Nash (Marked Men #4)(86)

“Because I really, really am.”

I pulled her as close to me as I could and watched my dad with a hollow feeling in my gut.

“I know you are. He told me not to live a life of regret tonight. He also told me to love you so hard there would be no getting away from it, and then he asked me to call him Dad.”

My voice broke, and for the first time since this all started, everything I was feeling started to leak out. Luckily it was dark and the only one who could tell was Saint. Moisture forced its way out of one eye and got lost in her bright hair.

She put her palm on my heart and tapped her fingers in time with the hasty beat.

“You can do all those things for him.” Her voice was soft and gentle like she was scared she might spook me.

“Now that you’re here, I can.”

We stayed silent after that, just held each other in the dark and waited to see what the next day would hold. I knew that whatever it was, we would face it together and that made facing the inevitable slightly more bearable.

Phil was in and out the next day. Sometimes he knew exactly who I was and he kept grinning at me and looking at Saint. I urged her to go home, told her she didn’t have to stay since she had already missed work, but she wasn’t budging. She fluttered around, doing her nursing thing, doing her girlfriend thing, and I was grateful for it all. Phil made her laugh when he was awake and lucid. He told her broken tales of my misspent youth with Jet and the Archer twins, which led to a show-and-tell of all my awful tattoos that I had since covered with other things. He didn’t last long, and she was amazing with him even when I felt useless and at a loss.

I had a really hard time when he drifted off, when he thought he was somewhere else in a different time. I wanted to hurt things when he mumbled things about my mom and that disastrous relationship. It made all the disdain I had for her bubble to the surface and all that old hurt and those feelings of inferiority percolate and stew. Saint did a good job of reminding me that my mother’s opinion held no weight for me anymore, and that the people that mattered in my life adored who I was and they wouldn’t change a thing about me. That she wouldn’t change a single thing about me.

It was early the following morning, really early, the sun wasn’t even up yet, when something changed. I was napping on and off in the recliner, Saint was asleep on the couch in the other room, but something in the air shifted and my eyes popped open. I got up and walked to the side of my dad’s bed and looked down at him. His eyes were at half-mast and I could see, literally see, that he was fighting, struggling to inhale each breath he was taking. My heart slipped out of rhythm and I knew, just had a gut sense, that this was it. That last grain of sand in the hourglass was falling down.

“Hey.” I could only whisper and his eyes flickered in my direction.

I couldn’t tell if he could see me anymore, if he could tell who I was at this point, but he lifted a frail hand and I took it in my own. Emotion clogged my throat as I saw his skeletal-looking chest take longer and longer to rise and fall. His bony fingers curved over my own and I don’t know if he really said it or I just wanted him to say it, but I could swear that the words with you always floated out and around us before his eyes drifted shut one last time.

I don’t know how long I stood there, don’t know if I made any noise or not, but he wasn’t breathing anymore and I was just left holding his hand and staring down at him in numbness. I heard a strangled sound and looked up to see Saint hovering in the doorway, hands over her mouth and eyes huge in her face. She knew and she was aching for me.

She walked over and wrapped her arms around my waist from the back and we just stood there, silent and sorrowful, grieving and a little bit lost.

“I think he told me he would always be with me right before he passed.” I sounded rusty and unsure.

“He will always be with you, Nash. He’s a part of you in everything you do. He’s always going to be here looking out for you.” I felt one of her fingertips trail over the ridges of my spine, where my dragon was sleeping and at rest.

“Yeah, but it’s not going to be the same without him.”

Her soft breath fluttered across the back of my neck as I linked a hand over hers where it was lying on my stomach.

“No, it won’t, but you’ll do your best to make his memory live on.”

Damn straight I would. It was the least I could do after everything Phil had done for not only me, but the rest of the wayward souls I called my family.

The next few days were chaos. I felt like I was the eye of a storm that raged around me. Saint got down to business before the sun even came up. She made the arrangements for his body to go where it needed to and to be handled in the way Phil’s last wishes asked for. In a matter of hours Phil’s condo was full of people. The girls all banded together to work on the funeral arrangements. Since Phil was going to be cremated, a viewing was set up for a few days from the day he passed. I had lost the ability to speak, to interact, and was just responding when spoken to, so it was up to Saint to run the show. My girl who was shy, hesitant, and nervous, took charge just like she did in the ER and I couldn’t have loved her any more if I tried. I could tell my friends noticed the way she rallied for me, propped me up, and they all fell a little in love with her as well. There was no doing any of this without her.

The guys were all tasked with alerting everyone of Phil’s passing. Phones were constantly going off, questions and answers were flying; one day faded into the next and I was in the center of it all, mostly numb and unresponsive. At some point I think Rule noticed my comatose state, and while there was a lot of business and details that still had to be handled, celebrating Phil’s life and the wonderful person he was definitely needed to be first on the agenda, so he asked Rome to put together a wake at the Bar on the fly. We were Donovans after all, so it was only fitting.