
Shuffling forward, I reached his bedside and took his hand in mine. “You know that’s not true. Everyone listens to you.” My tone was lighthearted, even though I felt anything but.
“You don’t.” After everything, he still tried to stir up shit, but some things would never change.
Choosing to pull as much information from him as I could, I dove right in. “What happened? Was it serious?” Of course it’s serious. Why else would he be here?
“They’re causing a fuss for no reason,” he complained, trying to sit up but failing. His coloring paled, and he struggled to breathe.
“Maybe you shouldn’t move, Dad.”
“I’m fine.”
His denial fueled my suppressed panic, turning my fear into anger.
“You’re not fine. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in a hospital bed hooked up to God knows what. So just stop moving and let me go get someone to find out what’s going on.” He was a proud man, among other things, and he wasn’t going to admit defeat of any kind, even when it was staring him right in the face.
As I turned, the door opened and in walked a young man, reading something on a tablet as he approached.
“Ah, Mr. Winthrop. You’re awake.” His eyes flickered from my father to me before returning to his patient. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a million bucks,” he quipped, trying to remove the tubes from his nose.
“No, no,” the doctor said, reaching forward to adjust the wires. “You need the oxygen, so don’t touch it.” He gave my father a stern look, and for a moment, it appeared as if his patient would give him a hard time, but he didn’t. Instead, his arm dropped to his side, and he closed his eyes, only to sigh.
To see my father not in control was certainly odd, and definitely not the norm. It was then I realized how serious this was, although I still had no idea what had happened, which was why I finally opened my mouth.
“Doctor, can you please tell me what happened?” My eyes were pinned to the man in the white lab coat, and it wasn’t lost on me when he looked to my father to see if he could answer. After a silent exchange occurred between them, he turned to face me.
“Your father has suffered two minor heart attacks.” I gasped. I knew something serious happened, and the possibility of a heart attack had crossed my mind, but not two of them. “Which makes the last one number four in total.”
My mind had become a muddled mess, I cried out, “Number four? When did you have the other ones?” My inquisition was interrupted when the doctor approached to check my father’s vitals before taking his leave.
“I’ll leave you two in private.” He looked from me to my father. “I’ll be back later to check on you. Leave your oxygen alone,” he warned, disappearing from the room before my father could argue.
Tapping my foot, I stared at the man who’d intimidated everyone around him my entire life, myself included. “Well? When was your first heart attack?”
“Last year.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Quite honestly . . . no.” He fiddled with the tube connected to his arm, avoiding my eyes as much as possible.
“And why is that?”
“Because I . . . I jus
t. . . .”
It was odd to hear my father stutter.
“What?” I yelled. “You just what?” Being scared for my father wasn’t an emotion I was used to, so instead of dealing with the rawness of the sentiment, I chose to be angry.
“I didn’t want to acknowledge it happened in the first place,” he blurted, managing to sit up, the small effort stealing his breath. “If I didn’t tell anyone, then it wasn’t real.” His face reddened, and the monitor beeped a few times in succession. I remained quiet, realizing I needed to give him time to say his piece. “No man wants to admit they’re getting older, much less frail.”
“You’re not frail.” I couldn’t help it. I had to interject. For him to see himself in such a way didn’t sit well with me. If my father wasn’t the stubborn, determined, intimidating force to be reckoned with, then my world suddenly didn’t make sense.
“If I had told you, it would’ve been a sign of weakness, and we both know I’m not good with anything less than being stellar.” The left corner of his mouth kicked up before his expression fell.
“Dad,” I said, inching closer so I could grasp on to his hand. “You’re not weak, or old, or frail or any other word you want to use. You’ve suffered four heart attacks, and the fact you’re still breathing, let alone arguing with me,” I half laughed, “tells me you’re as strong as ever.”
He liked my take on his health scare, his face softening as he gradually mirrored my grin. It was a side of my father I rarely saw, so I soaked it up for as long as it would last.
When I made the suggestion he come and stay with me, however, he balked, telling me hell would freeze over before he allowed his daughter to take care of him. Yup, stubborn as usual. When he agreed to hire a visiting nurse, I dropped the subject.
We spent the next half hour talking about work, a subject he was more than comfortable with. After he yawned a few times, I took my cue to let him rest, and surprisingly, he didn’t put up too much of a fight. But I’d promised to return in a few hours.
“Can you do me a favor?” He coughed, taking a moment to catch his breath. The only time my father asked me to do him a favor was when he was asking me to bend to his will, so that was what I prepared myself for, never quite knowing what would come out of his mouth, what crazy scheme he’d concocted. “Can you stop by my house and grab my laptop? Bring it with you when you come back?” The quick beep of the monitor momentarily drew my attention.
“Don’t you think you should rest and not worry about work?”
“What makes you think I want it for work? Maybe I want to pass the time in this godawful place engrossed in YouTube.” There was that slight smile of his again.
“What do you know about YouTube?”
“I know more than you think I do.” I sensed his statement had multiple meanings. Our eyes locked and for the first time in a long time, I saw my father. My dad.
A man who loved his daughter.
A man who’d lost himself in my mother.
A man I only saw cry once, which was the night of her burial.
“I won’t work too much,” he said, interrupting our rare moment.
“Okay.” I leaned forward and gave him a kiss on his cheek, the subtle smell of his cologne comforting me. He squeezed my hand before I stepped back.
I was halfway out the door when I heard him yell, “Don’t forget the charger in the top drawer of my desk.”
I shook my head and smiled.
Max
“I DIDN’T TAKE your father for such a suburbanite.” Max entered my childhood home behind me and looked around. “I expected some decked out, ultra-modern place inside the city. He’s just this force of a man, you know?”
My father lived in Larchmont, which was about twenty-five miles outside Manhattan. Close enough to enjoy all the benefits of the city while also giving the residents some much-needed peace and quiet.
“Uh . . . yeah. I know that better than anyone,” I prattled as I entered the den, a room which had been my absolute favorite growing up. I’d spent many an hour huddled up in the oversized and worn-leather chair, lost in so many different worlds I’d lost count.
Each wall consisted of built-in bookcases, the shelves littered with old books, many of them precious first editions. There were classics such as Pride and Prejudice, The Great Gatsby, and Little Women, the last title bought specifically for me on my thirteenth birthday. My father also loved westerns, so he had an entire shelf of Louis Lamour books. I tried to read one of his favorites, Silver Canyon, but it wasn’t my cup of tea.
As I trailed my fingertip along the countless spines, reading the titles as I moved, wonderful memories flooded in. Wanting to make the nostalgia last, I closed my eyes and randomly selected a book to take with me. The Time Machine by H.G. Wells.
“There you are,” Max uttered, walking up behind me to peer over my shoulder. “What do you have there?”
“One of my father’s many books.”
“I’ll say. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a collection before.” The den was rather large, one of the biggest rooms in the house to be exact.
“This was my favorite room when I lived here.”
“Did you grow up here?” he asked, walking ahead of me to look at the titles.
“Uh-huh. My father couldn’t bring himself to sell it after my mother died, which I’m very thankful for, even though I haven’t been here for some time.
“Well, maybe you and your father can move forward. He’s accepted you’re with me, so at least he’s let go of some sort of control over your life.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, mister,” I teased, all the while knowing things weren’t that easy. “He may have stopped berating me for my decision to be with you, but it doesn’t mean he’s accepted you. Not yet. But I’m working on it.” I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck, peering deep into his beautiful eyes. “All that really matters is how I feel.”
“I know. It’d just be nice to be in a room with the man without him glaring at me.” Max snickered, but I knew the situation bothered him.
“I’m sure it’ll happen soon enough.” I tried to be optimistic, even if my hopes were semidelusional.
“Until then,” Max hummed, pressing me against the bookcase while his hands roamed my body. His kiss was scorching, the fire inside me burning brighter with every flick of his tongue and every sweet bite of his passion. My skirt was around my waist before my good sense ripped through me.
“Wait,” I whispered, my inner voice bouncing back and forth between wanting Max to fuck me and not giving in to my baser need within the confines of my father’s house.
“For what? It’s not like he’s going to walk in on us.” His devious eyes stared back at me, daring me to deny him.
“I know we’re alone. It’s just . . . I don’t feel right about it. He’s lying in the hospital, and we’re about to have sex? It just doesn’t sit well. Sort of. I don’t know,” I babbled.
Max nodded before taking a step back. “I understand. Your head is all over the place. I get it.” He lifted his chin toward the large antique desk in the center of the room. “Why don’t you grab your father’s laptop and we’ll be on our way.” He busied himself flipping through one of the books he’d pulled off the shelf while I searched for the power cord.
Rooting through a few of the desk drawers, I came across a flash drive, and normally I wouldn’t’ve picked it up. But it had Play me taped to the front of it. Odd. With my curiosity piqued, I turned on the laptop and inserted the drive, not expecting to find anything of real interest. Maybe one of his associates sent him something to look at. Or it was a reminder to himself to work on whatever was on there. All the while, I tried to come up with excuses why there was something placed toward the back of his desk drawer with Play me written on it. I knew it had to be something he’d wanted to keep hidden.
“What do you have there?” Max asked, standing next to me while the computer booted up.
“I don’t know.
I guess I’m just being nosy.” My smile faded as soon as I heard the first sound. Groaning. Then a man’s voice asking, “Do you like it like that?” I’d been looking at Max when the video started playing but turned to see the screen the more I heard. The man’s voice sounded somewhat familiar, but I’d been so surprised that what was on the drive was a porn video I didn’t pay much attention.
Until I saw his face.
Geoffrey Paulson.
I swore all the blood drained from my face, my body frozen in place as we continued to watch the video.
“Why would your father have some homemade porn on a flash drive?” Max found the video amusing, until Geoffrey moved out of the way and he saw the other participant.
Me.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my handing flying up to cover my mouth.
“WHAT. THE. FUCK!” Max roared, leaning in to get a better look. I couldn’t look away, no matter how hard I tried. I should’ve slammed the laptop closed. I should’ve destroyed the drive, but I did nothing. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe, let alone contemplate how the video even existed.
Max turned toward me, and I sensed he was going to start shouting, but instead, he grabbed me by the arms and gave me a gentle shake.
“Alina. Who is that?”
Nothing. It was as if I was in some sort of trance, my eyes trained on the screen in front of me. Geoffrey had positioned me so I was in full view of the camera, as was he. We were lying on the bed, my legs wrapped around his waist as he hammered into me. “You love the way I fuck you, don’t you?” Geoffrey asked, to which I moaned, “Yes.”
With a glance back at the laptop, Max was the one who slammed it shut. His face reddened, and I knew he was beyond livid. I only hoped his rage wasn’t directed at me. I had no idea Geoffrey had taped us having sex while we’d been dating, and I couldn’t fathom why he’d sent it to my father.
“Alina,” Max barked, shaking me once more to break me out of my daze. When my eyes finally focused on his face, I was mortified. I could only imagine what was racing through his mind, yet he said nothing, which only served to make things worse. Tears fell down my cheeks before my lips parted to utter a single word. Seeing the distraught look on my face, he pulled me into his embrace, his body tense the entire time.