Page 40

chapter forty

we make a pretty nice familty portrait

I slumped against the wall outside the hospital room, shoving my hands deep into my jacket pockets like that would somehow keep them from shaking. My pulse was a jackhammer, rattling in my ears, my chest—everywhere. I counted to ten. Then twenty.

Didn’t. Do. Shit.

I'm pretty sure someone could knock me out cold and I’dstill wake up feeling like I’d skated a game entirely on my own on nothing but pure adrenaline.

After sinking into Rory when she came out of the room, Itexted Daisy, telling her to meet me there. Now, all I could do was wait. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t go in alone—maybe because it was easier not to. Or maybe because I didn’t trust myself to keep it together. To let everything out that I’d held in since I was twelve.

But with Daisy there... I didn’t want her to see me like that. To see me like him.

According to Rory, though, he seemed normal. Okay.

I t old her I believed her and then watched her walk off toward the cafeteria. But those two words— normal, okay —they couldn’t have described my dad. Not now. Not ever.

The chime of the elevator travelled through the corridor, and a second later Daisy appeared, still wearing the oversized Christmas sweater she’d donned to sing carols in the children’s ward. Her curls were slightly frizzed, her eyes tired but warm and her skin finally getting some colour back.

“You okay?” she asked as she reached me. I could tell thenthat she’d used whatever time she’d had alone today to cry.

I shrugged before flattening some of the frizz in her hair.“Define okay.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall beside me.“Are we going in?”

“Do you want to?”

She looked at the door for a long moment, biting her lip. “Ithink so. I mean… we should.”

“I don’t think anyone would blame us if we didn’t, Dais.”

I watched the war raging between the green oceans of her eyes, before she pulled her sleeves over her hands. “I’d regret not saying anything. Or ignoring him altogether.” Her eyes fell on me. “I’d regret treating him like he treated us.”

I shook my head. “You’re too pure for this world.”

Her tiny smile lit up the space between us. “I just want things to be okay. The world’s fucked up enough on its own without creating more problems to pollute it.” With a sigh, she stood upright, offering me her hand. “So, let’s do this.”

I e xhaled. Daisy could talk me into pretty much anythingwith how much I trusted her. If she told me I’d be okay, then I would. Which was why I nodded, more to convince myself than her, and then took her hand. “Okay.”

We walked in together, and the room was almost unbearablyquiet. Unbearably blue, too. Dad was sitting up in bed, his face pale, but oddly alert. His eyes were sunken into his head, and his hands fidgeting with the edges of the hospital blanket.

And even though the only colour in him existed from theglow of the monitors, it was the most alive I’d seen him look in years.

That strange feeling stirred in my stomach, pulling me ineight different directions at once. Was I supposed to feel happy that he was alive? Disappointed? Could I even feel both and still be grateful that he wasn’t dead?

But why should I be grateful? The man had nearly drunkhimself to death, like Daisy and I weren’t enough reason to live his life.

I had to squeeze my eyes shut, counting to five before givingup and setting them back on him.

Dad looked up, his gaze landing on Daisy first. She steppedforward, her hand slipping from mine. “Hi, Dad.”

His face softened, and he smiled at her like she was the bestthing he’d ever seen. “Hey, Daisy.”

She moved closer, perching on the edge of his bed. Then hiseyes flicked to me. “Hi, Finn.”

I froze, unsure which emotion to let show first. Anger?Relief?

“ Hi,” I said eventually, shrugging. “How are you feeling?” I sounded more sincere with Charles Laurent.

“Better.” He nodded sheepishly, his gaze dropping.

I chewed the inside of my lip, nodding back at him, myvoice low. “ Amazing what not having eight different spirits running around your bloodstream will do— ”

“Finn,” Daisy said sharply, spinning toward me with awarning glare.

“It’s fine,” Dad said, shaking his head and placing a hand onDaisy’s arm. “Besides, I think we can skip the small talk.” He let out a dry laugh, shrugging. “But I do feel better. I mean, I feel weird, like something’s missing, but… better.”

The beeping of the heart monitor filled the silence thatfollowed. Dad’s hand trembled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say, guys.”

Daisy glanced at me, then back at him. “Nothing needs to besaid now, Dad.”

I mumbled under my breath, “Or at all—”

“Finn, stop it!” Daisy snapped, her voice cracking.

I threw up my hands, my frustration spilling out, and myeyes pleading with hers. “I’m sorry, Daisy, but I can’t.” My hands raked through my hair, but the frustration kept climbing. “I can’t stand here and pretend the last nine years never happened. Why should I? Why should we ?”

Seems I was choosing anger.

My feet shuffled. “How can we stand here and act like this isgoing to change anything? By next week, he’ll be holed up in some seedy bar, forgetting about us again.”

Dad flinched but didn’t lash back. Instead, he sniffled, hisvoice raw. “I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. “Yeah, because afternearly a decade of drinking yourself numb, now you’re ready to change—”

“I don’t want to be that person anymore, Finneas,” herepeated, his voice trembling as he looked between us. Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m lucky I’ve gotten this far without ending up in a hospital bed before today. But I lost it. When you stopped returning my calls, I thought I’d finally pushed you both away. And if you were gone, and she was gone, what was the point?”

His voice cracked, and he wiped at his face with shakinghands. “So I drank, and I drank, and I didn’t see a reason to be present anymore. But now I’m here, and I feel sick thinking about how much I didn’t want to be.”

Daisy burst into tears, grabbing his hand. “Dad, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he choked out. “It’s not. And I’m sorry.” Hegripped her hands tighter. “I’m so sorry, guys. I’m sorry for everything.”

Then he turned to me, holding out his other hand. Hisfingers trembled, and his face was soaked with tears. “I know it’s going to take time. I do. And I’m okay waiting for you to forgive me, even if that day never comes.”

I stared at that hand, my chest tight. I didn’t know if I couldtake it. This was the man who I thought hated me. Who I thought didn’t care enough to stick around.

But then Rory’s words came back to me. If there’s a chanceto still have a relationship with him, take it.

It seemed impossible. Felt intangible. Forgiveness wouldn’t come easy. It would take time, maybe years. But this? Maybe this was the moment I realised that being like him wasn’t the curse I’d always believed it to be. Maybe it wasn’t about fighting so hard to be different or polishing my armour before I walked out the door every morning—maybe it was about choosing who I wanted to be, despite the past that tried to define me.

Second chances were rare—hell, I knew that better than anyone after Rory. Life didn’t hand them out like apologies or empty promises. You had to earn them. Work for them. You had to teach the girl you love how to skate again whilst she bared her heart for you, and trusted you to take care of it this time round. And when you cherished them, they weren’t just a door cracking open; they were a test, a choice.

Because sometimes, giving a second chance to the right person at the right time wasn’t just about forgiveness. It wasn’t about letting go of the past. It was about the future—about standing at the edge of something terrifying and deciding to jump anyway. Because in the end, that was the difference. The difference between spending the rest of your life loving without fear or drowning in the regret of never taking the leap.

I looked back at Dad, seeing my reflection in his eyes.

This was a start. And I think all I’d ever wanted was a sign thatDaisy and I mattered to him. And seeing him sober for the first time in years, regardless of what got him here, was a start.

I s tepped forward, a tear sliding down my cheek as I took hishand.

He pulled me in, his arm wrapping around the back of myneck, holding me like a father should hold his son.

And like years of bottled emotions had finally been uncorked, I broke.

I cried. With Daisy. With him.

A broken family, trying—just maybe—to start putting thepieces back together.