Nash (Marked Men #4)(66)

I was still having some difficulty thinking of him as my “dad.” His fingers patted my shaved head.

“I should have been braver. Shouldn’t have been so concerned that you would hate me for not telling you. I wanted your mother to be accountable, but once you came to stay with me permanently … I should have told you the truth.”

“Well, I wish I had known sooner, wish I could have time to appreciate one parent being proud of me. The choices she made make it really easy for me to come to terms with the fact she might have given birth to me, but she was never really my mother.”

“I was proud of you long before you had any idea you were my son, Nash. Your mom is a complicated woman, she always had a pretty clear-cut idea of the way her life should look. Neither you nor I fit in that vision.”

He moved his hand and I finally looked up at him. If I was swallowing it all down—the feelings, the time lost—the history was glassy and bright in his eyes.

“She should have just let you take me from the get-go. It would have saved everyone a lot of heartache.”

“We can’t go back in time, son, all we can do is move forward smarter and far more carefully.” He broke off in a coughing fit that didn’t look like it was going to end, and ended up needing his oxygen and some pain medicine. I helped him with both and realized I was going to have to cut the visit short.

I got him settled and tried not to worry that every single time I saw him it felt like it was going to be the last time.

“Call Salem. She’s just what you guys need, and I think you guys will love her.”

“Why do I feel like there is more to that story than you’re telling me?”

He gave me a weak grin and his eyes drifted shut. “You know me; I always like to offer a helping hand when I can: you, Rule, Jet, Rowdy, Cora. I made my own little family out of lost souls. I’m hoping as time goes on, you guys will extend the tradition. I taught you well in everything I thought you needed to learn to have a good life, son.”

He really had. Every life lesson he felt I needed to know, he had used his own unique way to teach me. I got in the Charger and cranked on the radio so I could listen to the music loud. Flatfoot 56 blasted through the speakers and I thought maybe if I drowned out all my other senses, I couldn’t feel the pain that seeing Phil disappear in front of my very eyes caused. I sent Saint a text because really she was the only thing that was going to make me feel better.

Sure, I could go get drunk with Asa at the Bar, I could call Rome and go throw weights around at the gym, Rule would drop everything and come by and listen to me gripe, Rowdy would pull himself away from whoever he was into for the night and come entertain me, and Jet … well, Jet was never in town anymore, but I knew I could call him and bitch. I had friends, people that loved me, were suffering the loss right alongside me, and yet she was the only one that dulled the burn, the ripping feeling that was left after that kind of visit.

Gonna order pizza. Wanna come over after work?

Her: Won’t be off until late.

Doesn’t matter … you could actually stay the night this time.

That was a low blow and was wussy and passive-aggressive. But I felt like crap, so I tried to man up a little more with my next message.

I had a rough visit with Phil. He is barely hanging on, it looks like. I would like to see you, and I would like for you to stay with me.

There wasn’t a response back for a while, so I had to start the car and head toward home. My insides were all twisted up and there was a sour taste running all along my tongue. I wanted to hit something or let something hit me.

I was pulling up in front of the Victorian when she finally sent me a message back. It galled. I had never waited around to hear from a chick before, especially a chick that I didn’t really know was into me to the same level that I was into her. I didn’t do self-doubt anymore and I hated that she was churning it up in me.

Her: Sorry a guy shot with a nail gun walked in. If you don’t mind me showing up a little later I’ll be there. Go ahead and eat without me.

What about staying with me?

I had to push my luck. I felt too open, was bleeding everything I was feeling all over the place with no way to stop the flow.

Her: Can we talk about that later? I just got two more patients.

Go to work. I’ll see you later.

I sighed feeling wholly torn up and unsatisfied when she sent: I’m so sorry about Phil. That isn’t fair and I’m sorry you’re hurting.

That was the thing about her, no matter how far away she seemed, there was just something there, some tie that made me believe that eventually she would come around and realize that we could be something amazing and special together.

I got out of the car and called the pizza place that knew me on a first-name basis. I ordered dinner and was putting my phone in my back pocket when a female voice swearing and a loud thumping caught my attention.

My neighbor was standing outside of her closed apartment door kicking it solidly with the toe of a high heel that was pinker than pink. She was using language that made me grin, and scowled at me when I asked her if I could help her with anything. She shoved her dark red hair over her shoulder and put her hands on her hips. Today she looked like she had come from some kind of fashion show, minus the disgruntled expression on her face.

“I always lock the door behind me. Any door, every door, which is normally a good thing, but not when my keys are on the other side. I left my cell in the car, and I was only two steps into the hallway when I realized I didn’t grab my freaking keys.” She groaned dramatically and threw her hands up. “So my phone is stuck in my car and my keys are stuck in my apartment and I am an idiot.”