39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Roman

W alking into the hospital to visit my dad with Lianna feels surreal. She follows me, a bright smile on her face, all the way to his room. It’s so fucking weird to me that she likes him so much. But maybe it’s just part of the job. He’s been here longer than we thought he’d be—over a week now—but they’re hopeful he’ll be able to go back home soon.

The second we step through the door, she rushes to his side. “Good morning, Richard. Are you feeling better today?” He grunts at her, but she doesn’t let that stop her. “I hear you get to go back home soon. Won’t that be great?”

“Where’s Rome?” he slurs . Fuck me.

For the first time since I got to town, I decide to tell him who I am. I walk cautiously to his bedside. “I’m here, Dad.”

He squints at me, confused. “You’re not Rome. He’s just a little boy.”

I expected it, knew it was coming, but goddamn, it still hurts. It shouldn’t. I’m surprised that it does, even, but I can’t deny it. Alexis warned me that coming back here—seeing him—would bring back bad memories. I was prepared for that. What I didn’t prepare for was the utter devastation of him not even knowing who I am.

“Richard,” Lianna says gently. “This is Roman. He’s all grown up now.” Her voice is kind, but firm, and I appreciate the effort, but I’m not sure it will make any difference. He looks back at me, tilting his head to the side, his eyes narrowing like he’s really considering what she said. I hold my breath, hoping for a spark of recognition. But it never comes.

“That’s okay,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if I’m saying it to her or him.

“Same eyes,” he murmurs. “Same eyes as my Rome.”

Oh fuck, I can’t do this. “Sorry. I… I can’t—” I stammer, turning away from him quickly, practically running out of the room.

In the hallway, I sit down, burying my face in my hands. I want Beck. But he’s working and it wouldn’t be right to call him for this. I need to pull it together. I’m a grown man—I can manage this on my own.

Lean on me. I want you to.

Fuck. My hands shake as I drop them from my face and pull my phone from my pocket. There’s no guarantee that Beck will be able to respond, but I promised I’d try.

Me

I came to see Dad. I need you.

I don’t expect a response. But one comes through almost immediately.

Beck

Where are you?

I glance at the room number and text it to him, then set my phone down beside me, bringing my knees up to my chest and resting my forehead against them. I focus on drawing deep breaths in, trying to hold myself together.

“Roman.” Beck’s voice is an instant balm to my soul. I lift my head, my eyes finding him easily as he strides down the hallway toward me. His worried eyes are glued to me, his steps quick as he rushes down the hall in my direction. I stand as he approaches, and his arms find their way around me in seconds. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I nod, but the words won’t come out right away. He runs his hands up and down my back, the motion calming me enough that I can speak. “He doesn’t know who I am. Why do I even care?”

He hums softly. “I think that’s probably normal, but I’m almost certainly not the right person to ask. Please stop me if I’m overstepping, but have you talked to your therapist?”

“Yes and no. I’ve mostly talked to her about you, and I’ve tried to pretend the shit with Dad wasn’t bothering me.”

“Roman,” he admonishes.

“I know, I know. I’ll talk to her. I just… I thought it wasn’t a big deal. That it wouldn’t bother me. But it does. Fuck ,” I choke out, fighting hard to keep the tears at bay.

“Talk to her, beautiful. Okay? We’re good. We’re solid. You don’t need to worry about that. Promise me you’ll talk to her.”

“I promise.” He pulls back and presses a gentle kiss against my temple. “Thank you for coming to me. I’m sorry I bothered you at work.”

“You’re never a bother. I did run out of the ER like my ass was on fire, though, so I should probably head back. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I think I’m going to go back home. I can’t stay here with him.”

“That’s understandable. Oh, and maybe text Holden. He saw me take off like a bat out of hell, and when he asked what was wrong, I just yelled your name across the ER like a fucking moron.” He chuckles, pink dusting his cheeks. “I’m actually a little surprised he didn’t follow me.”

“Nah, he knows you’ve got me.” He inhales a shaky breath, his eyes widening a little at my words. I know he struggles with Holden, but I also know that he’s going to love him. Eventually. He just needs to see that Holden isn’t a threat—that he’s not less than.

He gives me a soft, fleeting kiss before turning to head back the way he came.

He gets a few feet away before he suddenly turns, wringing his hands together nervously. “Do you think?” He hesitates, then starts again. “Would you want to come have dinner with me and Mom and Dad next weekend? I know they’d love to see you. And I… I need to tell them about us.”

Oh shit, I bet they hate me. “Is that a good idea? Won’t they hate me?”

He shakes his head. “Not a chance. They were just as worried about you as I was when you left. Dad searched for you for months.”

Oh. That sends a pang of… something through my chest. I reach up, rubbing the spot lightly. As stupid as it sounds, I really didn’t think my leaving would have any effect on them. “Okay, yeah. I’d like that.”

The smile Beck gives me makes me weak in the knees before he turns and heads back down the hallway.

I’m a nervous wreck as I walk up the familiar path to Beck’s mom and dad’s house—the place I used to call home. He gives me a reassuring smile with a gentle squeeze to my hand, but it does nothing to calm me down. My stomach is in absolute knots, the urge to vomit so strong I have to focus hard on breathing deeply so I don’t.

Beck leans in close as we approach the door. “It’s okay, Roman. It’s going to be fine.”

He opens the door without knocking, pulling me inside behind him. Can someone die from the stress of re-meeting their boyfriend’s parents? If so, it’s a miracle I’m not dead on the floor right now. “Mom, Dad, we’re here!” he calls out.

Lydia’s questioning voice echoes from the kitchen. “We?”

I turn to Beck, new panic surging through me. “You didn’t tell them I was coming?” I hiss under my breath.

He shrugs. “It’s going to be okay. Come on.”

Holy fuck, what did I get myself into?

We round the corner just as I’m about to pass out from lack of oxygen. Lydia lifts her head, her eyes shifting between Beck and me, and then they drop to our joined hands. She smiles. “I knew you wouldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, Beck.”

He shrugs again, but I’m frozen in place. I’m not sure the significance of the phrase or if it’s a good or bad thing. Lydia looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Well, are you just going to stand there all night, or are you going to come give me a hug?”

I blink in surprise before letting go of Beck’s hand and stumbling toward her. She meets me halfway, pulling me into a fierce hug. “I’m glad you’re back, darling. You’re safe?”

“Yes,” I whisper, soaking in her motherly affection.

“Good. I’m glad. Danny will be so happy to see you.”

My nose burns and I swallow hard, trying to shove down the lump forming in my throat. She releases me, then pats me gently on the cheek. “Welcome home.”

Danny’s booming voice sounds from the other room. “I’m home!”

Lydia smiles and calls out, “Get in here. I have a surprise for you.”

Danny rounds the corner, stopping in his tracks when he sees me. “Damn, kid. It’s good to see you alive and well.”

“It’s good to see you too,” I say, a grin tugging at my lips.

After the initial awkwardness, things settle. Lydia made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. It’s been so long since I’ve had a home-cooked “mom” meal, that I devour everything on my plate in record speeds, barely even speaking until I’m stuffed full and pushing my plate away. Beck hasn’t let go of my hand once, opting instead to use his left hand to eat.

“I made banana bread earlier, if anyone is interested in dessert,” Lydia says.

Beck makes a fake gagging sound next to me, and Lydia rolls her eyes.

Danny pats his stomach. “I’ll have some.”

Lydia turns to me, her eyebrow raised. “I couldn’t possibly eat another bite,” I groan, my full stomach rebelling at even the idea of eating anything else, even though I may sweet talk her into letting me take some home.

She winks at me. “No worries. I’ll just have to pack some up for you to take with you.”

Beck scoffs, shaking his head. “Back for five minutes and already spoiled.”

Lydia laughs. “Like you could say no to that face.”

Beck barks out a loud laugh. “Yeah, no. I definitely can’t. Try as I might.”

Beck and I are trying to take things slow. I stayed the night after our last date, but since then, we’ve been trying to spend time together while also keeping a healthy level of separation. We don’t always manage, though. I’ve shown up at his house in the middle of the night to cuddle more times than I care to admit. But we are trying. So after dinner with his parents, he drops me off at home with a sloppy kiss that seriously tempts me to say fuck slow and beg him to take me home. But he and Holden both have worked a lot this week. He deserves a night to himself. A couple of people at the hospital have been out sick, and Hold actually picked up a shift for tonight, even though he hates working nights.

So, I felt obligated to stay home. Just in case Dad needed anything. I appreciate everything Holden has done for me and for him, but at the end of the day, it’s my responsibility.

I head to my room and climb into bed. I’m not sure how easily I’ll be able to sleep, knowing it’s just me and Dad here tonight, but at some point I’m going to have to put on my big boy pants and deal with it. I’ve been talking to Alexis more about it. She assures me that what I’m feeling is completely normal, while giving me space to get my thoughts out. Hell, during one session, she just listened while I cried. I think a big part of my issue is not that Dad doesn’t remember me, but that in not remembering me, there’s no chance of us reconciling our relationship. I didn’t think I even wanted to reconcile our relationship, but my head’s a fucking mess about it. Alexis assures me that that too, is normal.

I lie back against my pillows with a sigh, pulling my phone out to look through my photos with Beck. His smiling face is my favorite thing in the world. I flip through the gallery, my heart fluttering at the sparkle in his blue eyes. He looks well-rested. I didn’t realize just how tired he looked until I saw that almost boyish spark return. The happiness. God, he used to radiate pure joy. I used to be so envious of that, and then he swept into my world and made me radiate joy too—at least for a little while.

The silence shatters when my dad yells my name. Loudly. For a second, the familiar panic floods me, freezing me in place. My eyes dart to my door to make sure my deadbolt is locked. But I’m not a kid anymore, and he can’t hurt me. So I fling the blankets off with a sigh and head toward his room.

I step through his open door, and his eyes shoot to me. “Rome?” he asks. For a second, I’m convinced he’s out of it, but he’s staring right at me—like he actually knows who I am. “Rome, thank God you’re here. I need you.”

My heart pounds as I cautiously approach his bed. His stomach is unnaturally round under the blankets due to the fluid building up again. Dr. Williams said that unfortunately his body can’t handle it being drained, at least not yet.

“Dad?” I croak when I’m standing next to him.

A yellowed hand pats the spot next to him. “Sit, please sit.” I hesitate, but after a moment I do as he asks. What harm could a dying man do to me at this point?

I look down at him. No matter how many times I’ve seen him like this, it never gets easier. “What do you need?” I try to keep my voice low. Not because I’m afraid of him—not really. But fuck, he looks so bad. It doesn’t feel right to raise my voice at a dead man walking.

His eyes fill with tears. “I’m so glad you came home.” I almost roll mine, managing to quell the urge at the very last minute. Here we go again. He’s lucid for all of five minutes, and he’s already going the sob-and-apologize route. At least this time there won’t be a drunken attack following it, so that’s something. I thought that him not remembering me hurt, but maybe it’s a case of you always wanting what you can’t have. Because if it’s all the same, I’d rather he not know who I am if he’s going to be pulling the same old shit with me.

I don’t really have anything to say—nothing that will be kind, anyway—so I just nod.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve said that hundreds of times. I know I failed you—” His words cut off in a violent coughing fit. He’s been doing that a lot lately. It freaked me out at first, but Holden assured me it’s normal—a complication of the fluid building up and putting pressure on his lungs.

When he catches his breath, he grabs my hand. It makes my skin crawl. I want to pull away, but a tiny voice in the back of my head is telling me not to anger him, so I don’t. Tears spill down his sunken cheeks. “I wanted to be a good dad. I was, I think, for a while, right? We used to have fun.”

He turns to look at me, so I nod. “Yes.”

He closes his eyes. “I wasn’t always this way, but the fighting, the abuse… and then the accident. The accident changed me. And then you brought that boy home, and his daddy is a cop. Don’t you understand?”

The accident? Maybe he’s not as lucid as I thought. “I don’t think anything you did to me was an accident, Dad.”

He shakes his head. “No, not you. Your mother.”

Well, that clears up nothing. Is he losing his mind, or is he really trying to play off all the years of abuse as some kind of accident? “I wanted to keep you safe. Didn’t want you to see it. She was mean. Hateful. She didn’t want me to sing to you or read you stories. She didn’t want you.”

I pull my hand from his. “I don’t need to hear this. Why do you always try to hurt me? Why can’t you ever just let me be happy?”

His eyes fly open. “I want you to be happy.”

I stand to leave. “You have a real fucked up way of showing it.”

“Please, don’t leave. Please stay.”

I pause, drawing in a deep breath, and sit back down. “What accident?”

“She was always so mad. Yelling at me. Hitting me,” he whispers.

I scoff, unable to resist the eye roll this time. “Sure, she was a real abusive bitch. Funny thing is, I only remember one of you ever hitting me.”

His eyes drop, a distant look on his face, and I hesitate. I remember yelling, screaming, cuddling with my rabbit to block it out. He can’t be telling the truth, though, right? What’s the justification for beating your kid after you’ve been through that yourself?

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he whispers.

It takes me a second to register what he said, and when I do, I break out in a cold sweat, my stomach dropping out. “What?” I choke out, panic clawing at my chest.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “She was… she was hitting me, Rome. She wouldn’t stop. I… I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I wasn’t. But she kept… coming. She just kept coming.”

“Stop. Stop it,” I snap, my voice rising. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“I only wanted her to stop. I wanted her to quit. I didn’t mean to hurt her. But I pushed her away. To make her stop…” His voice trails off as a shuddering sob leaves his throat. My fingers are numb. Why are my fingers numb? “She fell. There was so much blood. Her eyes… her eyes were… I didn’t mean to. You have to believe me,” he cries.

My breath catches in my throat, bile rising quickly. I swallow hard, trying to choke it down. He grabs my arm. His grip is weak, but I can’t pull away. My body is shutting down, terror spreading through my veins.

“I tried to fix it, but there was… there was too much blood. And her head. Her head was… Please, I’m sorry—you have to believe me, Rome.” His brown eyes, so much like my own, are locked on mine. Pleading. Begging for understanding.

“Stop,” I gasp. “Please stop. You’re lying. Stop lying,” I beg, my throat closing up in my panic. I can’t breathe. Oh fuck, I can’t breathe.

“I couldn’t let anyone find out. That boy’s daddy was a cop. He would have known, Rome. He would have found out. Don’t you understand?”

I understand nothing . He killed my mom. Oh my fucking God, he killed my mom. Beck. I need Beck. I need Beck.

I force myself to stand, stumbling to my feet. My stomach is so sick that a wave of nausea hits me, making me gag. I need Beck. My feet barely carry me to the door, and I slam my shoulder off the door frame. I know it should hurt, but I don’t feel it. I rush through the house. I have to get to Beck. He’ll know what to do.

When the cool night air hits me, I retch again, this time actually vomiting on the porch. As soon as my stomach calms enough that I can move, I stumble my way to my car. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely get the key in the ignition. It takes me three times to get the car started. But when I finally do, I pull out of the driveway, tires squealing. I make it five minutes before I have to pull over, gagging out of my open door.

He killed my mom.

He killed my fucking mom.

Slamming the door shut, I take off again. I have no idea how I even manage it, but the second I pull into Beck’s driveway, I throw myself from the car, not even bothering to shut it off.

I need Beck.

Just a few more feet and I can fall apart.

Almost there.

I beat on the door, over and over. I might be screaming Beck’s name, but I can’t tell. He’s not answering. Why isn’t he answering? I beat on the door again, and then I’m falling forward. Somebody catches me before I hit the ground. Blue eyes full of worry meet mine. I made it. Fuck, I made it. Thank God. I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a broken scream.