23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Roman

“ O kay, thank you. I’ll be there within the week,” I confirm as I hang up the phone. Setting it down, I turn to Holden.

“He’s dying,” I say, proud of how strong my voice sounds. I always knew this day would come, but I’m not even thirty, and now I have to go home to take care of the piece of shit who never cared to take care of me.

“Are you okay with that?” Holden asks, his soft, melodic voice washing over me.

“It doesn’t really matter if I’m okay with it, does it?”

He stands and joins me on my side of the couch, pulling his feet up and tucking them under his body. I wrap an arm around his slender shoulders, and he snuggles into my side. His comforting presence calms me down a little, but I already know I need to call Alexis and schedule a therapy session.

“So, what’s the plan, then?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.

“I guess I’ll get everything packed up and drive home,” I say.

He turns his head to look up at me. “I’m coming with you.”

“No way, Hold. You can’t just leave everything here and take off. That’s ridiculous.”

He snorts. “What’s everything? I have you and work.”

“You love your job,” I argue.

“Ro, they need nurses everywhere. I’ll find another job. If I don’t come with you, what will I do?” he asks, and I shrug. “I’ll sit here, worrying about you. That’s what I’ll do. Don’t try to fight me on this. I’m going.”

I chuckle, knowing that putting up a fight is useless. He’s definitely not one to back down, and even though I tower over him and outweigh him by at least fifty pounds, I know better than to argue.

“Okay, fine. But I’ve gotta warn you, it’ll be nothing like this. The last time I was there, his house was basically falling down. I don’t imagine it’ll be much better now.”

“Ro, are you forgetting that I was living on the streets until you came along? A falling down house is better than some of the places I’ve stayed in over the years.”

I sigh. He was living on the streets. Then he lived in my car with me. And then we lived in a one-room studio together. We’ve slowly worked our way up. I worked sixty-hour weeks to put him through nursing school. And when I said I wanted to quit my job and volunteer at a non-profit that supports abused and homeless youth, he worked his ass off to make sure I could. I’ve worked my way up the ranks and actually get paid for my work now, but that wasn’t always the case.

“You’re really just okay with leaving?” I ask, though I can practically feel his eye roll.

“Yeah, I really am. You’ve been my constant for the last ten years, and you’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you do this on your own.” He pauses, his body tensing. “What are you going to do if you see Beck, though?”

I don’t have an answer for that, but I’m more worried about seeing Beck than I am about my dad. Holden is probably the only person in the world who knows how much leaving Beck broke my heart. It took me almost three weeks to recover from my concussion. And even longer to recover from the surgery needed to repair my fractured orbital bone. The scar above my eye is a constant reminder of the day I left. To this day, though, my heart has never healed. “I’m not sure, honestly. He may not even be there anymore. It’s been ten years.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter. He’s probably moved on. There’s no reason to think he wouldn’t have. I was just some fucked-up kid who tore into his life and disrupted his family dynamics for a while.

“Okay, so I’ll look for some job postings. You tie up loose ends, see what you can still do remotely, and we’ll leave.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Nah, not easy, but we’ve survived worse,” he says, and I sigh again.

“I wish I could just tell the old man to fuck off, but the home health aide he has said he barely even knows what’s going on around him. I guess all the alcohol finally rotted his brain.”

Holden snickers beside me, but we both know nothing about this is funny. “Yeah, maybe. But I’ll be there to help. I’m even qualified for it,” he adds with a giggle.

“You’re not taking care of my dad, Hold. You can come with me, but that old fuck doesn’t deserve you going out of your way for him.”

He sighs heavily, and I know, without him even saying a word, that I’m not going to win that fight either.

I fire up my computer and check the time. My therapy session starts in ten minutes. I barely even need to talk to Alexis anymore. We have a monthly session on the books, but otherwise, I just get a hold of her when I need a boost or help working through something.

Going home to my abusive dad, to the town where I left the only person I’ve ever been in love with? That definitely qualifies as something I need help to work through.

I sign in to the website, enter my session code, and click join. Within minutes, Alexis’ smiling face pops up on my screen. “Good afternoon, Roman. How are you today?”

I smile back. “I’m alright.” She’s been my therapist for almost two years now. I went through a lot of them before I finally found someone I clicked with. Finding her was truly a blessing.

“So, why the early session? I was a little surprised to hear from you.”

I sigh. “Dad is dying. He’s finally drunk himself into an early grave. A home health aide called me a couple of days ago. She said he essentially drank himself into dementia, and he’s in end-stage liver failure. I don’t even know how she got my number.”

She hums but doesn’t say anything, knowing me well enough by now to know that I need to get all my thoughts out. “So now I have to go home and take care of him. Or, I guess, help take care of him.”

“Is that what you want?” she asks.

I laugh. A bitter, ugly sound. “Doesn’t matter much what I want. He may be a shit person, but I’m not.”

“No, you’re not. But one might argue that it’s not actually your job to take care of him, especially after everything he’s put you through.”

I sigh, collecting my thoughts. “No,” I say after a few minutes. “It’s not my job to take care of him, but if I don’t, no one else will. That was the story of my childhood—getting him in bed, cleaning him up, trying to keep our house from falling apart. If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t want him to go through this alone. I never did. It’s why I put up with what I did for so long. I think I’m more worried about other things, though. I didn’t just leave dad when I left. I left a whole life. A job with people I really cared about. Friends.” Beck.

“Beck?” she prompts, and I sigh.

“Yeah, Beck. Is it fucked up of me that I’m more worried about seeing him than I am about seeing my dad?”

She tilts her head. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s telling, maybe. Ask yourself why you’re more worried about seeing Beck.”

I stop, considering what I want to say and how I feel. “Part of me thinks he was better off when I left, but what if he wasn’t? I know that seeing what he did of my dad’s abuse was hard on him. He was terrified for me to go to Dad’s alone.”

She nods. “We’ve talked before about how much the shame of not listening to him affected your decision to leave instead of going back to him. Is that still something you struggle with?”

I pick at my fingers, eyes downcast. After a few minutes, I look back up. “Yeah, sometimes. Usually, I’m okay, but every once in a while, the thoughts creep in. My life would be completely different if I hadn’t left. I think I’m more scared to confront the mess I left with Beck than I am to confront the mess that is my dad. His choices were his choices, but leaving Beck—that was mine, you know? I regretted it almost immediately. But I couldn’t talk myself into going back. Part of me hopes he moved on and is happy. But then part of me hopes he didn’t. God, that sounds terrible.”

“Do you still care about him?” she asks.

“Of course I do. I loved him.” I pause, trying to choke back the emotion rising in my chest. It takes me longer than I’d like to get my shit together. “But then sometimes I question even that. If I loved him, how could I have left so easily?”

“Was it easy for you?”

It’s a question she’s asked before, many times, and the answer is always the same. “No, of course it wasn’t easy.”

She nods. “I think you made the choice you felt was right at the time. There’s no point in beating yourself up over it. You can’t change it. You were a scared kid. And you and I both know the rational mind takes a hike in high-stress situations.”

I nod slowly. This is not the first time we’ve had this conversation, or at least one like it. “I know, but fuck, I still have so much guilt about the whole thing.”

“Is your fear of seeing Beck going to stop you from going?”

I shake my head, resolute. “No, I’ve already talked to work. I’ll be doing some remote admin stuff until I get back—running our socials, coordinating the outreach program. I’m sad about leaving the kids, but I know they’re in capable hands.”

“And what about Holden?”

I smirk. “Oh, he’s coming with me. It took him all of two seconds to declare there was no way I was leaving without him.”

“I’m sure that felt like a weight off your shoulders.”

I shrug. “Or a weight added. I don’t want to mess up his life.”

Alexis hums, raising an eyebrow.

“Ugh. I know, I know. I’m not messing his life up. I felt bad about dragging him from his job, but he reminded me that hospitals everywhere need nurses. I just hate feeling like a burden.”

“And that’s valid, but you’re not a burden. Deep down, you know that. Holden wants to come with you because he cares about you. You would do the same for him, yes?” she asks.

“Yeah, of course I would.”

“There you go. He’s not doing anything for you that you wouldn’t do for him. That’s also something for you to consider. You might have a different life if you had stayed, but you also wouldn’t have Holden. You might not be helping kids like you. Furthermore, you might not even be talking to me, equipped with coping skills to handle tough situations.”

I shudder at the thought of life without Holden. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be without Holden or the kids at the center. It’s really fulfilling for me, being able to help them.”

“See? Good things did come from you leaving. You have a job you love. You get to help kids like you and Holden, and you’ve built a wonderful life for yourself.”

“Plus, if I hadn’t gotten away from my dad, I’m not convinced that I would have healed enough to do the work I do with the schools. I wish I had someone like me in my life growing up that could tell me, ‘Hey, this is fucked up, kid. You don’t need this.’ Beck tried, but I think it came a little too late. By that point, I was fucked up in the head. I mean, I really should have known better.”

Alexis hums. “I’m not sure if I like your interpretation of that. You were being abused and manipulated into thinking it was normal.”

I say nothing for a long time. This is a point she’s tried over and over to get me to accept. But I don’t feel right claiming that I did not know at seventeen or eighteen years old that having the shit beat out of you wasn’t normal. When it’s clear I’m not going to respond, she asks, “Would you tell the kids who come up to you after your talks that they should’ve known better?”

“No. Fuck no.”

She looks at me, waiting for me to make the connection. I sigh. “Fine, okay. I get what you’re saying.”

She grins at me, but then turns serious. “Is reconciling with Beck something that’s important to you?”

I nod. “Yes, I want him to know why I did what I did. I don’t know if it will change anything, but I’d still like to try.”

“And if he doesn’t want that?”

I’ve imagined seeing Beck again over and over, but never once have I considered he might not even give me the time of day for an explanation. Which, in hindsight, is pretty fucking stupid of me.

Alexis’ voice startles me from my thoughts. “Our time is almost up, but I think we should go back to weekly appointments, at least until you get settled. Think about the answer to my question in the meantime.”

My heart sinks. The disappointment I’m feeling must show on my face because she chuckles. “Weekly appointments don’t mean you’re backsliding. They mean that you’re about to return to a highly traumatic environment. It’s a precaution. You know needing extra help is not a sign of weakness, Roman. When things were going well, monthly sessions were fine. But I have a feeling you’re going to need some extra support, and there’s nothing wrong with anticipating and planning for that.”

“You’re right,” I admit after a few moments. “This time next week, then?” I ask, forcing a smile.

“Yes. We’ll talk then. But don’t hesitate to call if you need to talk sooner.”

I nod, giving her a little wave before ending the call.

I step out of the car in front of my childhood home and look around. Not much has changed. The grass is overgrown, the piles of trash are a bit bigger, and the porch is still hanging on by a thread. Holden’s soft hand slips into mine, and I turn toward him with a grin that probably looks more like a grimace than a smile. “Well, home sweet home,” I muse.

He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze, and we start walking toward the porch. The last time I was here, I made one of the stupidest choices of my life. Honestly, coming back here that last day was one of the stupidest choices I’ve ever made. No amount of therapy has convinced me that leaving Beck’s house that day wasn’t the wrong decision. I should have waited. I should have called Danny. I should have taken one look at my dad’s drunk ass, turned around, and walked out. I should have run straight into Beck’s arms when I left—broken and bloody—instead of going in the opposite direction.

“Ro?” Holden’s quiet voice breaks through my thoughts, and I realize we’ve been standing in front of the door, my grip on his hand tight.

“Sorry,” I whisper, reaching out to open the door. I step over the threshold, with Holden following right behind me. It certainly smells better in here than it did before. The house is cleaner. There’s a new—or at least newer—couch against the wall, and an armchair that definitely wasn’t here before. The most shocking change is that there’s no stench of alcohol, no whiskey bottles littering every available surface. Who knew that it would take literally being on death’s door to get the old fuck to stop drinking?

“Hello?” a voice calls from down the hallway. A woman steps into the living room from the hall, her face lighting up when she sees me. She rushes toward us. “Hi! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lianna, Richard’s home health aide. You must be Roman.”

I nod. “Yep, that’s me. And this is my friend, Holden.”

Holden drops my hand long enough to shake hers, but slips his fingers back through mine the second she lets go. I chance a glance at him and his face is impassive, calm. “Hello,” he says.

“Can we sit?” I ask. “I have a couple of questions about Dad’s condition.”

Lianna nods and leads us to the couch. “Your dad is going to be so excited that you’re here. He hasn’t stopped talking about you in weeks. I feel like I already know you,” she giggles.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as Holden snickers beside me. I turn toward him and he’s looking up at me with a smirk, his meticulously groomed eyebrow arched in disbelief. A smile cracks my lips, and a laugh bubbles in my chest that I barely manage to hold back. “I wasn’t aware that he talked about me.”

She nods with a big grin. “Oh yes, he doesn’t stop. I’ve heard so many stories about his Rome.”

I snort. “You think that him talking about me is a good thing, so I’m assuming he left out all the parts about him beating me and mentally abusing me?”

Holden bursts into laughter beside me. Alexis assures me that using humor to cope with trauma is normal, but judging by Lianna’s appalled expression, she doesn’t share the sentiment. At least Hold gets it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… I mean, no, he… I wasn’t aware,” she stammers.

“It’s fine, really. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I say with a smile in her direction. The poor woman can’t be much older than Hold. I feel bad that she’s been stuck here taking care of the old man for who knows how long. “So, what’s the damage?”

She clears her throat and sits up straighter, smoothing out her pants. “Well, like we talked about, he’s in end-stage liver failure. His liver is basically destroyed from the cirrhosis, and you can tell. The whites of his eyes are yellow, along with his skin. You really need to prepare yourself to see him like that. He’s also in a very confused mental state. He’s showing common signs of dementia, but it’s unclear if it’s true dementia or the effects of the liver failure.”

Hold gives my hand a gentle squeeze and nods. “So,” he begins. “What are they thinking in terms of life expectancy?”

Thank God he’s here because I really don’t think I could do this without him. That’s one fight I’m happy I conceded on.

She sighs. “Well, they think less than 6 months without a liver transplant.”

Holden hums thoughtfully beside me, and I glance over at him. He’s got his thinking face on—eyebrows drawn together, a slight wrinkle between them. “I’m assuming he hasn’t been sober long enough to qualify for a transplant?”

Oh. I hadn’t even thought about that. I turn back to Lianna, and she shakes her head sadly.

“No, unfortunately not. He’s only been sober for two months. Even if he lives long enough to be put on the transplant list, his body will likely be too weak to undergo surgery. Between us, I would be surprised if he made it to the six-month mark. I’m sorry.”

I wave her off because, honestly, I don’t care. Maybe that sounds callous, but I don’t. This man had the capacity to be an outstanding father, and he chose not to be. I don’t have any sympathy for him or his situation—just for the people who have to deal with the fallout. “Thank you for the information. How often are you here?”

She smiles softly at me. “I’m here five days a week. Monday to Friday. I can’t be here on the weekends, and his insurance won’t cover more than that, which is why I tracked you down. He’s gotten to the point where he needs someone here with him twenty-four-seven. If you hadn’t come, he would’ve ended up in a home.”

Well, fucking serves him right. I shake off my shitty thoughts and ask, “How did you find my contact info?”

She smiles brightly. “I found it on the website for the company you work for. Sorry about that. I had to do some digging to get it.”

I nod slowly. “Well, thank you for everything you’ve done.”

She stands, smoothing her pants again. “I’d better head out. I stayed late today to make sure I could give you any information you may have wanted.”

“No worries. Have a good evening,” I say.

The second she’s out of the door, I turn to Holden. He’s watching me like he’s expecting me to break down, but for now, I’m okay. “I’m good, Hold.”

“Well, if that changes, please let me know.”

I nod and stand, pulling him up with me. “C’mon, let’s go see the damage to the bedrooms. There’s a spare, but I have no idea what kind of condition it’s in.”

We walk down the hall, past my old room, to the spare between mine and Dad’s. I open the door, bracing myself for a train wreck, but it’s not. The bed is new, the sheets and comforter appear clean, and the room smells nice.

Holden bounds into the room, checking it out before flopping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “And you said this would be bad. I’ve slept in way worse places.”

My heart jolts at the reminder of the kid he was when I found him. I join him on the bed, lying on my back beside him, staring up at the ceiling. Within seconds, his hand finds mine again. God, I’m so glad I have him.