Page 73 of Keeping Guard
“Let’s go, boy.” Lucky jumped up and followed them out. Maybe he could claim the dog ate his homework.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“There’s something I have to tell you before we go inside.”
Peyton paused in unbuckling her seatbelt. “What’s that?”
Although they were parked in front of the doctor’s office with the car engine off, her father hadn’t moved to get out. His fingers were wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles were white.
“Oh, God. It’s worse than you told me.”
His gaze jerked toward her. “No, that’s not it. You’re not going to be happy with me, though.” He expelled a breath. “Your last year of college I had a lobectomy.”
“I don’t know what that is.” It didn’t sound good, though.
“It’s surgery to remove a lobe in the lungs.”
“Wait. What? You were sick—” she couldn’t even say the wordcancer“—had an operation, and didn’t think that was something I should know? That’s how little you thought of me?” Did he even have a clue how much that hurt?
“It wasn’t like that. You were halfway through your last year of school, and I knew you’d quit and come home.”
“Of course I would have. I would have wanted to be with you when you needed me.”
“It was only the early stage of lung cancer. I had the surgery, then chemo. It worked. I went into remission, so I figured, no harm, no foul. You were able to graduate without disrupting your last year.”
“No harm, no foul?” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. Hell, she was furious. Bitter and furious. “Did Dalton know?”
He stared at his hands as he nodded. “Yes.”
“Who took care of you after the surgery? Who drove you home afterward?” She knew the answer, but she was so angry that she wanted to make him say it to her face.
“Dalton.”
She’d had to strain to hear him say Dalton’s name. “I see.” Betrayed. That was how she felt. “Tell me this. How did the idea of me marrying him come about?” She had her suspicion on that, too.
“Does it matter anymore? You’re not married to him. He’s out of your life now.”
“Yes, it matters.”
He sighed, but she didn’t care if this was hard for him. “Dalton moved into the guestroom while I was recovering. He started talking about you, how much he respected you, how smart he thought you were. I didn’t see it then, but looking back now, I can see that he was playing me. He would ask about your future if something happened to me, like the cancer coming back. Over the two weeks he stayed, he made me promises.”
“Let me guess. That he would take care of me, that he would keep the brewery going?”
“Yes, things like that. He also said that he cared deeply for you, and that he hoped the day would come when you’d feel the same about him. He told me he was in love with you, and I believed him. He subtly, and I admit shrewdly, planted the idea that if I died, you’d be alone. I started worrying about you having someone to take care of you if I wasn’t around. He promised he wouldn’t push you into a relationship if that wasn’t what you wanted, but he asked permission to court you.”
“Dalton’s devious. He knew I’d do anything to get your approval.”
“I hate that you felt that way.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You almost made a terrible mistake because of me. I’m sorry, Peyton. I’m sorry for a lot of things where you’re concerned. I know you can’t forgive me right now, but maybe someday you will.”
Her pride took a blow that he hadn’t thought she could take over the brewery, but in his defense, this had happened when she was still in college. She could hold on to her hurt, but what would that get her? After a lifetime of not having a close relationship, they were finally finding their way to each other. That was more important than her wounded pride. Even more important was saving his life.
“I forgive you.” And she meant it. She poked his arm. “Just don’t do anything like that again, okay?”
Her father smiled at her. “I promise.” He glanced at his watch. “I guess we better go in.”
Forty-five minutes later, Peyton stared out the car window as her father drove back to the brewery. Words she’d never used before bounced around in her head.Recurrencewas the term for the cancer coming back. It was such a benign word. There should be a stronger word for it...an uglier one. The doctor had said her father had non-small-cell lung cancer. Treatments were discussed: chemotherapy, radiation therapy, a combination of treatments. How was one supposed to know what was right? The oncologist said they’d caught the recurrence early, and he’d given her father’s odds of surviving at around seventy percent. That was a number she was going to embrace. She wouldn’t allow him to be in the thirty percent group.
“It’s going to be okay, Peyton,” her father said, breaking the silence. “I’m going to fight this with everything I have.”
