Page 114 of The Fall

Fifty-Six

The door opens. I expect a nurse or the doctor, but my father walks in carrying two coffee cups, and the floor drops away beneath me.

He shouldn’t be here. Singapore is twelve time zones away and there’s an entire ocean between us, but he’s standing in my hospital room with Blair in this bed, tangled together, and?—

“Torey.” My name breaks apart in his throat. His eyes are bloodshot and his suit pants are wrinkled, his shirt untucked and the sleeves rolled up. Gray threads through his hair that I swear weren’t there three months ago.

“Dad?”

He crosses to my bed in three strides.

“I’ll take those.” Blair sits up quickly, taking the coffee cups from my father’s trembling hands.

And my father, who never flinched when I took a puck to the jaw at fourteen, sinks into the chair beside my bed, both of his hands landing on mine and squeezing.

“Torey...” His grip is fierce and desperate.

“You’re okay.” He says it as if trying to convince himself, and there are tears on his face. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re?—”

“Dad.” I can’t get any air around the word.

“I thought I lost you.” His voice cracks completely, and he buries his face in my hair, raining kisses on the top of my head.

“When they called—” He stops, jaw working.

His hands tighten around mine. “They said that you might not—” He stops, swallows hard.

“I caught the first flight. I kept thinking if I could get here fast enough, if I could—” His hand moves to the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair the way he used to when I was small and scared of thunderstorms.

Blair takes my hand, and my father’s eyes finally lift and land on him. I hold my breath?—

“We were terrified,” my dad whispers.

My eyes flick to Blair’s. Have they been— Were they here together? My mouth goes dry, and I brace for the words that will finally sever the last thread between us.

The chasm I expect to open between us, the one filled with disappointment, doesn’t appear. “You never told me you were seeing someone.”

“I…”

“Did you think—” He stops. Instead of anger, there is only a deep sorrow on my father’s face. “Did you think I wouldn’t want to know?”

My entire life, I have been sure of his answer to that unspoken question, but… His grip on my hand is a plea, and the heartbreak on his face isn’t for him; it’s for me, for all the years I spent afraid.

The wall inside me starts to give way, and the fear I’ve carried of this secret that I’ve buried since I was thirteen crumbles. All those years of measuring up, of failing, of never being quite enough. “I thought you’d be disappointed.”

“Torey, never . Never. I love you. You’re my son, and nothing— nothing —changes that.”

His words undo fifteen years of certainty in a single, gut-wrenching moment. A broken sound catches in my throat, and his face blurs through my tears.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how?—”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

A shuddering breath escapes me. I look at him, this man I thought I understood, my father that I have back in a way I never had him before. “Dad—” My relief is so intense it hurts; I can’t find the next word.

His eyes are red-rimmed but patient. I want to tell him everything about hiding who I was, about trying to be perfect on the ice when I felt broken everywhere else, about meeting Blair and finally being whole, but all that comes out is a broken “Thank you.”

He squeezes my shoulder, and that touch bridges years of distance in an instant. A lifetime of waiting for the other shoe to drop evaporates as the corner of his mouth lifts.

“Your dad has been here for two and a half days,” Blair says. “We’ve been waiting for you together.”

The words sink in slowly. Two and a half days.

My father, who I was certain would reject me if he knew the truth, has been sitting here with Blair for two and a half days.

I try to picture it, the two of them keeping vigil over me.

The lines on my father’s face, the exhaustion in the set of Blair’s shoulders; they mirror each other.

“You picked a good man,” Dad says. “He’s never left your side.”

“I know,” I whisper. Blair drops a kiss to my temple.

For a moment, none of us speaks, until Dad exhales slowly. “While we were watching over you, all I could think was that I might never be able to tell you how proud I am of you.” His voice falters, and he looks down at his hands.

My eyes travel over his deep-etched lines of exhaustion and regret. He’s been sitting at my side, fearing that my life was over, that he’d never get to say these words to me.

“I pushed you so hard,” he continues, his voice rough. “I thought I was helping you build a future, but...” He shakes his head. “All that joy you used to have... when it started to fade, that’s what I couldn’t stand.” Regret runs through him.

A fresh tear slides down my cheek. All the arguments over missed shots and extra drills, all the silent car rides home after a bad game—they shift in my history, smear from judgment to a desperate, clumsy love.

“I thought if I was perfect on the ice, if I scored enough goals and won enough games, you’d?—”

He looks up, his eyes pleading. “I haven’t been the father you needed, Torey, but I have never, not for one second, ever stopped loving you. There’s nothing that could ever make me stop loving you. Not how you play, or whether you play, or who you love. Nothing.”

My tears come without warning, and I cling to him. He holds me the same way he held me when I was small and scared of storms, or when I fell during my first skating lesson, or when I cried over not making a team I’d set my heart on.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Everything’s okay. You’re okay.” His arms tighten around me as my tears soak his shirt. For so long, I’ve been chasing his approval, but now he’s here, holding me.

“I never stopped wanting to make you proud,” I tell him, my voice catching. “Even when I was angry.”

He nods, and holds my face in both of his hands. “I know. And I never stopped being proud, even when I couldn’t say it.” His thumbs wipe away my tears. “I wish I’d told you sooner,” he says, dropping his hands but staying close. “That it didn’t take something like this…”

A weak smile touches my lips. “We’re both pretty stubborn.”

“Wonder where you got that from.”

He draws his chair closer to my bed. I take his hand and hold on; the distance between us is smaller than it has been in years.

Dad settles in like he’s not going anywhere. It’s strange to see him without a phone in his hand, answering emails or fielding calls. I’m his only priority; not his job, not my hockey, not anything but me, his son.

“Your team’s been by,” he says. “Hayes wanted me to tell you that Lily sends her love. And a guy named Hollow left you seventeen bags of gummy worms.”

“Of course he did.”

“Blair made sure I knew how much your whole team loves you.” His voice roughens again. “Seeing you happy is all I’ve ever wanted.”

All those months of space between us, of careful texts about weather and food and trying to figure out how to be father and son without hockey as our only language, and here he is, seeing me—really seeing me—for the first time. “I am happy, Dad.”

“I know. I’m so proud of you, Torey.”

Blair’s been so quiet, giving Dad and me this moment we needed, but now he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles.

Dad’s gaze shifts to Blair. “We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, Blair and I.”

I look between them—my father and the man I love—and it hits me: they’ve been taking care of each other. While I was floating in darkness, they sat together in this room, waiting for me to return.

“So you guys, um... talked?”

“We’ve had great talks,” my father says, his smile warming. “While we were waiting for you to wake up.” He reaches out and places his hand over where mine and Blair’s are joined.

I try to picture Blair and my father side by side, hour after hour. What did they say to each other while doctors and nurses came and went?

I get my answer. “I’ve been telling Blair stories about you.”

“Dad, no?—”

“Remember the time you refused to leave the rink until you’d scored fifty goals in a row. Seven years old, middle of January, thirty below outside, and this kid?—”

“ Dad .”

Blair’s mouth quirks. “And about your first pair of skates. You really slept with them on?”

“Oh, he walked all around the house with them, stomping around in his skate guards like he was a baby horse.”

A groan escapes me. I turn my head on the pillow to protest, but the look on Blair’s face stops me.

His eyes shine, and he drinks in every detail about mini-me discovering hockey.

Dad paints pictures of the kid I used to be, and Blair revels in each story, holding on to me like he wants to reach through time and wrap his arms around that stubborn little boy.

Dad describes how I’d beg for “one more hour” of ice time, and I can’t look away from Blair.

He meets my eyes, ocean-blue depths sparkling with what he doesn’t need to say: I would have loved you then, too.

Dad chuckles, settling back in his chair. “And then there was his gear bag incident. You were what, six?”

I close my eyes and sigh heavily; I wouldn’t trade this for all the gold in the world.

“You got a brand-new gear bag for your birthday, and after all the cake and the ice cream and the games, I went to tuck him in, and there he was, curled up next to that gear bag in his bed as if it were a stuffed animal. Had his arm draped right over it, face against the side, sound asleep.” Dad gives a small shake of his head, and Blair kisses my cheek.

“Dad, you’re enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little.” His expression shifts, his teasing melting as he reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “But mostly I’m enjoying having my son here to be embarrassed. More than that, I’m enjoying seeing you happy.”

“Dad…”

His hand lingers on my shoulder a beat longer before he lets go. He leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, content for now to simply be here with me; no, with us.

My eyes grow heavy. I want to stay in this moment with Blair’s hand in mine and my father keeping watch, but exhaustion pulls at me.

“You should rest,” Dad says, his voice soft. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

The last thing I register is Blair’s breath against my hair and Dad leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, settling in for the long haul.

When I surface again, the room is darker with evening shadows lying across the floor. Dad’s still there, reading on a tablet, his glasses perched on his nose. Blair is asleep in the bed with me, absolutely unconscious and drooling into my collarbone.

I blink, trying to orient myself. “Hey,” I rasp.

Dad looks up immediately, setting the tablet aside. “Welcome back.”

“How long was I out?”

“Couple hours.” He reaches for a cup of water on the side table and helps me take a sip. “Blair finally slept right after you closed your eyes. He’s been…” He trails off, fatherly love directed at Blair. “That man loves you, Torey.”

“He does,” I say quietly.

Dad settles back in his chair, studying us both. “When you were growing up, all I wanted was for you to find someone who’d cherish you.” He rubs his palms together, voice dropping. “You did.”

Blair’s breathing shifts, and I feel the exact moment he starts to surface. His fingers flex against my waist before his eyes flutter open.

“Hey,” he murmurs. He lifts his head, blinking slowly as he focuses on my face. “You okay? Do you need anything?”

“I’m good.” I run my thumb along his jaw; it’s so natural, even with my father watching. “You were drooling on me.”

Blair’s cheeks flush red, and he quickly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry, I?—”

“I don’t mind.” I kiss his nose. “Go back to sleep.” I squeeze Blair’s hand. There’s a peace in this room I’ve never experienced before, and I don’t want it to shatter.

“The nurses came in to check on you,” Dad says. “The doctors will be by first thing in the morning.” He stands and stretches, his back cracking. “I’ll go get us all some decent food. Hospital sandwiches don’t cut it.”

When he leaves, Blair carefully shifts to sit up. I drink in the sight of him, his dark hair mussed from sleep, his eyes clear again. “Your dad’s been amazing,” he says softly.

“I never thought...” I swallow. “I didn’t expect this.”

Blair takes my hand in his. “He wants you happy, Torey. That’s what we talked about while you slept.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him I love you,” he says. “That I’d love you and take care of you for the rest of our lives, if you’ll have me.” His eyes search mine, vulnerability in every line of his face. “You—you don’t have to answer.” His voice dips. “But I wanted your dad to know.”

For all the things I thought I’d have to fight for, this moment isn’t one of them. “Of course I’ll have you,” I breathe.

His shoulders drop, tension bleeding out of him in one long exhale. His smile builds and builds until it transforms him, erasing exhaustion, erasing fear, and leaving only a brilliant, unfiltered joy.

“Torey.” He lifts our joined hands, turns mine over, and drops his lips to the center of my palm.

“Say it again,” he whispers against my skin.

“I’ll keep you. Today, tomorrow, always.”

His forehead drops to rest against mine. We breathe the same air, share the same space. This isn’t how I imagined this conversation—me in a hospital gown, him exhausted from days of vigil, my father about to return with takeout.

I thread my fingers through his and ease back against the pillow. Blair settles beside me, nose to nose. His smile makes me smile; I kiss him softly, and he nuzzles my cheek before he brushes a strand of hair from my forehead. Everything I want is right here, tangled up in his touch.

For the first time, I believe we’ll have all the tomorrows we want.