Page 85 of Miss Matched

Zac

“Youlooktired,son.” My dad’s voice struggles against a dry throat.

I walk over to hand him the water his nurse dropped off earlier, and he takes a sip. Light is finally back in his eyes after days of touch and go.

I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d lost him. He’s my final tether to reality in the disjointed shit show that has become my life. The one man who still sees me as a human being.

“I’m fine,” I tell him.

That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I haven’t been fine for a week. Ever since I let Kennedy walk out those hospital doors. Not that I gave her much choice. Something came over me that night—panic, fear. The thought of losing my dad coupled with my company slipping through my fingers. And instead of holding on to the one thing that actually mattered, I pushed her away.

I’ve spent the last week telling myself it’s for the best. That she doesn’t need my reputation dragging her down. Especially with news of Jasmine’s boyfriend breaking in the press, changing the story. The media loves Kennedy right now, and who wouldn’t?

Dad rests his hand over mine, and I realize my thoughts keep drifting off. It’s something that happens a lot lately. At work, in meetings. I’m here, but I might as well be an apparition of my former self.

“What’s on your mind, son?” Dad asks.

I walk over to the window and drop into the chair beneath it, running my palms over my face and letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I fucked up.”

Dad looks me over, those wheels in his head constantly turning. He takes another sip of water and purses his lips. “Does this have something to do with a certain beautiful brunette?”

I shrug. Sometimes it sucks that he knows me so well. It would be easier if I could just hide this ache away until it cures itself and not be forced to talk about it.

“Kennedy came to see me,” he says, tipping his chin to a vase of flowers. “Brought those.”

Of course she did. I was the world’s biggest asshole, and she still had the heart to check in on my father. While I’m busy wallowing in my sorrow and trying to run a business that wants to sink me, she’s taking care of people.

“When?”

Dad squints. “A couple days ago. Can’t be sure; it all bleeds together in here.”

I lean my elbows onto my knees and try to brace myself. She must have picked a time she knew I wouldn’t be around, making sure she wouldn’t have to face me. Not that I blame her. I wouldn’t want to either—don’t want to, as a matter of fact.

“What did she say?” I ask him, part of me clinging to the hope she still feels something after everything I’ve done.

Dad sets down his water and tips his head back. “Just checkin’ to see how I was doin’. She mentioned she’d been here the night I was admitted but not much else. You wouldn’t know nothin’ about that, would ya?”

I know a lot about it, unfortunately. I rake my hands through my hair and sit with my chin dipped.

“I might,” I say with a sigh. “We were supposed to go out that night, and when I had to cancel, she came here to see how you were doing. But I was upset, and then that story dropped. I said some things…”

“Boy, you’re saying a whole lot of nothin’ right now.” He calls out my ramble.

I lean back and recognize the hard look on his face. The one he gave me when I got in trouble as a kid. When he already knew I fucked up, even if he wasn’t sure what exactly I did yet.

“I ended it,” I say, feeling the finality with my words. “I told her I didn’t need more of a mess, that working with her was supposed to be damage control, and instead it was biting me in the ass.”

My stomach hurts as I replay the conversation in my head. Not that I haven’t been already, on a loop every night. Remembering the look in her eyes at the exact moment I broke us.

I expect Dad to tell me I’m an asshole—I’m secretly wishing he would. Kennedy didn’t yell. She didn’t get mad or lash out. If anything, she grew calmer. Even if I deserved the fight I was picking, maybe even wanted to pull it out of her. Just so I could feel something—anything—other than the suffocation of the hospital. I needed her to tell me I was wrong. I needed her to stop me.

Instead, she turned and left, extinguishing me in the process.

Dad stays quiet for a long moment, drawing out a pronounced frown every time his eyes dart to her flowers and back to me. But after what feels like an eternity, disappointment fades.

“You remember that first fishing trip we took out at Bass Lake when you were a kid?” he asks.

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