Page 87 of Anti Player

“How much time does he have?” I ask, trying to keep my wits about me.

“We don’t know. It could be two months; it could be a year. He’s in liver failure but he also needs to get sober.”

“Mom wants to care for him?” I ask flabbergasted. After everything he’s put her through. Put us through.

“You know Mom,” Henry says dryly. “She has a good heart. He has nowhere to go.”

“This isn’t fair,” I say. I don’t feel the tears streaming down my cheeks until they hit my lips and I taste the saltiness.

“No, it isn’t. I struggled too, Maddie. What are we supposed to do? At the end of the day, we are better humans than he ever was,” Brett argues. “I’m staying here to get him into rehab. That’s the first step. We’ll deal with his health issues as they come.”

“And Henry feels the same way?” I ask.

“He looks awful, Maddie. I know him crying and asking forgiveness isn’t new, but he’s dying. I can’t put him out now,” Henry says sadly.

“I want you leaving for Florida tomorrow,” Brett suddenly says.

“I forgot about that, shit,” I mutter. “I’m not going to stupid Florida without you. How can I vacation while you’re there dealing with our father? I’m coming home.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Brett counters. “You have Asher to worry about. He doesn’t have to witness this darkness.”

I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“My head is spinning. I can’t think right now but I can tell you I’m not going to Florida. I’ll need you to cancel our flights and hotel,” I say to Brett.

“Fine,” he says, but he doesn’t sound happy. Then he exhales. “Take your time, Maddie. I didn’t know if I wanted to help the old man. I kind of blew up at him when I first got here, and my head was spinning.”

“Until I set him straight,” Henry jokes. Henry was always a softy. “We wouldn’t let a sick animal alone on the street, and he’s our father.”

“Biologically he is, but not where it counts,” I correct Henry.

“How long are you guys staying in Michigan?”

“At least a week,” Henry replies.

“Okay, I just need to wrap my head around this,” I admit.

“Tell me if you want me to book flights for you and Asher. There’s no way you’re driving here in that old van of yours,” Brett states, being his bossy self.

His kindness makes me laugh.

“Thanks, Brett. I’ll be in touch soon,” I promise.

“There is no right answer,” Brett says. “Trust me, I was breaking my own head. I just basically asked myself, if he died tomorrow, would I feel bad for not helping?”

I sigh. “Damn, okay, I need to go, guys.”

“Sure,” Henry says. “Take care and hug Asher for me.”

“Me too,” Brett adds. “We’ll talk soon.”

With that I end the call with my brothers.

I curl my legs up into my chest and sit on the couch. My mind is reeling between feeling bad and not giving a shit. I try to remember one good memory with my father, but all I can remember is the constant disappointment, the fights he would have with Mom, and him leaving without any goodbyes.

Asher comes up to me, “Mommy, why are you crying?”

“I’m sad but I’ll be okay,” I assure him.

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