Page 61 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

“Okay. I’ll get your sheets changed while you’re in there, but if you change your mind, call out.”

My dad shuffles down the short hall, and I set the clean clothes on the bathroom counter for him. He mutters his thanks and once the water turns on, I walk down the hall to look for Jamieson. I find him in the kitchen, emptying the garbage and taking the pile of empty cans outside.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I don’t, but I want to. Is he okay?”

“He says he is, but I think he’s been passed out for close to two days. His mattress is soaked in piss and he’s shaking pretty bad.”

Jamieson reaches for my hand. “If you need me to do more, just ask. Anything, Griff. I’m here for you, and you don’t need to do this by yourself.”

My throat closes, and I throw myself against him, burying my nose against his neck. “Thank you,” I croak. “For…you. For this. This is the worst I’ve found him, and I’m scared.”

He rubs his hands up my back, and his arms provide strength I don’t feel right now. I never realized how much I needed someone to lean on until now. Jamieson hasn’t turned up his nose or run away screaming. He’s here for me in every capacity and I wish I had asked for his help sooner. Even if I never kissed him, he’d be here for me, and I should never have doubted that.

“I’m gonna change his bedding while he’s in the shower. If you want to grab the bags of groceries and bring them in, that would be great.”

“You got it.”

Jamie kisses my cheek and turns to head out to the truck.

“I love you.” My voice, clogged with emotion, barely squeaks out.

“I love you, too.”

The door clicks behind him, and I stride down the hall towards dad’s room, my mind whirring about the conversation we need to have. With his soiled sheets in the hamper, I spray the mattress with Lysol before placing a clean sheet and checking his comforter. It needs washing too, but that requires a laundromat. Maybe I’ll just buy him a new one and take this one back home with me to deal with.

“Griff?”

My dad’s voice sounds from the bathroom, and I hurry over to the door.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Could you come in?”

I step into the small bathroom and dad sits hunched on the toilet bowl, looking far older than his sixty-one years. “What do you need?”

“Do you think you could help me shave? I tried, but I dropped the razor and…” My dad’s bloodshot eyes well up and I notice how much more his hands are shaking since he’s been awake.

“Dad,” I whisper as I kneel in front of him and take his hands in mine. “You’re not well, and it’s okay to ask for help. But I want you to listen while I help. Can you do that?”

He remains silent but I stand and fish the shave cream from the shower and find a new razor in his cabinet. Dad never liked electric ones and hasn’t even progressed to a five-blade razor. He buys bags of disposable ones from the dollar store that have no forgiveness in the blade, and I’m scared to shave him with one.

After lathering on the foam and filling the sink with warm water, I kneel back in front of him. He’s in an early stage of withdrawal. That much I’m aware of with my research. He’s also probably still in denial. A thin sweat breaks on his skin while I shave, and I launch into the speech I prepared for him today.

“Mom isn’t coming back. I know you’re sad. I am too. We’re two amazing men she turned her back on. It’s her loss, Dad. Remember that, okay? That’s the only thing that makes it hurt less sometimes for me. That I’m amazing without her.” I scrape the razor along his face, and he closes his eyes. “I don’t fault you for turning to booze,Dad. But I want my dad to meet the special people in my life, and I want to help you.”

“I’ve been a shitty father.” His voice cracks with a deep sorrow. “Sometimes I wonder why you keep coming back.”

My hand jerks at his words. He’s never spoken like this, and I take a moment to wipe the shave cream off the side of his face while I gather my thoughts. My pre-planned speech is no longer needed.

“Because I love you. You’re my dad, and if you let me help you, we can have more years together.” Taking his hands in mine again and I squeeze and force him to look at me. “I know you don’t want to admit it, but you’re sick. I came here today to force you to listen to me.”

Dad attempts a smile, and his body shivers. I’m scared out of my mind that he might actually die before I can get him to the rehab facility that I paid for in advance. I wasted too many years leaving him like this, and I regret not being more firm over it, but it’s time.

“I have a spot at a facility in Kissing Ridge reserved for you. It’s a rehab place. You’d have your own room and access to doctors and therapists. All I need to do is make one phone call, and they’ll be on their way to pick you up.”

Dad’s shakes and shivers worsen, but there’s strength in his grip on my hand that gives me hope.

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