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Marlow

“Daddy.” I rush to his side and take his hand, careful not to rattle the bed.

“Hi, Princess.”

I grin, sort of embarrassed by the nickname I used to adore.

Back then, it had a different meaning, like those booty shorts that spell spoiled.

I used to own every ounce of the titles.

Now, I’d rather be known for other traits like clever.

Resourceful. Scrappy like my dad. But it’s my dad calling me princess, and there was a chance that I would never hear it again, so I’m not complaining to him.

Jackson stands near the door, looking like a kid showing up to date my dad’s daughter. One hand is tucked in his pocket, and one raised just enough to wave to my father. “Hi, Mr. Marché.” They’ve met a handful of times over the years when he came into town and hung out with us.

“Jackson.”

My dad’s gaze returns to me, and he asks, “Why is he here? Did you bring your friends with you to watch the old man kick the bucket?” He chuckles at his joke but then wheezes in pain. When he catches his breath, he adds, “I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve been a real?—”

“Let’s not talk about that.” Everything took longer than they predicted, but just after eight, I received the call that I could visit. Not sure how many speed limits Jackson broke getting me here in the Lamborghini, but it had to be record speed.

My dad says, “I want to, Marlow. I need to. I owe you an apology. Greed is a gregarious little devil, drawing you in so deep until its claws get ahold of you.”

Though the analogy is so dark, I see his dramatic side hasn’t been affected by the surgery. I rub his arm and smile. “Once a filmmaker, always a filmmaker.”

“Till my dying day.”

I almost correct him but then stop. Instead, I choose my words wiser. “We have no say when we leave this world. We only have the good deeds we leave behind.”

He grins, his hand reaching to touch my cheek. “That was the first movie set I ever took you to. You were a baby, and Barbara, the leading lady, was enamored with you. She won an Oscar for that role, but I never heard that line delivered so beautifully until now.”

“Wasn’t she the reason Mom left you?”

“One of many. I fucked up a lot.” His eyes study me as if he’s looking for the resemblance.

It’s not hard to find. “Talia deserved better and took me for almost every dime. I got you out of the deal, so I’d say I came out the real winner.

” Seemingly satisfied, he lowers his arm to the bed and looks at Jackson again.

“Get in here or get out but stop hovering around the door.” He comes to the other side of the bed from me.

We catch eyes before Jackson asks, “Is it wrong to ask how you’re feeling?”

“You can ask, but you never did tell me what you’re doing here. That leads me to believe you’re not here for me. You’re here for my daughter.” Jackson chuckles lightly, but then nods. “Why do I get the impression it’s not for moral support?”

It’s an uncomfortable conversation to be having while he’s in the hospital with every minute I get with him a new, unexpected gift.

“I’m here however Marlow needs me to be.”

My dad laughs, the bellow loud, but then the wheezing begins again. He pats Jackson’s arm and says, “That’s exactly what you should say, son.” Tugging on his sleeve, he says, “Come closer, and I want you to listen to me.”

Jackson moves in a little more. My dad says, “Don’t fuck up like I did. Marlow is my princess. Whether you’re dating my daughter or you marry her, she’s your queen. You understand?”

He’s nodding, but I swear I hear Jackson gulp. “I do.”

“You’ve always been a good kid. Don’t make me come back from the bowels of hell to kick your ass.”

With a roll of my eyes, I start laughing. Jackson doesn’t. “I won’t, sir.” Now I’m laughing even harder.

“This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever been a part of.” I smile, but sadness still hangs in the air, knowing the outcome. “You need to be resting rather than intimidating the man I love, Dad.”

“They made me sleep for hours before calling you. I’m ready to bust out of this place and have a good cigar.”

The door opens, and dread sets in. The nurse says, “He needs rest.”

When I look at my dad like it might be the last time I see him, he says, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. We have a lot to discuss. For instance, you saying ‘the man I love.’ I think that’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Let’s not make it the last.”

“Ah.” My dad starts chuckling. “The girl’s got jokes. She takes after her old man.”

“Don’t push yourself, Mr. Marché,” the nurse cautions with a stern tone. “You need rest.”

Turning to me, my dad says, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I don’t ask for a promise or anything at all. I stand in the contentment of the present instead. Leaning down, I kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, Marlow. Always. Remember that. Okay?”

Nodding, I say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As soon as I release the bedside railing, he says, “By the way, Lorie and I divorced a few months back. I heard she was trying to come in and claim she’s still my wife.”

The news comes as a shock. They’ve volleyed divorce around a couple of times in the past but never followed through. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs but winces right after. “We weren’t on speaking terms. I’m telling you now because she will start making claims on properties and assets as soon as I’m in the ground.”

“Dad . . .” He speaks of death so freely when I’m still hoping for a miracle to save him.

Jackson’s brows knit together. “Has a settlement been made in the bankruptcy case?” Someone else might be bothered that he’s talking finances, but I know Jackson always has my best interest at heart.

My dad replies, “They got their money from selling the other properties and even the artwork Marlow acquired for me. It was worth a fortune and went up for auction. The house and what’s left in it all goes to my daughter.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do you want me to leave it to an ex-wife? I have a lot of those to choose from, but none that I’m particularly fond of.

” He smiles. It’s always been the one thing we had in common.

“Except maybe your mom. I live with a lot of regret when it comes to Talia, but I’m too old and out of shape to catch her eye like I once did.

” Seemingly caught up in a memory, he smiles to himself and then snaps out of it, and says, “It’s a house.

Sell it and buy a place you love in New York City. You two can start your family there.”

My eyes latch onto Jackson’s the moment family is mentioned. I struggle to read the undercurrent between us and take a sobering breath.

The nurse clears her throat, which helps break the thickening air, and holds the door open in a not-so-subtle hint.

“Take care of yourself, Mr. Marché,” Jackson says.

“Take care of my daughter. That’s all that matters.”

I know Jackson. He’s always believed in me, but there’s nothing to prove to my father, so he moves to the door and waits for me. “Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, Princess.”

When I reach the door, Jackson holds his hand between us palm up in offering. When our hands come together, my heart skips a beat. It always does with him.

I look back once more to see my dad smiling. Guess he caught that shared moment as well.

Walking out of the hospital this time feels different than before.

Peace has washed through me, calming the anxiety I was feeling earlier.

“He was telling me goodbye,” I say, walking toward the garage.

We keep walking, our hands clasped like we’ll lose sight of one another if we don’t hold on this tight.

When Jackson doesn’t say anything, I ask, “What do you think?”

“I think I could get into trouble no matter how I answer. But if you pressed?—”

“I’m pressing you,” I say, poking him. I’d normally get a chuckle or a wayward grin out of him, but his mind seems to be deeper in thought for me to pull him from. “Jackson?”

The name catches his attention, and he glances at me. “He looks and sounds like he’s not going down without a fight. Maybe it won’t take a miracle. Maybe it just took you showing up for him.”

The thought grows my smile. “I’ll take whatever days I get with him.

Not only do I get a chance to rebuild my relationship with him but I also need to take care of my family.

” The meaning behind the squeeze of his hand is lost. I don’t know what he’s sensing, keeping his feelings to himself or burying them.

Stopping in front of the Lamborghini, I take Jackson’s other hand and hold them both between us. “You know what I’m going to say.”

His expression doesn’t fall, but he’s struggling with indifference. “You’re staying.”

“I have to.”

Resignation is foreign to my fighter’s demeanor, but it’s there, seen in his posture. “And I have to leave.”

I sigh because that thought is depressing. I don’t voice my needs because relationships are built on compromise, and that’s where we are. We’re stuck in the in-between of wants and needs.

I didn’t call him the man I love for my father’s sake.

I don’t want to ever hide how much I love Jackson, not from anyone, especially the man standing in front of me now.

My feelings won’t change. Distance and time won’t erase my love for him, but as much as I hate it, I need to let him off the hook.

“Our timing . . . Just know I love you.”

The words strike a different chord inside him than usual, and a heavy breath follows. “That’s a way to kick this conversation off. Bringing in the heavy hitter right off the bat.”

I sway our hands, trying to figure out what to say when I don’t want to say any of it. I want him here, with me, but that’s an impossibility. “I love you, but I don’t know how long I’ll be in LA.”

“I think this is when I say I’ll wait.” He releasees my hands and cups my face, his thumb caressing my cheek.

“I’m sorry this isn’t more romantic. Us, in a parking garage with the smell of gasoline in the air, the sound of tires squealing as they head for the exit.

Yeah, I could have played this better, and then maybe you’d change your mind.

” He kisses me and then presses his forehead to mine.

“I can’t ask you to leave, but please see that I’m a man in a state of desperation. I’ll wait for you, Marlow.”

“I can’t do that to you, though. I could be here for weeks or even months. I have to stay for my dad. I wish I had an idea for how long . . . but I don’t.”

His head tilts to the right. “What do fucking months have on us? We got this. We waited years to be together.” I want to smile, but my heart hurts too much, so I move closer.

His arms welcome me and then warm me from the outside in.

I’m not sure what to say because nothing will make this better.

Our journey’s been long and winding, the timing always a bit off from one another.

I just thought this time would be different.

Life threw a curveball right at us. He kisses my head, and says, “You always hated LA.”

I’ll cling to his desperation as a reminder of how much this man loves me. But our timing is off, and all I can hope is that one day we can recapture it. “I did, but the sunshine’s not as bad as I remember.”

Leaning back, he locks his gaze on mine. “No, baby. You’re a New Yorker through and through. Don’t you forget that.”

“I won’t,” I whisper. I also won’t forget how he was mine and I was his for too short of a time.

Tears start to form as our goodbye grows louder in my ears. Just when I feel a sob rising inside, warm lips press to mine, and our tongues embrace one last time. Hands caress my face as fingers slide deep into my hair.

I’ve never known what being consumed— body and soul —felt like until Jackson St. James was kissing me. Now I never want it to end.

Except it isn’t up to me . . . It’s now in fate’s hands.