Jay Crownover - Nash

“I won’t be back in Denver until late tonight.”

She made a noise in her throat. “I hope Nash’s dad lasts that long.”

I did, too. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“I told you I wanted us to be friends.”

“I think I’m finally ready to believe you. I’m a neurotic weirdo, though. I don’t know how great a friend that will make me.”

She laughed a little even though she still sounded kind of sad. “We all have things, Saint. Things we struggle with, things that make it hard for us to see ourselves how others view us. Sharing those things is the only way to get past them.”

I didn’t tell her that I had just recently figured that out. If I didn’t get back to Denver in time, that was just one more thing I was going to have to overcome. I would never forgive myself if Nash had to face Phil passing away without me. Sure, he had a multitude of friends, people that loved him unconditionally, to help him handle his grief, but like Royal said, he needed me . No one else would do, and that’s how I knew loving him back, giving him all he gave me wasn’t going to be a problem because I needed him and only him in the exact same way.

Royal was overly apologetic when I came back in the apartment. I waved her off and went to get dressed. Like I said, I knew this shit didn’t look good, but it kicked me in the balls that Saint wouldn’t take a breath, talk to me about it. She just automatically assumed the worst of the situation and of me, and that just sucked. I really did love her, wanted this to be a real thing, a thing I was going to have to hold on to while everything else in my life spiraled out of control. Her taking that away broke my heart, but more than anything, it made me choke on disappointment.

I got dressed, waited for the locksmith to come and let my neighbor back in her apartment—again—and headed back over to Phil’s. It was like his life was grains of sand in an hourglass and the sand was suddenly flowing much more rapidly, and I could see it. So on top of feeling like Saint had leveled me, I felt like Phil was leaving me hanging as well. I knew it wasn’t rational, but it was how I felt all the same.

While I sat at his bedside I struggled with the need to text her, to try and throw explanation after explanation on her, to beg her for a shot and not to give up on what we were building, to tell her how much I needed her, that I couldn’t do this, watch Phil fade away without her. I refrained. I couldn’t do it. I loved her, but I loved me, too, and I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t appreciate that because they didn’t appreciate themself. It hurt, but it was as real as I could see things.

A couple of days after the big scene, I was surprised when she reached out with her simple message. I didn’t know what she was sorry for. Maybe for ripping my heart to shreds by dismissing my feelings, for jumping to conclusions, for running away from me for the second time in our history without letting me explain, for not believing in me, in us—for all of it? I didn’t know what to say back to her and Phil was starting to slip in and out of lucidity, so I didn’t want to dedicate any time to trying to mend that particular fence. Not when she had yanked it out by the posts.

One minute Phil knew he was in Denver and who I was, the next he was back in the navy, or on the East Coast reliving his wild party days. I tried to keep him comfortable, had nurses at his place almost around the clock, but the cancer was obviously progressing, moving into his most vital organs. Time was slipping away. I hadn’t been at work all week, luckily I had not only the best friends, but the best coworkers in the world and they were carrying on and picking up the slack I left behind. I knew they were all worried about me, sad about what was happening with Phil, but right now we needed this time between the two of us and I think they all respected that.

I was sitting in the trusty recliner staring at SportsCenter mindlessly when Phil reached a shaky hand out and put it on my arm. I muted the TV and looked down at him. His eyes—my eyes—were rheumy and tinted with a hint of yellow, but they were locked on me intently.

“Do something for me, son.”

I felt my breath shudder and my lungs clamped closed painfully. This was the hardest thing I had ever had to go through in my life, including when I had put one of my closest friends in the ground way too young.

“Sure, Phil. Anything you need me to do.”

His fingers curled into the muscle of my arm and I saw him struggle to smile at me behind his oxygen mask.

“I had a good life, ya know?” He moved his head in what I think was supposed to be a nod. “I traveled the world, saw amazing things. I started a successful business on my own terms and never had to answer to a boss. I fell in and out of love a hundred times. I helped make a wonderful group of kids their own family, and I had you. I have zero regrets and it is my greatest hope you live your life the same way.”

He sounded winded. I could hear how hard it was for him to get the words out. I blew out a breath and forced a smile.

“Well, I’ve only been in love once, and it didn’t work out so great, but the rest I can sure try my hardest to live up to.”

“The nurse?”

“The nurse,” I confirmed.

“Don’t give up just yet, Nash. If she matters, if you want her for yours, don’t give up.”

“What if she gave up on me?”

“Then you love her hard enough that she can’t help but come around. Part of me always wonders if I gave up too easy on your mom.”

Ugh. She was the last person I wanted in this room. My mom had no place here.

“Maybe. That’s what you want me to do, live life with no regret?”

His eyes drifted closed and his grip loosened on my arm. My heart started thudding. Every time his eyes closed, I wondered if they would ever open again.

“I want you to call me Dad. I never got that, never was brave enough to ask, but I want you to think of me as your dad. That’s all I want.”

Fuck me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t get my heart rate under control. I needed a carton of cigarettes and a handle of cheap tequila to get through this. I wanted to get up and go outside for a few minutes and pull my shit together, but that wasn’t time I would get back with him.

“Phil … Dad. Jesus, you were the one that raised me. All Mom and that asshole did was try and beat me down, try and shove me in a box that was too small. You’re the only parent I’ve ever known, and it doesn’t matter what I called you.”

“But ‘Dad’ sounds nice. It was the only thing I ever really wanted from you.”

His choppy breathing evened out some and I noticed his mouth go a little slack under his mask. His chest was still rising and falling, so I assumed he’d just drifted off, and flopped back in the chair. This was brutal. I didn’t know how I was going to come out on the other side of it not fundamentally changed.

I got up and went to the kitchen to see if I could find a beer or something stronger. I was leaning on the counter, had my head hung down, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cry or break everything I could get my hands on. This was too much emotion, too many feelings for one person to try and work through. They were getting all tangled up, too engulfing, and I felt like I was going to suffocate on all of them.

I don’t know how long I stood like that, how long I just had to tell myself to keep breathing. At some point there was a knock on the door, and I realized it was really late and I had been zoned out for a long time.

It was around midnight, no one should be here, but my friends didn’t really play by common rules and Rule had a sixth sense when stuff was going down with me, so I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he was doing a spot check. I rolled my neck around on stiff shoulders until there was a nasty-sounding crack and wandered over to the front door. I pulled it open without a second thought and almost fell on my ass when a soft body launched into mine as soon as there was enough room for her to fit through.