Page 5 of Rematch
I almost shook my head. Despite the two months of dating, we still haven’t spent a night together - and Carter still hasn’t met my parents. Not because I don’t want him to, but because there’s so much going on with my dad’s health that I haven’t come to terms with yet. How am I supposed to introduce someone to my sick father when I’m still struggling to process the news?
Papa and Dad put off telling me about his diagnosis because they knew what I would do. They knew I would drop everything I was building in Philadelphia and come home. For months, they feigned smiles over the phone, lied about the medical scars I’d seen when they came to visit, and skirted around any question about Dad’s unusual lack of energy.
They didn’t tell me until after I’d finished my residency. And when they did, they told me not to come home. To continue the life I was living in Philly. But what would all of that matter if the people who gave me the opportunity to live out my dreams were suffering? What kind of person would I be to turn my back on the people who took me in when I needed it most?
I didn’t think twice about moving back home to help take care of Dad. To be by his side during his doctor’s appointments, his treatments. To help him around the house when Papa was working late or tired. To be present in the God-awful instance this disease took Dad before he was ready.
Ineededto be here.
“It’s fine, Papa,” I assured him. I jutted my chin towards the door. “Go upstairs. Try to get some sleep.”
Papa sighed. The downward curve of his lips told me he wanted to argue, but the dark bags forming under his eyes prevented him from doing so. He rose from his seat and leaned down to kiss the crown of my head.
He offered me one last weary smile before disappearing into the hallway.
I listened to the soft pad of his footsteps, tracking them up the steps and into the bedroom. While I wished he’d try to get some rest, we both knew he wasn’t.
Most nights, even the ones when I was technically on duty, he lay beside Dad and tracked each breath. With every fall of Dad’s chest, his eyes went solemn with prayers, begging for it to rise again.
Undergoing chemotherapy has taken a toll on him. The medicine made his body weak and achy. Even when he wanted to sleep, he often found himself tossing and turning or moaning in pain.
Seeing him like this, after growing up with the gentlest of giants, was hard for me. I couldn’t imagine how it must be forPapa to see the man he loved in so much agony - to wonder if he’d have to live the life he’d built without the person he’d crafted it with.
Sighing, I stood from the table and turned out the lights in the kitchen. As I trudged upstairs to my room, I pushed the dark thoughts away.
Dad was one of the strongest people I knew. He’s pulled through struggles before, and he was going to pull through now. He had to.
Out of all the pillars in my life that have come crashing down, my fathers were the ones I absolutely couldn’t afford to lose.
Chapter 4
Max
“Whoa, Max, wait up!” Tysir yelled after me.
I barely heard him above the music blaring through the speakers as I dove headfirst through the crowds of the casino. Around me, patrons fussed at the various game tables, causing a commotion of cheers and groans. Waitresses dressed in their sparkling dresses with trays full of drinks milled through the aisles. A chorus of “Hi Max,” accompanied their seductive smiles and coy winks as I passed. To avoid being rude, I gave them curt nods, but didn’t stop to chat. Not just because of the money in my duffel bag, but because I had another errand to run once I was done here.
The security guards manning the stairwell to the VIP floor moved aside like automatic doors as I approached. I went through the opening and hurried up both flights of steps, past the exclusive section, toward the almost empty top floor where my father’s office lay. I passed the line of closed doors, knowing his handful of personal employees were likely handling other situations in them.
For him, the casinos were the laundering facilities. Since so much money was lost between those walls, it was easier - and smarter - for him to run the operation there, drawing distinct lines between the other dealings he had his hands in.
His door was already open when I reached it. The men standing at each side of the door spared me quick glances as I walked past them and entered the office.
My father was sitting at his desk, a cigar in his mouth and his feet propped up on the desk. Underneath the cloud of smoke, he flicked through the wad of money in his freshly bruised hands, counting it carefully. He glanced up at me as I approached his desk. “How’d we do?” He asked.
“Fine.” I dropped the duffel on his desk. “I counted fifty grand on the way here. Feel free to double check.”
Turning on my heel, I headed back towards the door.
“And where are you running off to?” My father asked.
“None of your business.”
“Maximiliano,” he said, a command rather than a call.
Gritting my teeth, I stopped in my tracks. “What?” I asked, reluctantly turning to face him. “We’ve been doing this long enough. I don’t need to count it in front of you. It’s all there.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about the money,” he assured me. He slid his feet off the desk and rose from his seat. “I’m worried about my son.”
