Page 65 of Playing for Keeps
Chuck shook his head with narrowed eyes. “As if you care.”
“I do, actually. Not that you did anything to deserve my concern.”
Chuck flung his hands out to the sides. “I’m dying. Is that what you want to hear?”
Chuck always had a flair for the dramatic, but dying? “What do you mean?”
“Liver failure.”
The sickly look about him made sense. So did the yellowish tint in his eyes and skin.
The sickness explained so much. The silence. The lack of attacks lately. Yet, the relief Justin wantedto feel that his dad was unable to terrorize people anymore was absent.
“How can I help?”
Chuck scoffed. “Don’t pretend to care. I don’t have time for games.”
Justin sat forward, the heat of the building irritation rising in his chest. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. You might be my dad, but I don’t owe you anything. You gave me the bare minimum, but I’ve grown past it. I’m offering my help because I want to.”
Chuck rocked back and forth in his chair, staring Justin down. “Why?”
“Because you’re a person like anyone else, and it’s not right for me to hate you. You might be dying, but everyone else is too. We all have a day that will be our end. You’re not special.”
After a tense staring match, Chuck reached for the TV remote and turned it on. Sports commentary filled the small room, and the fog dissipated from Justin’s head. It was a re-run. The game Justin had pitched earlier in the year against the Cardinals. The Marlins had taken the win after a strained eighth inning.
“You watch playbacks often?” Justin asked.
Chuck lifted his thin shoulders and let them sink again. “I like the sport.”
“You never came to a game.”
His dad’s absence hadn’t bothered him too much. He’d never expected the man to enter a stadium. Chuck’s attitude toward baseball had always skirted the line of boredom.
“Didn’t have to. I could watch from here.”
What did it matter if his dad watched the games? Justin enjoyed the sport, but it was always a means to an end. Every plan to provide for his grandparents had flourished, and he’d closed that chapter of his life with content.
Justin leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “I met someone.”
Chuck didn’t turn away from the game on the screen. “Good for you.”
“Actually, I met someone thirteen years ago.”
There was no emotion in Chuck’s tone as he gave a quick “Congratulations.”
Justin stared at his clasped hands. “It’s Caroline Taylor.”
Chuck’s huff was only a second delayed. “I should have expected that.”
“Expected what?”
“That you’d get sucked in by the other side,” Chuck explained.
Justin straightened, preparing to face the storm he’d just unleashed. “They never did anything wrong.”
“I know. That was why I hated them,” Chuck said, still staring at the TV.
Justin studied his dad. Chuck didn’t flinch, didn’t seem shocked or outraged. He’d used the past tense of hate. Had he meant to?
