Page 80 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

And it might not ever open. Not if she can’t find a donor.

Tears blur the words, and I rub them from my eyes. “It sounds like finding a kidney for her isn't going to be that easy due to a lot of other factors.”

Bash sighs. “Shit, man. I don't know what to say. I mean, I knew something was going on between the two of you. There was definitely some sexual tension there. But the way you're talking, it sounds like it was a lot more than I thought.”

Fuck.

I take another deep pull from the bottle and wince again at the burn going down my throat. “I didn't think anything was going on between us. But I was wrong. And now…I don't know what to do.”

“The only thing you can do. Be there for her. As much as you can.”

“That's easy for you to say. You didn't have to see her like that. You didn’t hear her basically order me away.”

He sighs again, and a door slams somewhere in the background. Wherever he is, he must be trying to find somewhere more private. “No, I don't. But I did have to sit in the hospital after Greer's accident, praying she'd be okay. And I sat beside a hospital bed with you and Rachel with Mom. And then with Dad…”

This time, I practically chug the bottle. If we are going down this road, I'm going to need some liquid courage. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

He knows what I mean, but he wants me to say the words. After two decades of avoiding talking about Dad and what happened, he’s going to drag as much out of me as he can now that he’s managed to get me talking.

I had always assumed it would be Rachel who would finally break the dam since she’s the one who bonded with Dad later in life, but somehow, Bash got over the worst of it.

“How did you go and see that man who called himself our father? How did you forgive him when I couldn't even bring myself to talk to him, let alone get on a plane when he was dying?”

Just the thought of it makes the bourbon I slammed churn viciously in my stomach. Back when I got that call from Rach that he was sick, I wasn’t in any place to even consider talking to him, and there was no way I was forgiving him for what he did to all of us. And when he was ready to finally die, it still wasn’t enough to get me back to Michigan. Yet, seeing Izzy like that has somehow broken through the wall I’ve kept up around my feelings for Dad.

I want to rage about it. I want to call out Bash and Rach for giving that fucker the time of day.

“It wasn't fucking easy, Jameson. Believe me. I didn't want to be there. I thought Rach was crazy for going. It's not like the man deserved it. But at the end of the day, I realized that by holding on to all the shit he did to us—all the anger and animosity and hatred—I was only poisoning myself. He was a human being who made a lot of really shitty choices, ones that affected all of us negatively. But he was still a human being. He didn't deserve to be alone when he died.”

“Fuck…” I fight the roll of my stomach and threat of the booze to make its way back up. “What if she dies?”

“You can't think like that. Don't assume the worst. If you don't have hope, you don't have anything.”

“Jesus, when did you become such a fucking poet?”

He laughs. “I don't know, man. Maybe Greer brings it out in me.”

I snort and roll the bottle between my hands. “Or maybe you're just a big pussy at heart.”

“I’d like to hear you say that to me face to face. Or better yet, out on the ice.”

I freeze, though it isn’t from the threat from one of the biggest bad boys the NHL has ever seen. It might finally be time to face the music. I have two options now—end the call or come clean. But given what is happening with Isabella, it doesn't feel right to keep it from Bash or Rach anymore.

“I could take you on the ice, Bash.”

He releases another deep laugh. “Bullshit. You haven't played hockey since you were in grade school.”

“That's not true.”

Silence creeps from the other end for a moment. “What do you mean?”

I drag in a deep breath and prepare to confess my weakness. The thing I’ve been hiding, though, I haven’t really been able to come up with a good reason why other than I’m a pussy who doesn’t want to have to examine my own reasons for doing it in the first place. “I've been playing in an amateur league here for the last eighteen months.”

“What? Why didn't you say anything? I thought you hated hockey.”

“I never hated hockey. I hated that Dad loved it more than he loved us.”

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