Page 12 of Accidentally Forever
I winced at those thoughts, before pouring myself coffee in a to go mug, and walked out of my chef’s kitchen, through the garage, and into my favorite SUV.
The fact that I had six vehicles and two motorcycles probably showed I had a problem. But I didn’t care. Yet spending money on things that would annoy the fuck out of my parents always gave me an adrenaline rush. Nobody needed to know the McTavish family. Especially when, if things went right, I would be the last of the line.
And with that morbid thought, I revved the engine and headed to where my dad expected me. I snorted at the idea my dad truly cared as I sped down the highway. I wasn’t even sure Dad was going to remember who I was at this point.
Early on-set Alzheimer’s was a terrible disease. I gripped the edge of the steering wheel tight and forced myself to take deep breaths before moving one hand to take a sip of my coffee. I had done countless hours of research into it and knew there was no going back after these moments. We were just taking our steps one day at a time until there would be nothing left.
The doctors always mentioned that he would sometimes have angry outbursts, or rage against me for no reason. And I had always given them a placid expression. Yes, his main doctor thought I was a jerk, someone who didn’t even deserve to be there, and I didn’t care.
Because rages, cruel names, and treating someone like shit was nothing new for the McTavish family.
Coffee sour in my stomach now, I set down the half-drunk thermos before parking in the memory care center. I bypassed the valet, because of course this place would have a valet, and steeled myself for what was to come.
I didn’t even know why I was here anymore. It wasn’t as if my father had ever visited me at school functions, sporting events, or during one of the countless times that woman had sent me to the hospital. The only times they’d ever showed up was to a graduation and medal ceremony so they could look good for their rich friends. When it came to art school, they’d rolled their eyes at me and hadn’t bothered to ask about what I was doing or even my specialty.
When I had sold my first million-dollar piece, they had shown up to the showcase. Uninvited of course. They tried to use me for connections, even though they had countless ones of their own. But it didn’t matter what the McTavishes had. They always needed to gohigher on the social ladder. It was what they did after all.
Or perhaps I should say it’s whatwedid.
I was a McTavish.
It was in my blood.
And would be etched on my gravestone when the time came.
On that morbid thought, I moved toward the welcome area. The nurse up front smiled at me with those widened doe eyes, and I lifted my chin.
“Mr. McTavish. We’re expecting you. Your father is in the Great Room. If you just follow the path down the hall, you’ll find the signs for the main space. Unless you’d like me to show you the way?” she asked, her voice breathy.
I shook my head and walked past her after signing in.
The woman was gorgeous, that was for sure. But every single person employed here was beautiful. It was as if you had to have stunning looks and a pouty mouth in order to be employed here.
It was the most elite memory care center in the state, if not in the region itself. Only the best for the McTavishes. But nothing was going to keep my father alive. Part of me knew I shouldn’t care—not with what he’d done.
That part reminded me why I needed to keep my hands off Aria Montgomery. That part of me was the wretchedness that proved it was a good thing that she kept running away.
I shook myself out of that thought because I needed to be on my toes when it came to my father. His nurse came forward, a broad smile on his chiseled face. “Crew. It’s good you’re here. He’s having a good day.”
I gave the man a brittle smile before nodding. “Thanks.”
“You just let us know if you need anything. Would you like sparkling water?”
I shook my head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
The man said a few other things, but I ignored him, my gaze on my father as he stared out the window toward the Rocky Mountains.
It shocked me how he’d changed. At least physically. He wasn’t the large mountain of a man he’d once been. I was a couple of inches taller than him and broader than he’d been in his heyday, but we’d always looked alike. Something my mother had boasted about to her friends and beaten me for later. I never understood why looking at my face, a practical mere image of the man she loved, would send her to the edge.
My mother never hit my dad—at least not when I had been around. Maybe she’d done sowhen they’d first been married before I’d come along and taken his place. I wasn’t sure and I’d never asked. But she took her rage and anger out on me. Sometimes with a wooden spoon, sometimes with belts. She’d tied me up with that belt, and continued to beat me where bruises wouldn’t show. She would scream and rage and tell me how horrible I was.
And then she would glare at my father and make him say the same things. She put the belt in his hands and ordered him to do the same as she did. Each lash deeper and harder than what she’d been able to do with her strength.
And he would go along with it. He was never the first to hit me. No, he had to be forced to do it—but he’d still relished it. The same strength I held today had been in his body. I worked out and learned to fight for many reasons, but it had always started with wanting to be anything but him.
I had friends in our circles who had come from broken homes. Where people had dealt with loss, hate, or abuse. The Montgomerys were the only family I knew who seemed to be healthy and whole. They communicated, loved each other, and there wasn’t a hint of abuse or hatred. It was healthy, odd, and I had always been so damn jealous of them.
Our other friends thoughweren’t always so lucky. Only in their lives, it was the father who became the abuser. Always the father who railed and raged.
