Page 378 of Branded
That had me blinking, looking away from my son and back to my father.
“She loved you so much,” my dad said. “I tried to do the same for you.” His eyes held mine. “I couldn’t.” A beat. “And I still can’t.”
I inhaled, Cas’s hand spasmed, his body going taut, and I hated that my father’s words still had the power to hurt.
“Right,” Cas growled, drawing me to the couch, scooping Ethan up. “We’re done.”
My father just said, “I can’t love you.”
“You’re not nice.”
Blinking, I realized that Ethan wasn’t asleep, that he was sitting up, staring at my father.
“Grandpa Ace is nice,” Ethan said, grabbing his blanket and moving to my side. “And he only says nice things about my mom. He says I’m lucky to have her and to be nice to her”—my eyes stung—“and you’re not nice. You’re not like Grandpa Ace.”
Something sharp across my father’s face, and I opened my mouth, ready to order Cas to take Ethan outside.
“You’re right,” my father said. “I’m not nice.” A beat. “And I’m not like your grandpa.”
“Let’s go,” I whispered to Cas, who nodded, took Ethan’s hand, and turned to the door.
“But you’re a good boy, Ethan.” There was something broken in his voice that drew my gaze. Despite the pain, the old hurts, the shittiness of this situation, the ravaging need to go. “I wish I could be that man.” His eyes held mine, and for the first time ever, I saw regret instead of anger and grief. “And your Grandpa Ace is right. You’re lucky to have your mom.” He looked away, gaze going to the wall. “Remember that.”
My lungs were tight, heart pounding.
Then Cas’s arm was around my waist, drawing me away.
“Dad,” I whispered.
He met my gaze. “Don’t waste time looking back, Julie. Just live your life.” A rasping cough that was a powerful reminder of the cancer riddling his insides. “And let an old man wallow in his regrets.”
Said in a cold, harsh tone.
But the words…they didn’t undo everything.
Hell, they didn’t really undo anything.
But they did allow me to nod.
And to walk out the door.
Epilogue
Cas, Six weeks later
I was glad that the news of her father’s death came when I was home.
Jules leaned on me.
Not by curling into my chest and crying, by growing depressed, or losing herself for long periods of time. She went on with her days, with her busy life. But she was vulnerable and retrospective and quiet. So, I’d been there to feed her, to watch after Ethan, to make sure she had time to process her feelings rather than burying them and having to deal with life’s heavy like she’d had to do way too many times over the last years.
I wanted to make sure she had space for her emotions, that she could cry if she needed.
But all she wanted was time with me and Ethan, time with her family.
Much like she’d wanted in the hours and days after the visit home.
Worried that she’d returned to life—to work and school and our various groupings of hockey and biological families—I’d talked to Hazel. The team’s sports psychologist was solid, and while grief wasn’t her specialty, she’d advised me to just be there, to lend an ear, and to watch out for Ethan.
