“Son,” his father said. He pushed himself up, trying to sit straighter. He didn’t quite make it.
Nick moved toward the bed. Nessa stood and gave him a stiff hug. Nick held onto her, flooded by memories of running down the hall and gathering her out of her bassinet, wrapping her up in her blankets and hugging her to his chest as he and Kat scrambled to get down to the cellar before their father hit the front door.
He let her go, and she and Alana moved to let him sit beside the bed. His father’s eyes stayed on him, and Nick didn’t look away. Eye contact had always been something he’d fought for. When he’d been little, it had pissed his dad off. He’d seen it as a challenge, like a fucking junkyard dog.
It had been worth a backhand to meet the man’s eyes.
“You’re home safe,” his dad finally said. “That’s good.”
Nick nodded.
“You didn’t even tell us you were leaving. We’d have come to see you off.”
Nick snorted. “You hadn’t spoken to me in over a year. You said I was going to hell.”
Brian’s eyes hardened. “I’m too sick to fight, Nicholas.”
“That’s a first,” Nick said through gritted teeth.
“Nick, he can’t handle stress right now, why don’t you try to be civil,” Alana spat. She was standing by the door, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
“Why don’t you shut your mouth,” Kat snapped.
Nick glanced over his shoulder at them, then back to his father. “I’m not here so you can say a tender good-bye. What do you want?”
“I want to make my peace with you, son. We had a rough road. But now I’m dying. And I’m scared.”
Nick narrowed his eyes. He knew what sort of changes the thought of impending death could bring on a person. He’d suffered through them himself. But he knew his dad, too. The man wasn’t seeking retribution or forgiveness. He wanted something, something only Nick could give him. And it wasn’t peace.
“Cut to it. What do you want from me?”
Brian took a deep, rattling breath. “Without a new liver, I’ll be dead in three to six months.”
One of Nick’s sisters sniffed. Nick didn’t look away from his father.
“You’re close enough to my size you could be a match, son. You’re the only one who might be. You got that O blood type.”
Nick sat back and closed his eyes.
“You’ve got to be shitting me!” Erin shouted.
“Erin!” their mother cried. “Your language!”
“Stuff it, Mom!” Kat waved a hand at Nick. “How the hell can either of you ask him to do this?”
“Dad is dying,” Nessa said, her voice small and scared. “Even you can’t be so selfish you wouldn’t help him if you could. Even Nick’s not that selfish.”
Nick glanced over in time to recognize the warning signs of Kat and Erin about to blow a collective gasket.
“Everybody get out,” he said softly.
“Nick!” Kat started.
“Kat, stay calm, okay? Give us a few minutes.”
Kat held her breath but nodded. She ushered everyone out of the room and closed the door behind them, leaving Nick and his father alone.
“Temperamental women,” Brian mumbled. “They run in the family. Got to keep the reins tight.”
“The only person in this family who should be tied down is you,” Nick snapped.
They stared at each other for several long moments, neither willing to look away. Brian swallowed hard and licked his lips. Nick hated that he enjoyed seeing his father scared. He hated the fact that he wanted revenge for all the terror and pain of his childhood. But he did. He’d have to live with the kind of person that made him.
“I know you hate me, Nick, and you got the right. But do you think I’m such a horrible man I deserve a death sentence?”
Nick narrowed his eyes. “You probably don’t want me to answer that.”
“Will you consider it before you say no? For your sisters? And your mother?”
Nick began to smile. “Tell me something, Dad. How fucking terrified were you when they told you I was the only one who could save you?”
What little color there was drained from Brian’s face. “Nicholas,” he tried.
“I’ve got somewhere to be,” Nick said, and stood.
“Son, please. I’ll die without your help.”
“Probably should have thought about that thirty-seven years and fifteen broken bones ago,” Nick said as he headed for the door.
His father called after him, his voice a pale echo of the shouts that used to ring through this house.
Nick ignored him. He stalked down the hallway to the stairs, beginning to fume as he thumped down the steps. The man had no right to ask that of him. He had no right to put that decision in Nick’s hands. How many times had Nick prayed for his father’s demise over the years? And now it seemed the only way it would happen was if Nick pulled the trigger on him. It wasn’t fucking fair.