Chapter 11

The room we were sitting in wasn't so much a room as it was a small curtained off section of the third floor, tucked back into a corner, but at least Hershel had privacy. And his own television that he could watch while he sat in a leather recliner that looked about as comfortable as a folding camp chair, getting poison pumped into his veins for the next three hours.

Some reality baking competition played at a low volume on the TV as my fingers flew over the keys on my laptop, using the spells where my father dozed off to get some work done. I hadn't realized just how much these chemo sessions took out of him. I'd spent the first hour after he'd been hooked up to the IV trying to swallow down the lump of cement that had formed in my throat at the sight of him in that goddamn chair, a blanket draped over his lap because he couldn't seem to stay warm as the drugs worked their way through his body.

It was hard to look at him. He just seemed so fragile.

"You know, you work too much."

My head came up, my eyes colliding with Hershel's. If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, my status as a millionaire would have been catapulted to billionaire by now.

I shook off the comment, knowing he hadn't meant anything by it. "Hey. Sorry." I quickly saved the draft of the email I'd been working on and folded the top of the laptop down. "I didn't mean to wake you."

He adjusted in the chair, letting out a frustrated grunt as he tried to get comfortable. "You didn't. It's impossible to conk out for too long. Damn chair is hard enough to make my ass fall asleep."

I slid the computer into my bag and started to stand. "Do you want me to get an extra pillow? Or maybe they have a more comfortable chair somewhere. Give me a minute and I'll take care of it." It would have given me something to do, to make me feel useful. I wasn't used to feeling helpless, but that was how I felt, sitting in my father's little room, watching him receive his treatment.

He chuckled and waved me back down into my own uncomfortable chair. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine, really. You don't need to go harassing the nurses."

"Who said anything about harassing them?"

He grinned in a way that said he knew me better than that, despite all the years that had separated us. "The look on your face, for one."

I leaned back in the hard, plastic chair, bringing one ankle up and propping it over my knee as I arched a single brow.

"Not saying it to insult you, son. It's just who you are. You're intense, always have been. Even when you were a little kid."

"You mean cold." The words spilled out of their own accord. I hadn't realized I'd been thinking them until they were out there, unable to be pulled back.

My father shifted again, sitting up even straighter. "I meant what I said. Sure, intensity can sometimes be mistaken for being cold, but I know you, Vaughn. I know you aren't cold."

Unlike my mother.

I was sure he was thinking it just as I was. Because the only intense thing about Estelle Cavanaugh was her complete disdain for the human race.

I cleared my throat that suddenly felt dry and scratchy, reaching up to loosen the tie wrapped around my neck. "Yes, well, it doesn't really matter now, does it? My reputation is what it is, and I'm fine with that."

Or at least I had been.

The corners of his mouth curled upward. "What does your new girl think of your reputation?"

My brows slammed down in the center, forming a deep V. "My new girl—" I started, the confusion evident on my face, at least until I remembered the scene I'd caused in the middle of that crowded café the other day. "Oh, yes. My... girl." My tie suddenly felt like it was strangling me, but I couldn't reach up and adjust it again without giving away my discomfort. "She seems to like me just fine," I answered lamely.

I thought back to the fire that sparked in her gray eyes, that flash of anger before she hissed "You don't have any clue what you've just done." I was sure it said something not at all flattering about me that the fight in her gaze had made my dick thicken and my blood pump faster. At least until she bolted on me, running out of there like her ass was on fire. One spontaneous act in years, and it had backfired stupendously. I didn't even have her last name, for Christ's sake, and it wasn't like I could ask Bartleby for it without giving myself away.

"At least for the time being," I tacked on, because fake or not, I was sure whatever it was I felt between Calamity and me would end the same way all my other acquaintances with women ended. Horribly.

It never failed that the woman I was spending time with would get tired of how much I worked or how withdrawn I was. I'd been called a workaholic, a robot, an emotionally stunted asshole, you name it. All because I refused to change myself or my lifestyle to better fit my companion. I couldn't really blame them, though. No matter how well things started, it always went down the same road. I'd explain that work came first. They'd claim to be okay with that, then, in a matter of weeks or months, they'd change their tune. They'd want me to prioritize them more, make them feel like they mattered, and when I'd explain—rather bluntly—that was never going to happen, it was as good as over.

I'd accepted that as my lot in life. For me, there was no work/life balance. There was only work. Intimate relationships were too unpredictable. Too volatile. I couldn't control them the way I could my job. At least there I had complete control.

"I'm glad you've found someone to spend your time with."

I shot him a bland smile, tugging at the French cuffs of my shirt to hide my discomfort with the turn the conversation had taken. "I have plenty of ways to fill my time."

"You have work," he contended.

"Yes. Work that's very important and time consuming," I said more defensively than I had intended. "And have you forgotten I'm here for you? Not some random relationship that most likely won't last more than a handful of weeks."

Hershel's features softened. "I'm going to be okay, son."

That lump in my throat was getting bigger by the second. "Yes, I'm aware," I said, my tone coming off bored and mildly irritated to mask how I was really feeling. Even though I'd heard as much straight from the oncologist's mouth, it was still hard to believe it. Really and truly believe it. Especially when I sat with him as the chemicals meant to save him ravaged his body. It was the first time I'd attended one of his chemo treatments, but I knew from Millicent what would come after.

He"d be violently ill, followed by a few days where he could do little more than sleep. Then, just as he seemed to be on the mend, it would be time for another course.

As if he sensed I needed to move off the current topic, he shifted gears. Unfortunately, what he'd decided to switch to wasn't any better.

"How is your mother doing?"

I gave him a skeptical look. "You really want to know?"

He lifted one gaunt shoulder in an easy shrug. "Of course. We might not be married anymore, but we shared a life together at one time. It would be nice to know she's doing well."

I took a few seconds to really study him, looking for any signs of insincerity, but there were none. He really meant it. He wanted her to do well. To be happy. The woman had ended their marriage in a way that could have only been described as cruel. Then, years later when he'd finally managed to move on, she reared her head in order to take his son away from him. Still, he only wanted the best for her. That much was clear.

"She's... Estelle. You know how it is. No one really knows how she's doing because she can't be bothered with silly things such as emotions."

His focus trailed off, moving to the window overlooking the parking lot, but I could tell by the way his gaze became cloudy that he was too lost in thought to notice what was happening outside this cold, sterile building.

"You know, I always hoped that one day she'd meet the person she was meant to be with. The person who fit her better than I could. It was clear from the very beginning we were just too different, but I never once regretted our years together, because they brought me you. I hate the thought that she's still alone."

I ignored the tightness in my chest at his heartfelt declaration. I was really off my game today. "I think she prefers it that way, honestly. She's never really been a fan of people." That was something she and I had in common.

He let out a breath and turned back to the television. "I suppose you're right," he said, his voice carrying a hint of sadness for the woman he'd once been married to.

The silence that descended on the room only lasted a minute before the chime of Hershel's cellphone filled the air. He reached for the phone sitting on the small table beside his chair and let out an exhausted breath before placing it back down without answering.

My brows went up when I saw Leighton's name flashing across the screen. "Everything all right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. It's fine," he answered, but the way he began massaging his temples told a different story. "It's only wedding stuff. You know your sister. She can be a bit temperamental."

That was a polite way of saying she was a selfish bitch. I could feel the muscle in my jaw clench as I ground my molars together, struggling to keep my irritation from showing. "She knows where you are right now, doesn't she? Is this really the time for her to be calling and dumping wedding stuff on your plate? Besides, she's been engaged all of five minutes. Why is everything so pressing all of a sudden?"

"She claims she doesn't want a long engagement. She has her heart set on hiring a certain event planning company, but she's having some trouble nailing them down, and it's causing her a bit of stress."

Stress that she was undoubtedly dumping on the shoulders of our sick father because she couldn't be bothered to think about someone other than herself.

"Dad, this really isn't something you should be worrying about right now. I know Leighton tends to act like these things are the end of the world, but she'll survive not getting the event planner she wants."

He let out another sigh, his entire frame slumping like the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders. "She's worried it'll end up affecting her big day. You know how women get about their weddings. I told her I'd talk to the planners, see if I could smooth things out and get them on board."

Of course he had. Because his heart was too goddamn big for his own good. Especially when it came to his daughter. I couldn't believe he was even thinking about something as insignificant as wedding planners at a time like this. His focus needed to be on getting better. And Leighton needed a serious fucking wakeup call, that was for damn sure.

"You know what? I'll take care of it."

His head whipped around, his brows winging upward. I couldn't fault him for the skepticism in his expression, but if it meant taking some of the burden off of him, I'd suck it up and deal with something as stupid as a company that helped plan weddings for entitled brats.

"Vaughn, you don't have to?—"

"I want to." The lie came out easy enough. After all, I'd been doing enough of it the past few days, I'd be a pro in no time. "You just focus on your health, and I'll take care of this issue."

And hopefully get through my half-sister's thick skull in the meantime. But I wouldn't hold my breath on that one.