I’d barely been around to visit since he was confined to his bed a few weeks ago. The disease hit him fast and hard, and I didn’t know why it was difficult to see him like this. I wasn’t sure I would even miss him, after all.

Was it just hard to muster empathy? I didn’t really know. I just knew that I was confused.

“Your mother is off shopping,” he said, looking up at me and sounding short of breath. “For a trip to Italy she’s planning to help herself get over my death.”

He started laughing, his voice thick with phlegm, and I saw blood coating the inside of his lips.

Dorian Gray. That’s who he reminded me of. All my life, he seemed like a young man, living large, but now . . . the weight of a life’s worth of consequences descended at once, his true character showing all over him. Decrepit, ugly, weak . . .

He was dying horribly. And alone. My mother was counting the days, and I couldn’t say I blamed her.

“I wanted more, Jason.” He looked up at me, his eyes now desperate. “I thought I would be more. The friends, the parties, the meetings, the power and money . . . you think it means something, but look at me,” he pleaded, drawing in shallow breaths. “I’m dying alone. Everything will carry on, and you start to realize that, while your name may last awhile, you’re replaceable. I’m almost already forgotten.”

I leaned down and pulled the cover back up. “That’s not true.”

But he grabbed my hand, stopping me. His cold fingers curled around my fist, and I stared at our hands. The same size, the same nails, the same wide knuckles . . .

“Do you love me?” he asked quietly.

I raised my eyes hesitantly, staring into a reflection of my own thirty years from now. Will I be asking Madoc that same question? Will I have to?

When I don’t answer, my father lets go of my hand and looks away. “No one’s here. And when they do show up, it’s a lie.”

“Do you care?”

He shot his eyes over to me again, the despair evident. “I don’t want to die alone,” he admitted. “Your mother won’t miss me. And all the women over all the years . . . they gave me nothing that lasted. I ruined my marriage. I ruined my family.”

I sat down, a ten-ton weight sitting on my shoulders. Burying my head in my hands, I felt his words curl their way through my head.

I wasn’t him. Kat was the only woman. I didn’t run around town. She was special. Madoc would understand. We won’t be here in thirty years, Madoc hating me for never being there for him, choosing whores over our family, and hurting his mother.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

My father was dying, and afterward I would finally be free to determine the course of my own life. A life with Kat, and our kids, including Madoc.

“Dad, I’m in love with Kat,” I told him. “I can’t give her up . . .”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut me off. “You’ll fail her, too.”

I stared at him, his words from over the years still so ingrained in my head. Failure is a choice that easily becomes a habit, he would always say.

And doubt took root. What if I married Kat? What if it failed? What if the whole reason I latched onto her in the first place was because I was simply weak and greedy? Just like him.

Where would Madoc live if Maddie and I divorced? Would he hate me? Would Maddie remarry and give him someone in his life who was worlds better than me?

“All that matters is Madoc,” he went on. “Don’t disappoint him. Don’t hurt him.”

My son. A child who was starting to notice his parents and, not only how they love him, but how they love each other. I already knew he loves her more. And why wouldn’t he?

“Your son is the true love of your life, Jason. When it’s you lying here, you’ll want to know that you survive in him. That he’ll keep you alive. That he’ll mourn you.”

I blinked rapidly, turning away, so my father didn’t see the tears in my eyes.

“Nothing is more important than him,” he whispered, his wheezing growing more labored. “I wish I had been a better father. I wish I could undo everything I’ve done to make you hate me.”

He reached out a hand off the side of the bed, fighting to breathe. I stared down at it, knowing I should take it. Knowing he needed me. There was no one else, after all.

But this wasn’t us. It was never us. He denied me love and affection all my life. When I had the need, he didn’t have the will. Now that he had the need, I found that I just wasn’t willing to fake affection for him.

His hand fell to the side, limp and empty when I didn’t take it. “I wish . . . ,” he gasped. “I wish you loved me.”

Chapter 7

Kat . . .

Pushing open the screen door, I spotted Jared, flying down the street on his bike. Tate stood up on his pegs behind him, holding on to his shoulders. My heart raced every time they did that. I glanced next door, seeing her dad, James, mowing the lawn and at the same time keeping an eye on them as well.

“Jared?” I shouted, slipping on my heel. “Come inside!”

I heard the squeak of his brakes, and Tate broke out in laughter as he swerved side to side, trying to stop.

She and her father had just moved in a few months ago, and I was so happy Jared had a kid right next door to play with. Even if she was a girl—and he pouted about that at first—they were practically inseparable now.

“I don’t want to come in!” he argued.