Beneath His Darkness (Healing Hearts #3) (2 page)

I just want my dad to love me like he used to.

I rest my head against the door, needing a minute to calm my heart and my mind.  Both are racing at the thought of walking in that room and hearing him say he can’t love me.  Or worse, what if he says nothing at all?

“Can I help you with something?”

A woman’s voice sounds from behind me.  I turn around to find a nurse smiling at me.  I instantly recognize her as one of the regulars and I want to lash out at her.  Tell her she can’t help me because my dad is dying.  I want to scream at her.  Tell her she already failed at helping.  But, I can’t find any words.  I just shake my head and she walks on by, the smile never leaving her face.

Why do they always smile?

Don’t they know we know they’re faking it?  Don’t they realize that we know they know we’re going through hell?  Their smiles are infuriating.  Who the hell told them smiling at us all the time is comforting?  It’s not.  I’m not smiling.  I feel like wiping all the smiles off their damn faces and telling them how angry they make me.

Angry.

I’ve been feeling that way toward a lot of people.  My mom.  The doctors.  The nurses.  I haven’t wanted to admit it, but I’m angry with
him,
too.  I’m angry that he was able to throw me away, like sixteen years of loving me never mattered.  Didn’t he ever think about what that would do to me?  How that would hurt me?

I could stand outside this door for days asking myself all kinds of what ifs, but the only one who has the answers is lying in a bed on the other side and he isn’t going to be around much longer.  Pain hammers through me, almost dropping me to the colorless floor.

He’s not going to be around much longer.

I swallow loudly, turn the knob, and step into his room.  I expect the shades to be up and light to filter through.  If he only has minimal time left, it should be spent with the sun shining on him.  That’s what I expected.  Instead, it’s dark and depressing in here.  The shades are drawn and the lights are off.  The man I always knew to be larger than life lies in the middle of the bed with his arms crossed over his stomach, staring at the ceiling.  I know he’s awake because I see him blink every so often as I stand just inside his room, where I’ve closed the door behind me to give us privacy.

The lights from the machines illuminate the room enough for me to see all the tubes and wires.  His face is drawn from the weight he’s lost and he looks so tired.  He is no longer the strong man I looked up to all these years.  My heart breaks for that man.  I don’t recognize the one lying in the bed before me.

The man who threw me away like yesterday’s trash.

I close my eyes and breathe for a second.  I try to tell myself that the man in that bed is the same man I’ve loved my whole life.  I need to walk over there and make him see he still loves me, before it’s too late.  I need to tell him I love him.  Because I do.  Even if we aren’t blood, he’s my dad.

I reluctantly step from where my back is pressed against the closed door and slowly inch my way toward his bed.  My anxiety rises with each step I take.  I know he knows I’m here.  I saw his eyes shift to my face and then back to the ceiling.  I’d be lying if I said that the dismissal in his eyes didn’t hurt.  It cut straight to my already damaged heart.

I stop about a foot from his bed, afraid to get too close to him.  “Hey, Dad.  It’s me, Grant.”

I don’t know why I tell him it’s me.  He knows who I am.  At least, I think he does.  Mom said they have him on a lot of pain meds to keep him comfortable until… I can’t think about that.  Even with how he’s been treating me, my world without him in it doesn’t make sense.

“Dad, can you hear me?”

He turns his head so he’s facing away from me and stares at the drawn shades.  I don’t know whether I want to cry at his rejection or scream.  Soon, it will be too late to fix this brokenness between us.  I can’t have him die thinking I feel any hatred in my heart for him.  I may be angry, but I’m angry because of how much I love him.

I guess I’m the one who’s going to have to act like a man.  It’s clear he isn’t going to.  I put my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching out to him, although I want nothing more than to hold his hand and show him I’m here for him.  I stiffen my spine, preparing to say the last words I may ever get to say to the man who has meant more to me than any other person in my life.

“I know you’re angry and hurt, Dad.”  I stop because I need a second to breathe.  Saying this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.  I had it all planned out in my head, but thinking it and saying it are very different.  I look up to the ceiling and send a silent prayer to the skies, asking for the strength I need to get through this.

“I know this because I’m angry and hurt, too.”  I think I see him flinch, but I’m not sure.  “I didn’t ask for any of this, just like you didn’t.  We were both betrayed.  But, losing you is…it’s…” I have to fight back the tears threatening to fall.

“Losing you is the hardest thing that’s ever happened to me, Dad.  I love you more than anyone else in my life.  How could I not?  You’re my best friend.”  My voice cracks and I need another second to compose myself.

He still hasn’t turned his head to look at me.  I have no idea whether I’m getting through to him.  I don’t know if he’s too drugged up to understand what I’m saying, but I need to take the chance.

“You have always been everything to me.  I can’t think of a time in my life when you haven’t been there for me.  I don’t just mean the dad stuff.  Yeah, you taught me to ride a bike and throw a ball.  It’s because of you I’m a great pitcher.  But, Dad, you taught me to be a better man.  I watched the man you are and it made me want to be great like you.”

Watching him lie there, staring off into nothingness, is making me lose hope.

“Dad, please.  Please look at me.  Please stop shutting me out.  I didn’t ask for any of this.  All I want is to be your son.  I just want you to love me like you always have.  I love you.  Please, love me again,” I beg.

“You’re not my son,” he says, turning his whole body away from me.

My world falls down around me.  I know there’s nothing left to say.  A single tear falls down my cheek before I can stop it.  It’s the only one I allow in mourning of the relationship that just died in this room.  I turn my back to his bed and walk away as I whisper, “Goodbye, Dad.”

Chapter Three

Grant—Seventeen Years Old

All I have to do is walk through those doors and I’ll be in the same building as my
brother
.  Two simple steps and we’ll be sharing the same air. 
Tucker.
  His name filters through my mind and I can’t stop the rage that consumes me.  I’ve had a few months to prepare myself to see him, but still, I stand here, mentally beating myself into submission in order to walk through a set of doors.

Why?  
I ask myself
.  Why am I acting like such a little bitch?

I worry that once I see him; I won’t be able to stop myself from killing him.  And I want his punishment to be slow and torturous.  I want him to feel every ounce of pain I’ve ever felt.  Our father left me—never even came to meet me as a baby.  If he hadn’t left, I could have grown up with a man who loved me.  Instead, I grew up with a lie.  A goddamn lie that ruined my life.

Pretty boy is living the golden life while I’m picking up the pieces of shit left of mine.  He’s going to learn when life has just been handed to you, someone with more to lose can always swoop in and take yours away.

Tucker may be the one on that stage tonight, but I’ve learned a thing or two about acting.  Acting is a lie.  It’s all about manipulation.  You want the audience to believe something that isn’t true.  Tonight, I’m going to become an actor myself.

I’ve gotten very good at lying since
h
e
died.  The constant throngs of family, friends, neighbors, and people just looking for gossip on how Gloria is doing, stopping by with casseroles, all think she and I have a wonderful, loving relationship.  I dote on her, like a loving son should, but as soon as they’re gone, I make it clear that I despise her, that I’ll never forgive her for the slut she is.  I don’t speak to her.  In fact, it takes everything within me not to spit on her every time I see her.

Channeling my anger toward Gloria makes it so I can walk into Tucker’s school without needing to hunt him down and pummel him into the ground.  I take a breath and walk through the doors.  I buy my ticket and walk to the auditorium.  A part of me wants to sit as close to the front as I can to get the best view of him as possible, but I don’t do that.  Instead, I stay in the back so I can observe.

I let people flitter past me, happy families excited to see their children on stage, and resentment burns through me like acid.  That should be me.  I should be here with my family, watching my brother on this stage, but my brother took that life from me.

Now, he’ll pay for being so needy.

The lights flicker in the auditorium, signaling it’s almost show time.  I let one more family walk past me and allow myself another glimpse of what my life should have been like had Tucker not been such a selfish brat, needing our father’s attention all to himself.

Angry again, I walk about ten seats into the middle section of the auditorium.  No one is sitting back here so I figure I can observe Tucker as intently as I want without anyone noticing whether I respond to the play or not.

Right before the lights dim, a man sits a few seats over from me.  I find myself irritated.  With all of the other empty seats in the back, he decides to sit here.  I look over, about to say something, when I freeze.

It’s him.

Sitting three seats over from me is Mikos Stavros.  Gloria asked him for a picture in case I ever wanted to know what he looked like.  It’s the only thing I give her credit for lately.  I didn’t think I’d be able to recognize him if I saw him, but there’s no denying this is him.

His jawline is defined and his dark eyes are almost as dark as his hair.  His face rests in the same intense gaze he had in the picture.  He’s not smiling and maybe that’s how I know it’s him.  There’s a seriousness to him that’s familiar to me.  It’s like he’s frozen in constant thought.

I’ve held his picture next to my face in the mirror a thousand times.  I’ve compared my face to his and cursed his picture over and over for leaving me behind, like he’d hear me.  I wanted him to know I was thrown away by another man who was supposed to love me, too.  Screaming at his picture never brings me the peace I wish for.  But, here he sits, where I can easily scream at him now.

Did he sit here because he knows who I am?

That doesn’t appear to be the case.  Why is he staring into his lap?  And, why is he sitting all the way in the back when all the families are up in the front?

There are so many things I want to ask him, but the lights dim and I lose my chance.  I promise myself I’ll introduce myself to him when the lights come back on.  Maybe coming here is my chance at having a family after all.  Maybe I can leave Gloria behind and start a new life.  Maybe I can make Mikos see that I’m a better son than Tucker.

I watch the play, alternating between studying Tucker and my father.  It’s so weird to be this close to him and him not knowing who I am.  I want to move closer and tell him my name, see what his reaction will be.  But, I’m too afraid.

I can’t have another father reject me.

Every time I look at him, his eyes are glued to the stage.  Pride wafts off him as he watches Tucker.  I wonder if he could ever look at me that way.  If I tell him who I am, would he come to my baseball games?  Would he want to be a part of my life?  I try not to hope, but I can’t stop myself.  My father is barely out of arm’s reach from me.

I have to force myself not to stare at him and face forward.  I hate the way Tucker commands attention.  I want him to be terrible, but he isn’t.  He’s the opposite of terrible and it pisses me off.  Not only does he have the life I want, but he’s talented and this crowd is fawning over him.

My fingers dig painfully into my jeans as I try to control the rage building inside of me.  I try to breathe deeply and tell myself I’ll have the first conversation with my father very shortly.  It doesn’t calm my nerves, but it stops me from storming the stage and using my fists as battering rams against Tucker’s skull.

I sit through the rest of the play without having the urge to inflict bodily harm on anyone.  I may be making progress.  After some time, maybe I’ll even learn to accept Tucker.

But, not before I show our father his faults.

The play ends and the cast bows together.  In a minute, the lights will turn on.  Knowing I’ll be able to introduce myself to my father has excitement coursing through me.  I turn in my seat, ready to stand, as the cast takes their second bow.  But Mikos is already walking away.

I want to scream “No!” or “Stop!”, but I can’t make a scene.  I simply watch him walk away, feeling my heart shatter all over again.  I try to tell myself that maybe he’ll be in the lobby waiting, but something in my gut tells me he won’t.

I always listen to my gut.

Needing to calm down, I sit back in my seat and let a good portion of the auditorium clear out.  I act like I’m studying the crowd, but I’m really practicing my lines.  A good actor always knows his lines.  Goddamn Tucker.  This is his fault.  He was here for him and I’m sure he left to go meet him.  Once again, I’m left with no one.

Not so many months ago, I had a mom and dad who loved me.  Now, Nathan is gone and Gloria is someone I barely tolerate.

Gloria.

My near introduction to Mikos has me thinking back to the night Gloria told me the truth about him.

Tears flow down her face, but I don’t care.  She lied to me my whole life.  She let me love him and now he’s dying and I can’t save him.  After everything he’s done for me, I can’t do the one thing he needs from me.

In this moment, I hate her for taking this from me.