CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE RIGGS

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

RIGGS

Charlie wasn’t in his usual room when I came to see him. They’d moved him to another unit, which made finding him a real bitch. There seemed to be an unwritten rule that hospitals were impossible to maneuver. Once I found him, I wished I hadn’t. He was sound asleep in his bed and looked like he’d aged three decades overnight. He was hooked to an IV, and I guessed they’d pumped a ton of painkillers into him. He didn’t look alive. Not by his color or his weight. It looked like his soul—or whatever it was that made people look alive—had already exited the building.

I sucked in a breath, hating him and myself and Duffy for being in this situation. I forced myself to walk inside.

Since I didn’t want to disturb his sleep, I waited. I had no doubt Daphne was going to show up, but I still couldn’t understand what made me want her here. Even if she wasn’t back with BJ yet, the fact that I’d spent the last few weeks drinking myself into oblivion and avoiding the apartment like it was radioactive must’ve shown her I wasn’t boyfriend material. Still, I couldn’t escape her. She wasn’t just in my head; she was in my veins too. A permanent part of my DNA. A fixture I could never get rid of. She consumed me like a snake eating its prey, swallowing me whole.

Twenty minutes after I walked in, Charlie began to stir back to life. More like groaned his way back into it. The man made it sound like it was impossible to breathe, and even though I wanted to take pleasure in seeing him in pain, I couldn’t muster the pettiness.

He opened his eyes, and when he saw me, his whole face lit up. For a second, he looked like my friendly neighbor again.

“Riggs,” he grumbled. His hand twitched. Did he want me to touch it? Well, I wasn’t ready for that. “You came.”

“Duffy told me—” I started, then stopped. There was no polite way of saying “You’re about to drop dead.”

Charlie exhaled. “I’m hoping they’ll pump enough drugs into me that I won’t feel it.”

“You should’ve said something. I’d have scored you some.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ain’t too late for that.”

I forced myself to laugh, not sure if he was kidding or not.

Awkward silence swathed the room. Neither of us acknowledged the giant elephant inside it, which was my being here after making it clear I would never give him the time of day again.

Finally, Charlie spoke. “So .?.?. what’s in the bags?” He jerked his chin toward a few paper bags at my feet.

“Ah, yeah.” I reached down, pulling out an Aussie meat pie, a craft lager from Scotland, and Maharaja Bengali sweets from India.

“We haven’t had the chance to get to know each other,” I said ruefully, leaning on his bed with an iPad with a playlist of my favorite songs, movies, and galleries from around the world. “I figured I’ll give you the bulletin points of all my favorites. So when you’re stuck in the elevator between hell and heaven, you can bullshit your way and say you had a son, and that you actually knew him.”

Charlie pressed his head against the flat pillow on his bed and closed his eyes. His throat moved as he tried to swallow in a sob. His chin quivered. I stopped unloading my bags and watched him intently. I’d never seen a grown man cry like that, but I was beginning to see that life had a way of breaking you, no matter who you were.

“You’re my biggest regret.” He shrank in front of my eyes into something small and fragile. “I want you to know that. If I could turn back time and do one thing different, it would be being a real father to you. I know it means jack shit right now. Way too little, way too late. But for what it’s worth—it’s the truth.”

Did I forgive him? No, I didn’t think so. If I did, it was only because he was dying, which was not a solid reason at all.

Instead of ridding him of his guilt trip, I cleared my throat. “How do you know it’s time?”

“Cachexia.”

“And in English?”

“I’m wasting away, Riggs. My systems are shutting down. My muscles are no longer functioning. In fact, speaking to you right now hurts. Hell, blinking hurts.”

Oh, fuck. I couldn’t take it anymore. The emotional overload Charlie and Duffy had put me through in the last couple of months. I was about to tell him that in my book, he was forgiven, when Duffy rushed through the door.

“Bloody hell, you’d think an established hospital would know how to find a patient in their system if he got switched to another unit .?.?.” She froze midstride when she realized she’d walked into a tense moment. Her frown melted.

“Shall I come back later?” She jerked a finger behind her shoulder.

“No,” I said, at the same time Charlie said, “Yes.”

Charlie took one look at me, probably realizing I needed her in that moment.

“Just kidding.” He forced out a smile. “Come in, angel.”

Cautiously, she made her way in and took his hands in hers, squeezing them tight. My eyes landed on where their skin touched, and I wondered what it said about me that I was jealous of a dying man because Daphne was touching him.

It says that you’re a fucking coward who doesn’t want to give this thing a chance because you’re afraid of getting hurt, as if you’re not already in shambles.

Unable to deal with my own bullshit and with the tragedy unfolding in the room, I stood up and excused myself. I went outside and postponed my flight to Marrakech. I wasn’t going to board a plane tonight, that was for damn sure.

The next eight hours were passed watching my movies, going through galleries of my photos, eating my favorite food, and drinking my favorite drinks (probably should have thought that one through, since Charlie wasn’t in a condition to swallow anything other than his own saliva). I showed him pictures from my mountain-climbing adventures, and he alternated between crying and laughing. Duffy was crying too. Quietly, sitting in the corner of the room and looking at us in awe. I couldn’t understand how this self-proclaimed gold digger ended up having a heart of gold, but somehow, she did.

Nurses and doctors breezed in and out of the room, checking in on Charlie. They didn’t offer us much information, just sympathetic looks, which was how I knew we were close to the end.

Eight hours after I arrived, Charlie’s pain became unbearable. He stopped talking altogether and only smiled or nodded in response to everything around him.

“All righty, darling. I think it is time to up your morphine levels. Nod to confirm I can jack it up.” Duffy walked over to his IV and picked up a red button that was hooked to it. Charlie gave a faint nod. I watched, fascinated. I’d never seen anyone die. Least of all one of my parents.

She pressed the button, then sat on the edge of his bed, taking his hands in hers. She rubbed a spot with her thumb, smiling calmly. “You’re okay, Charlie.”

He nodded weakly again. My throat tightened, and my eyes burned. Even if he wasn’t okay, he could no longer open his mouth and ask for help.

A lone tear rolled down his cheek. Duffy was kind enough not to acknowledge it.

“Shall I prop you up a bit more?” she cooed sweetly. “Might help with your lungs.”

This time his nod was barely visible. She pushed a button on the side of his bed and helped him into a full sitting position. His head lolled sideways.

No functioning muscles.Duffy grabbed one of the many flat pillows lying around and secured it around his neck to keep him steady.

And that was it. I knew Charlie would die in the next hour. That there were a lot of things to say, and that none of them would be said. He was taking the answers to all my questions to his grave. If I’d been more forgiving, more open, I could’ve known more. As it was, my origin would always be largely a mystery to me.

Sensing the same thing I did—that Charlie was in the process of passing away—Duffy stood up. She leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“Goodbye, sweet friend. Thank you for being my family away from home. Thank you for giving me the most precious thing one could give—time. And thank you for the man you became. I know you have your regrets, but I can assure you, Charlie—you’re up there with Tim. A man worthy of restoring a little girl’s faith.”

She rubbed at his cheek, smiled, kissed his head, and withdrew. A moment later, her hand found my shoulder.

“I’m going to get some coffee for us. Would you like anything to eat?”

I shook my head absently, still amazed that Charlie’s looming death was hitting me this hard, along with the realization that Daphne was the loveliest person one could perish in front of. Caring, loving, sweet, and warm. She was everything I’d wished my mother was.

She was everything my mother could have been, had she been alive.

And just like that, with the reluctant forgiveness I granted my no-show dad, I also came to the realization my life was one poor decision by my mother away from being completely different.

My abandonment issues, my fear of loss, my anger—all gone. And maybe, if everything was so fluid, so fragile, it was better to spend time being grateful for the people you did have in your life than resenting those who were absent from it.

Duffy closed the door behind her gently. If there was a DO NOT DISTURB sign for hospital rooms, I bet she’d have put one on our door. She was clearly desperate for Charlie and me to have some kind of a resolution.

Charlie blinked my way, the simple movement slow and labored.

“Hey,” I said.

His gaze dropped to my hands. I had my elbows on my knees, and I was crouching forward, toward him. My stare followed his. My jaw ticked.

He wanted me to hold his hand.

I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to forgive him, to touch him, to love him, to hurt because he was hurting. But somehow, without permission, he’d managed to make me feel all those things.

Reaching out, I placed my hand over his, clasping it firmly. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the morphine—hell, maybe it was the dying—but I swear I felt him shaking underneath me.

I choked on my saliva, willing the words to leave my mouth, knowing that I meant every single one of them.

“I forgive you,” I heard myself say, and underneath my hand, he began shaking harder. His whole body trembled, his eyes clinging to me so hard he didn’t dare blink. “I’m not making excuses for you, but you were young and extra-fucking stupid—the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree, by the way. I was a goddamn demon in my twenties.” I squeezed his hand in mine. “Besides, I still can’t commit to a girlfriend at thirty-seven, so I’m not one to criticize anyone in that department.”

Though Duffy hadn’t asked to be my girlfriend. She hadn’t asked me to be my anything.

Charlie stopped trembling. His eyelids slid shut, even though I could see he was fighting to stay awake.

“Don’t fight it, Charles. It’s okay. We all have our day. And you had a good run.” I licked my lips, watching his expression as it became horrifyingly neutral. “I bet if she were alive, she’d forgive you too.”

His hand became cold as circulation stopped flowing. Everything turned slack and lifeless. The pale became paler—other than his lips, which took on a blue hue.

I was there in the most intimate moment of his life. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I stayed still when he flatlined, holding his hand when he slipped from the living to the dead. It was hard to make sense of what I was feeling. In a way, I was grateful for the journey with him. In another, I despised him for putting both of us through it.

A nurse rushed into the room a few moments after his EKG had signaled his loss of life. I slipped my hand away and sat straight.

“I’m sorry about your father,” she said quietly, buzzing in someone with another one of the endless buttons by Charlie’s bed.

“What makes you think he was my father?” I eyed her.

She looked between us, confused. “Oh, sorry, I thought .?.?.”

“He was,” I interjected, and I realized that weirdly enough, today, he did feel like my dad. “You’re right. He was.”

Duffy opened the door, looking ashen. Her eyes were red, and her shoulders were slumped. She’d never looked more beautiful than she was right here, in front of me.

“Oh, Riggs.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she cupped her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

That night, Duffy and I went home together, stumbled into her bed together, and had sex together. We both needed that, and the excuse was there—we were broken, we were hurt; if there ever was a chance to make one last mistake, it was tonight. Besides, sex was the antithesis of death. It symbolized life. Lust. Passion. Warmth.

We touched slow, we kissed slow, we loved slow.

When the sun rose and I woke up—now truly orphaned, no second chances, no returns, no surprises—Duffy wasn’t in bed.

I strolled out of her bedroom shirtless, scrubbing the sleep from my eyes. She stood in the kitchen, making us both oatmeal and fruit.

She swiveled to the sound of my approaching feet. She wore an oversize shirt of mine and threw a small smile my way. “Hey, you. How’d you sleep? Hope you’re hungry.”

I could tell by the look in her eyes that she thought last night was a reconciliation. I should’ve made it clear that it wasn’t. The hope swimming in her irises was about to be doused with gasoline.

“Let’s talk.” I tilted my head toward the couch.

She followed me to the sofa, sitting primly with her hands crossed in her lap. I was going to miss her stance. The little, disapproving purse of her lips. Her sarcasm, and goodwill, and quirky fascination with waffles. But it had to be done. I couldn’t go around getting hurt by people. Sticking around, making sacrifices, only to be disappointed. Plus, Duffy was a high-risk investment. Women who were after money were after power, and there would always be someone with more power in their vicinity. I didn’t want to spend my life trying to keep her.

“I’m boarding a plane to Morocco today.”

Her facial expression didn’t change, other than one minor flinch. “Of course. You said you have work there. Maybe when you get back home—”

“I have no home,” I said, cutting into her words. “This is your apartment, not mine. In fact, I’ve outstayed my welcome. We’ve already filed our application, complete with all the necessary proof that we live together. No point in prolonging the inevitable.”

“You’re moving out?” Her mouth slacked. Micko used the opportunity to jump on the couch and settle in the small gap between us, shifting her glare left and right to see who’d be the first to pet her.

I rubbed behind her ear absentmindedly. “Don’t worry about Micko. Winnie wants her. Arsène is going to kill me, but I know she’ll take good care of her.”

Besides, Arsène had always wanted to kill me. Nothing new under the sun.

“Wh-where will you stay in New York?” She blinked.

“Christian’s. Arsène’s. The usual.” I stood up, knowing that every moment I stayed brought me closer to changing my mind and begging her for a chance. “Don’t worry about the interview, though. I’ll be there, and we’ll ace it. All right?”

I could tell she was in shock. I could also tell that I was fucking in love with this woman. Seeing her hurt destroyed me so thoroughly I was surprised I was still able to stand on my two feet. I felt like my soul had been pulled from my body by a rusty rake and tossed into the depths of hell.

But that was exactly why I had to leave.

I was in love with a woman who wanted an arrangement.

And me? I wanted the whole fucking deal.

“So it’s over?” She rose up slowly. “You and me?”

Say no. It’s not. Grab her. Kiss her. Throw your heart on the line. Be a fucking man, Riggs. You’ve climbed mountains. You’ve braved rain forests. Do it, goddammit.

“This has no future.” I motioned between us, my tone dead. “You knew that.”

Her eyes roamed my face wildly. Whatever she was searching for—doubt, second thoughts, regret—she didn’t find it.

“Yeah.” She licked her lips, averting her gaze. “I guess you’re right.”

Kill me now.

I went over to my pile of clothes and started thrusting them one by one into my backpack. Grabbed a white henley and put it on, then shoved my feet into my boots.

I couldn’t look at her. Hell, I couldn’t even stand her looking at me.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” I felt her eyes following my movements.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”

“Did you get the blood work results? And if so, what were they?”

I stopped, a balled pair of pants still in my fist. I looked up and smiled at her sadly. “I’m not a carrier of the disease. I actually spoke to a specialist. He said the migraines were likely due to elevation issues from being a mountain climber.”

Her frame drooped with relief. “That’s good to hear. Thank you for telling me.”

“Thanks for caring.”

“Course I care, Riggs.” She looked away so I wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “I’ll always care. I want you to know that. You’ll always have a home in me. No matter where you’ll be.”

This was torture. Plain torture.

“And .?.?.” She inhaled shakily. “If you need any money .?.?. well, I still have some savings.”

I stared at her, flabbergasted. “Huh?”

“Yeah.” She pretzeled her fingers, looking embarrassed to offer. “I mean, it’s not much, but whatever I have is yours. I know those medical bills can pile up.”

“And how will you afford rent?” I asked, fascinated. The woman who was obsessed with money had just offered to give me whatever was left of her measly fortune.

“I won’t.” She bit on her lip, moving around the small apartment, helping me look for belongings of mine. “I’ll crash at Laura’s. Don’t worry, she owes me plenty of favors.”

“You’re a terrible gold digger.” I sighed, thinking it’d be so much easier if she was actually good at being a heartless bitch.

“I know.” She smiled delicately. “It’s ridiculous. I wish they gave classes.”

This charade had gone on long enough. I couldn’t fucking do it anymore. I was about to do something that’d earn me a place in the Dumbasses Hall of Fame, a Guinness record, and possibly an I’m a moron hat.

“Oh, shit.” I pressed my forehead to the cool wall, shaking my head on a chuckle. “You’re really going to make me do it.”

“Make you do what?” She blinked, confused.

I looked up, ripping the words out of my mouth before I could change my mind. “I’m Victor Bates’s grandson. The grandfather I told you about. That’s him. The so-called American Armani. I’m rich. Filthy rich. One-point-three-billion-dollars rich, to be exact.”

She stared at me. The air stood still.

“You’re joking, right?” she choked out once she’d found her voice again.

I threw my arms out in a What-can-you-do? motion.

“I’m rich, which makes you rich. In fact, after this is all over”—I signaled between us—“you’ll be entitled to half of what’s mine. And I’m not going to fight you on it. You’ll be welcome to every penny. Please, please take that into consideration if you ever think of going back to Cocksucker. You deserve better. So much fucking better. And now you don’t need his money. You have mine. Just .?.?.” I drew in air. “Next time you fall in love, do it with someone who deserves you.”

She stared at me with so many conflicting emotions I couldn’t tell them apart. Shock. Hurt. Anger. Sympathy.

“But why—”

“Because back then you were just a woman who wanted to marry her way up,” I explained. “You meant nothing to me. Now you mean something.” Everything. “Something that’s much more than the number in my bank account. I’ll leave you my accountant’s number. He’ll fix you up with a generous allowance so you’ll be comfortable while you wait for the visa and find a job. Enough for a swanky apartment, for a closetful of designer clothes, and no need to work ever again.”

I’d just given up half my fortune, and instead of feeling like an idiot, all I felt was dull anger and a lot of fucking pain for leaving this woman. She was going to suck every penny out of the arrangement, and I’d have no one but myself to blame.

The worst part was—I wanted her to have it. Wanted her to have nice things, to live the luxurious life she’d always dreamed of. I wanted her to shove it in her ex-classmates’ faces.

“Riggs.” She started toward me, no doubt wanting to thank me for making her minted and soon to be the proud owner of a green card. Poppins had impeccable manners. But I didn’t want to hear it. I seized my backpack and photography equipment.

“I’ll see you on October twenty-second.”

“Wait!”

I pressed my lips to her forehead and rushed out before she could utter the words.

I didn’t want her thank-yous.

I wanted all of her, every single piece. Especially the one she’d put up for sale—her heart.