me when I was just a baby. My mom told me
he was a deadbeat, that he didn’t have any interest in being a husband or a father, so every time that asshole
Loften talked shit to me, told me I was garbage, tried to put me under his thumb, I told myself it was cool
because my mom deserved nice things, a guy to take care of her since my dad was an asshole. Only Loften
is a judgmental, superficial prick and basically forced her to pick me or him. She picked him even though
my dad was in the same fucking state all along and never walked out on anyone.”
He gave that laugh that made me hurt for him again, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out a
hand and putting it on one of his balled-up fists. I could feel the tension and dissonance creeping all over
him.
“Turns out the only adult I ever looked up to, that ever showed me I was worth anything just the way I
was, fucking lied to me my entire fucking life. Phil took me in when my mom kicked me out. He pretty
much raised me, taught me how to tattoo, gave me a future, and showed me how to be a man. I walked into
that hospital room, took one look at him, and wondered how I had missed what was right in front of me all
along.”
He grunted and let his eyes drift shut again. I was following along as best I could with his story, but I
was kind of lost. I felt like there was someone else he should be telling all of this to, but for whatever
reason I was the one he had let in, both figuratively and literally. He hadn’t known Phil was his father until
the other night? That was huge and just as hard to work through as the fact that his loved one was
terminally ill. No wonder he was just a mess. I couldn’t blame him.
“He looks like he’s dying … so fucking sick, and he called me son. For twenty-five years I called him
Uncle Phil and now that he might not be around much longer, he has the nerve to call me son. I grew up
thinking I wasn’t good enough for anyone. Not my mom, not that shithead she married, not my dad who
couldn’t even be bothered to see what kind of kid I would turn out to be … only Phil made me feel like I
was worth a damn, and now I don’t even know what to do with any of this shit. Why didn’t he just tell me?
He was more my dad than my uncle all along anyway.”
I sighed because he was spinning himself in circles and I could see the faster he turned the worse it was
making him feel. I put my other hand on his and leaned forward.
“I don’t know, Nash. What I do know is the only person who can answer those questions is sick and
hurting just as badly as you are. And I know that the two of you obviously need each other right now. This
is wasted time you will never get back. I see it every day and you will live to regret it if you don’t move past
it and go see him.”
He was drunk, obviously distraught and not thinking clearly. I doubted he would remember much of
this heart-to-heart when he sobered up, but there was just a nagging part of me that wanted to try and make
this heartbreaking situation more manageable for him. I thought I still hated him, still held him responsible
for all my shattered teenage dreams of love and romance, but right now I just felt sorry for him. It didn’t
matter how big and strong he was, or how much of a badass he appeared to be on the outside, not being
able to fight back against something as devastating as cancer, especially when it was affecting someone he
obviously loved, sucked. I knew it made him feel impotent and ineffectual, and right now it was obviously
making him scared enough to think hiding from it was a viable option.
I gasped a little in shock when both of his wide hands suddenly seized my face on either side. His hands
were a little rough but his touch was soft as his eyes suddenly flashed from periwinkle to a dark, intense
indigo. His eyelids drooped down, and his erratic breathing suddenly slowed, making those flames dancing
across his shoulders and pecs look
he was a deadbeat, that he didn’t have any interest in being a husband or a father, so every time that asshole
Loften talked shit to me, told me I was garbage, tried to put me under his thumb, I told myself it was cool
because my mom deserved nice things, a guy to take care of her since my dad was an asshole. Only Loften
is a judgmental, superficial prick and basically forced her to pick me or him. She picked him even though
my dad was in the same fucking state all along and never walked out on anyone.”
He gave that laugh that made me hurt for him again, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out a
hand and putting it on one of his balled-up fists. I could feel the tension and dissonance creeping all over
him.
“Turns out the only adult I ever looked up to, that ever showed me I was worth anything just the way I
was, fucking lied to me my entire fucking life. Phil took me in when my mom kicked me out. He pretty
much raised me, taught me how to tattoo, gave me a future, and showed me how to be a man. I walked into
that hospital room, took one look at him, and wondered how I had missed what was right in front of me all
along.”
He grunted and let his eyes drift shut again. I was following along as best I could with his story, but I
was kind of lost. I felt like there was someone else he should be telling all of this to, but for whatever
reason I was the one he had let in, both figuratively and literally. He hadn’t known Phil was his father until
the other night? That was huge and just as hard to work through as the fact that his loved one was
terminally ill. No wonder he was just a mess. I couldn’t blame him.
“He looks like he’s dying … so fucking sick, and he called me son. For twenty-five years I called him
Uncle Phil and now that he might not be around much longer, he has the nerve to call me son. I grew up
thinking I wasn’t good enough for anyone. Not my mom, not that shithead she married, not my dad who
couldn’t even be bothered to see what kind of kid I would turn out to be … only Phil made me feel like I
was worth a damn, and now I don’t even know what to do with any of this shit. Why didn’t he just tell me?
He was more my dad than my uncle all along anyway.”
I sighed because he was spinning himself in circles and I could see the faster he turned the worse it was
making him feel. I put my other hand on his and leaned forward.
“I don’t know, Nash. What I do know is the only person who can answer those questions is sick and
hurting just as badly as you are. And I know that the two of you obviously need each other right now. This
is wasted time you will never get back. I see it every day and you will live to regret it if you don’t move past
it and go see him.”
He was drunk, obviously distraught and not thinking clearly. I doubted he would remember much of
this heart-to-heart when he sobered up, but there was just a nagging part of me that wanted to try and make
this heartbreaking situation more manageable for him. I thought I still hated him, still held him responsible
for all my shattered teenage dreams of love and romance, but right now I just felt sorry for him. It didn’t
matter how big and strong he was, or how much of a badass he appeared to be on the outside, not being
able to fight back against something as devastating as cancer, especially when it was affecting someone he
obviously loved, sucked. I knew it made him feel impotent and ineffectual, and right now it was obviously
making him scared enough to think hiding from it was a viable option.
I gasped a little in shock when both of his wide hands suddenly seized my face on either side. His hands
were a little rough but his touch was soft as his eyes suddenly flashed from periwinkle to a dark, intense
indigo. His eyelids drooped down, and his erratic breathing suddenly slowed, making those flames dancing
across his shoulders and pecs look
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