Page 63 of Hard Rock Heat
Ithurt.
I knew my father was depressed. That was a given. I didn't need an official diagnosis to recognize all the signs. I wouldn't have been able to get a diagnosis anyway. He refused to go to a therapist. Refused any kind of treatment. I really thought when my sister and I moved out, when he wasn't confronted with the face of the woman he'd lost every single day, he might startrecovering.
I'd been too hopeful. Naive. Depression as severe as my dad's rarely just went away on its own. If he would even agree to just see to somebody, a counselor or a therapist, if he just had some outlet where he could talk about hisfeelings…
But he hated talking about Mom. He changed the subject every time the accident came up. I understood that it might be too painful for him, but it was unhealthy to let an emotional wound fester likethat.
And it was getting worse. In the last few weeks, I'd seen a downswing in his mood. He said fewer than a handful of words when I delivered him his food. He could barely look me in the eye, just like it has been when I was a teenager. I'd begun to dread my visits even more thanusual.
I didn't know why I still tried. Nothing ever changed. But that kernel of hope inside me just wouldn't die. I always thought that maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time he would look at me and smile, pride in his eyes at one of my accomplishments. Maybe this time he would ask about Hope, wanting to know how she was doing. Maybe one day he'd put on a nice suit and take us all out to dinner, where we'd tell stories about Mom, and laugh and crytogether.
Instead, he sat alone in his house, refusing to interact with the world, unable to take care of himself, slowly witheringaway.
And Hope knew nothing about it. I was the one to take on the burden of caring for him, even thought I was the last person on earth he wanted tosee.
That was okay. Hope didn't need to know. She didn't need to deal with all that. What good would it do for the both of us to be saddled with that responsibility? No, as bad as I knew it was, this was one secret I was more than happy to keep tomyself.
I'd just returned to my show when my phone pinged. My stomach both dropped and fluttered at the same time. I snuck a peak at it. It was fromDamon.
I'm sorry, was all itsaid.
A million different answers flicked through my mind. I held my phone in my hand, staring atit.
For which part?I finally wroteback.
For storming out on you. For freaking out. I never wanted you to see me likethat.
I thought about my reply for a fewmoments.
Are you often like that?Iasked.
No,he wrote backimmediately.
You scared me,I admitted.It wasn't just because you went off. It was also because I was worried about what you might do. Worried that you might have gone after your father and done something bad. And then you went silent for days. You didn't even contact Ian. You can't just do that. You need to talk things out when you'reupset.
I knew firsthand what happened what happened when someone refused to deal with theirfeelings.
I know,he wrote.That's why I'msorry.
Apology accepted,Iwrote.
I want to seeyou.
Ihesitated.
Even though he had scared me, I could almost understand it. Getting physical with his father to throw him out, that wasreasonable.
Punching walls and doors, the anger and shouting, that was something else. I didn't know if I could get past that. That kind of behavior was a redflag.
But Damon didn't act like that all the time. Or at all, really. He was annoying, and impulsive and yes, downright infuriating at times. But he could also be thoughtful. Funny. Sweet,even.
Not to mention goddamn sexy. I could barely control myself around the man. I was like a cat inheat.
I hatedit.
I lovedit.
Damon Drake had flipped my world upside down and I didn't know how to handleit.
