Summer The rhythmic whoosh-thump of the respirator thuds against my chest, mirroring the whump-whump-whump of my heart. I stare at the man who was... is my father. I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years and when he’d shown up at my wedding I had ignored him. I had insulted him when he’d turned up on my doorst ep— Okay, my husband's doorst
Ep I had refused my father water. He'd asked for it twice and I had ignored him. I curl my fingers into fists. I had been too intent on revenge; on cutting into him with my words; wanting him to feel as broken as I had been in the years after he’d left me. When I’d found out he hadn’t actually died, I’d wished him dead so many times... And here he is, on death’s door. His ribs visible through the hospital gown, his face so pale it blends in with the sheets. When had his dark hair gone so grey? I hadn’t noticed it earlier. In the blurry images I carried in my head, he’d been tall, larger than life, a wide smile, a full head of dark hair. He’d been some kind of hero... a vision I’d wanted to cling to in my weaker moments. Someone who would one day come back for me and tell me that he was sorry, that he still loved me. And he had returned. And I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that he still existed. He is the cause of every bad memory from my childhood come to life, and he claimed that he’d done it all for my own good. Typical. Why do parents always think that their children need to be shielded? That they can’t bear what that their parents are going through? All he’d had to do was take us with him—love us, hate us, we’d have been together, and that’s all that would have mattered. But he hadn’t. And here we are in a hospital room. My father had crumpled and Sinclair had caught him before he could hit the floor. My husband had called for his helicopter, then phoned ahead for his private doctors to be on standby. For once I didn't begrudge him his wealth. We’d arrived at the hospital, and Dad had been rushed in. A cardiac attack. They’d operated on him right away, put in a stent to widen his blocked arteries. Now all I have to do is wait. For what? What am I going to say when he comes around? What will I tell him? What is going to happen to him? To us? Karma and Victoria were in to see him already, and now they are in the waiting room outside. I'd put it off, until... until Karma had urged me to go in. She'd told me that if something were to happen to him, I'd regret it if I didn't at least see him. But Dad is in his fifties; nothing is going to happen to him, right? People survive multiple bypasses and go on to live full lives. Surely, my father will be no different. He'll pull through. He has to. I press my knuckles into my eyes. The door whispers open behind me, and a shiver runs down my back. It's him. He's in the room.
Sinclair draws abreast; the scent of bergamot and leather cleaves through the cloud of antis eptic. I draw it into my lungs, hold it, savor it. How many times will I be able to do this? "How are you?" These are the first words he’s spoken to me in the last many hours. He’d ensured I didn’t have to deal with the paperwork, the formalities, talking to the doctors. He’d taken care of all of it, leaving me to grieve... What? How things could have been, had my father not abandoned us? How I could have handled things differently with him? Could I have told him everything I carried around in my mind? My father... Sin... Why are my emotions always such a tangled web? "Bird." "Summer." My voice is too loud in the room, "My name is Summer." "You should take a break, go home—" "No." I glance away, "And it’s not my home." "Call it mine then." He widens his stance. "Go, eat, take a bath." "What if he dies while I am gone?" "He won’t." "Oh?" I stop the chuckle that bubbles up. Hysteria? No way am I giving into that. Not in front of him. "You think you can stop death?" "I know it." I stiffen, "What do you mean?" "I almost died as a child." "What?" I swing around. He’s staring at the opposite wall. A pulse flares to life at his jawline. "The Mafia kidnapped us and k ept us captive." "For how long?" "Too long." He fiddles with the clasp of his watch. "It was close to a month." His jaw tenses. I don’t dare speak, don’t want to break this line of thought. He’s thinking of... something... caught in the throes of his nightmares. I am not the only one running from my past, eh? "We were bound to our beds, k ept drugged." He clicks open the clasp of his watch, then shuts it with a harder click. "I floated in and out of consciousness." The tendons of his throat flex. "In my lucid moments, I tried to communicate with the other boys in the room. There were —" "Seven of you." He nods. "That’s how we met. From different homes, families, different realities; and our lives were changed irrevocably in that time." "A powerful bond." "One that unites you and haunts you for the rest of your life." "What did they want?" "They blackmailed our families for money. Until they realized mine didn’t have any." The clicking of his watch grows louder.
He pulls himself up to his full height, "After about 3 weeks in that hell hole, one of us managed to break free. He was caught and brought back. That day they decided to make an example of me. I was the expandable one, after all." His smile grows fierce. "They beat me so hard that I lost consciousness." I gasp. "The scar over your eyebrow...?" He nods. "The other families paid up. The kidnappers took the money, revealed the location where they were holding us. I was rescued with the other boys." He clicks the clasp of his watch. "When I arrived at the hospital I wasn't breathing. They resuscitated me." The clicking grows louder. "They brought you back." The breath rushes out of me. "I chose to live." "Is that why... uh! You're so intense?" One side of his mouth kicks up, "Now you’re being diplomatic." Yeah, but when a man decides to reveal something of his de epest self, you don’t exactly kick him for it, eh? He straightens, rubs the back of his neck, "I almost died... The rest of the Seven didn't es cape unscathed either." "What do you mean?" "That is their story to tell." He turns to me. His shirt is unbuttoned, his hair mussed as if he’s been running his hands through the thick strands. It gives him a veneer of vulnerability. An act. Surely, it’s an act? He’d wanted me to draw my father into the open. He’d wanted to destroy him.... Guess he got his wish, huh? So, what’s left? "Why share all of this with me... now?" He holds out his hand. "Take a break." I stare at his hand. "Is everything a negotiation?" "Yes." He draws in a breath. "It’s the most important lesson I learned during the time I was locked up there. You had to think on your feet, hold back. As long as you had something that your opponent wanted, you had a chance." "Am I your opponent?" I tip my head back, peruse his features for the first time since he’d come into the room. Dark shadows circle his eyes, and his stubble seems wilder somehow. It enhances his potency. Those dark, brooding, smoldering good looks just kicked up a notch. Combined with that hint of defenselessness that laces his features, it’s intoxicating. An addiction. A low burn simmers in my belly. My body is too conditioned to react to him. I don’t stand a chance. I reach for his hand, his fingers brush mine and he pulls me up. I straighten and our knees bump. He tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ears and I shiver. His gaze de epens as he surveys my face. He sighs, "Bird, I’m..." A cough sounds from the bed. I blink. Sinclair withdraws. I swivel, walk toward the bed, "Daddy?"
My father’s eyes blink open. "Summer?" "I’m here." His fingers twitch. I grasp his palm. His hand is bigger than mine, yet his bones seem hollow. "I’m sorry, for everything." "You need to rest and recover.’ "It’s time for me to leave. "Don’t say that." My heart begins to race; a weakness hollows my knees. I grab the edge of the bed. "You need to get better and..." My voice falters. I am not sure what to say. Come home with me? Do we have anything in common anymore? Our worlds are too different; so much time has passed. "We can... make a fresh start." "You do that for me." He glances up at the man towering above us. "Take care of her." Sinclair moves closer, until his warmth envelops me. "I will." His voice seems to be coming from far away. "I can take care of myself." "I know." My father’s face lights up in a smile. "But life is a long walk; there are ups and downs, and the time goes faster when you have company." My father’s face waves in and out in front of my eyes. Only then do I realize that I am crying. I swipe at the tears on my face. "Is that how it was between you and my mother?" "I was never the same after she died." His chin trembles. "But it won't be long before I see her." My blood pounds behind my eyes, "Don’t talk like that," I sniffle. "You are going to be fine." He gasps, glances up at Sinclair, "There’s something you should know." He swallows; his chest heaves. The be eping from the monitor next to him increases in pace. "Daddy, please don’t talk. Please, you need to conserve your energy." "I must." He draws in a breath, "I’m afraid he's tracked me down." "Who?" Sinclair moves closer, "Tell me, Adam." "Stop." I shove at Sin, "Back off, asshole, let him recover first." "Mob. Underworld boss." My father coughs; all color leaches from his face. "He called me and threatened me. He's going to hurt my girls." "Don't talk Dad. Please." I wring my fingers. He doesn't look well at all. "I'm going to get the doctor." "No." My father wheezes. "Stay with me, Summer." He holds out his arm. I st ep forward, grasp his palm, twine my fingers with his. He trains his gaze on Sinclair, "The same faction that was behind the kidnapping of you and your friends." His chest heaves. The be eping in the room intensifies further.
My pulse begins to race. "Dad, don't exert yourself, please." Sinclair comes closer. "Who is it? Tell me." My father's eyelashes flutter, his lips move, but nothing emerges. Shit. This is not good. Not good. My throat closes. My stomach twists. "Don't crowd him. Can't you see he needs to regain his health first." I yell, "Get away from him!" Sinclair's feature harden. A nerve throbs at his temple. "Tell me who's responsible." He brushes past me and leans over Dad. "If I need to ke ep her safe, I need to know who I am after." My father’s mouth opens and closes. Sinclair places his ear next to his lips, "Say it." His lips move. "Byron... Capo..." The be eping monitor next to the bed flatlines. "No." I scramble up, squeezing my father’s fingers. "You can’t do this." The door slams open and footst eps sound. A doctor, followed by two nurses, comes rushing in. The doc checks out his heart with a stethoscope, nods to the nurse, who turns to me, "You need to wait outside." "No." I hold onto my father’s hand. It’s warm. He can’t have left me. I didn’t get to tell him how much I care for him. That I forgive him. "Daddy." "Ma’am, please." The nurse turns to the man by my side. Sinclair pulls me close, "Bird." I shake my head, tears pouring down my cheeks. "Come with me." He tugs me back; my father’s hand slips from my grasp. A second doctor, additional nurses flood the space. Cut the sight of the figure on the bed from my line of sight. He urges me to turn; I follow him outside. He leads me down the corridor, through a door, into a waiting room. Faces... familiar faces turn to us. "How is he?" Saint asks, from where he's waiting not far from Victoria. I glance away. Karma rushes to me; I open my arms and hug my sister. Victoria stands with her fingers clasped in front of her. She's wearing a dark blue, almost black in color, dress that falls to below her knees. Her make up is perfect, her lips a red slash. She stares at the door, her features blank. Did she love my father? Maybe I should comfort her? I try to move toward her, but Karma tightens her hold on me. Or maybe not. The doors open behind me. No, I will not turn. Will not. There's a soft murmur of voices. Then footst eps approach me. The doctor clears his throat. "Mrs. Sterling."
"It's Ms. West" I turn, with Karma holding onto me. His face says everything. "No." I swallow. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Ah, Ms. West. His body rejected the stent. It's extremely rare but..." His voice fades. Victoria approaches us. I meet her blank gaze. She draws Karma away from me. My sister shoves at Victoria half-heartedly, then folds her arm round the other woman's slim shoulders. I brush past the doctor, walking toward Sinclair who watches me approach. His lips move... I don't register the words. I stare at the broad chest, in that crisp white shirt... The color pristine, the tendrils of black hair that p epper his tanned skin. Up to that strong chin, the square jaw. "You okay?" He dips his face, peers into my eyes. Cerulean, blue and black. Everything I hate. "You killed him." A coldness grips my chest. "He wasn't old enough to die; he could have lived to be a ninety." Sinclair's jaw tics. "I'm sorry for your loss, Summer." "No, you're not. This is what you wanted. You wanted to ruin him and you made me help you. Well, guess what? You’ve ruined all of us." My knees wobble. I clench my fingers at my sides. I thought I had done my share of grieving when my mother had died... the first time I thought my father had died... but this... Everything feels too sharp, too real. Is it because I am older now? Because I can s eparate each individual shred of emotion that pierces my gut? I press my fingers together in front of my chest. "I didn't intend for this to happen." His jaw tics. "Bullshit." My chest hurts and pressure builds behind my eyes. "You made him come; you subjected him to this farce. You threatened him, told him you were going to ruin him. You must have known this was a possible outcome." The skin at the corners of his eyes creases. He firms his lips. "I didn't want him to die. I wanted Adam to be alive to witness his destruction." "How big of you." A vein pops to life at his temple. "If it weren't for you," I stab a finger at him, "My father would be alive." "And you'd still think he was dead." I wince. He drags his fingers through his hair, "Fuck, I'm sorry Summer." I lean forward on the balls of my feet, "I hate you." "You don’t." That hard certainty in his tone whips through the jumble of thoughts in my head. "You know nothing." I throw myself at him.
Raise my fist until it connects with that beautiful jaw. Punch his neck, his chest, any part of him that I can reach. "I loathe you. I never want to see you again. I want you to leave, I can’t stand you. Go. Away." I raise my arm and he catches it. "Do you mean it?" I tilt my chin up. Don’t say it. Don’t. "Get away from me, you monster."