“I rarely mention that day.” Cash crossed to stand in front of his dad. “But you need the reminder of why you’re not in charge anymore. Besides, what are you going to pay me with? You haven’t held a job in years, and you blew through any savings you had a long time ago. I’ve already fixed the door and the hole in the wall.”
His father came back to his feet, putting them nearly toe-to-toe now. Al Miller was a large, robust man. He’d put up a good fight if he wanted to, and from the look on his face, he was ready to throw down.
Cash fisted his hands at his sides and held his ground, his eyes never wavering from his dad. He’d never laid a hand on his dad, not even when he’d been pissed at all the destruction he’d caused. This was still his father, and respect had to count for something . . . perhaps his dad would see that one day.
“Why do you have to act like you’re better than me?” his dad growled. “You think because you have your own business and your house and come and go as you please that you’re somehow above me.”
His heart cracked just a bit more, as it did every time he visited his dad. “I’ve never thought that,” Cash defended, but purposely softened his tone. “If I did, I wouldn’t waste my time or money on you. I want to see you better. But me wanting it isn’t enough. You have to want a different life.”
“I do,” he all but yelled. “This is damn hard. It’s easy for people like you to tell me to get better. Every day is a struggle. I want that next drink, that bottle of pills. That’s the only thing that helps.”
Cash took a step back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Helps what?”
Al raked a hand over the back of his neck and sank back down into his chair. “Numb the pain,” he muttered.
The pain of losing his wife. Cash knew his dad still hurt, but that was no reason to slowly kill yourself. Cash didn’t know what he’d do if he lost his father, too.
Cash squatted down in front of his dad and placed his hands on his knees. “Mom wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. She wouldn’t want you to grieve this way. You know as well as I do that she’d kick your ass if she could right now.”
At least that got a half smile from his father.
“Forget the fact that I need my father back,” Cash went on, silently cursing the clogged emotions in his throat. He had to be strong enough for both of them. “Do this for her memory. Do this because you’re a better man than this. I know the real Al Miller is in there. That fighter I looked up to as a kid is still inside you.”
His dad closed his eyes an
d shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s gone, son. I don’t even know who we’ll find.”
Cash refused to give up. No matter how easy that may seem or how difficult this road to recovery was, and it had been hell, Cash wasn’t backing down. That wasn’t how he was raised and that wasn’t what had been instilled in him in the United States Air Force.
“I know we’ll find Allen Miller,” Cash stated with affirmation. “That’s my dad, and I’ll die before I see you give up.”
His father looked up at him, weariness filling his eyes, dark circles heavy beneath. “Go on, Cash. I’m tired. I won’t try to check myself out again.”
Promises hadn’t meant much over the past several years. Intentions were one thing, and his father was full of them, but intentions meant absolutely nothing.
“Go on,” he repeated.
Cash rose to his feet and stared down at the top of his father’s head. The man was only fifty-two years old, but he looked at least ten years older. The thinning hair, the extra wrinkles, the darkness that stared back at Cash, only reiterated the fact that his father had spiraled so far away from the man he used to be. Yet Cash held out hope, and no matter how small that thread was, he refused to ever let go.
“I’ll call later to check on you.”
His father merely nodded without saying a word. Cash hesitated but finally walked out and closed the door behind him. He stopped to speak to the charge nurse and then to the counselor before heading to his truck. Apparently, his father was making progress, but he also still lashed out.
Cash knew his father had run the gamut of emotions since the passing of his mother. Pain, rage, despair. Until Al Miller got to the point where he wanted to wake up each day and make something of his life, Cash would continue to pay for a room here.
He made the hour drive back to Haven, and by the time he pulled into the gym, he was more than ready to lift weights, hit a punching bag, and get a good sweat going. The frustrations mounted, and he needed to work off some steam.
As if waking up to a call from his father’s counselor wasn’t bad enough, he kept replaying the past twelve hours with Jade. She wanted him, that was obvious, but she didn’t want to want him. Cash had done flings before; he’d done one-night stands, but Jade . . . well, he wasn’t sure what the hell category to slot her in. She was more than any of that, but he couldn’t let her be.
She’d tried to give him the brush off and blame her actions on alcohol. Honestly, he’d expected better from her than to fall back on that lame excuse. There was no way he was going to let her shove their encounters aside like they meant nothing.
He hadn’t been lying when he told her he wasn’t done, but he would respect her wishes to keep things between them. At least they could agree on that.
Cash parked in the back of his gym and grabbed his duffel bag from the back seat of his crew cab. As soon as he pulled on the gym door, the sound assaulted him. The heart-thumping music was always upbeat and modern, to keep the younger crowd happy and pushing their workouts. Most people used their own music, but Cash couldn’t stand the thought of a quiet gym.
He made his way to his office, not passing any employees as he went. Once inside, he locked the door and changed his clothes. The jeans and tee he’d been wearing yesterday needed to go. He pulled out a fresh T-shirt and shorts, along with boxer briefs and socks.
As soon as he changed, Cash took a seat behind his desk. The cell inside the pocket of his shorts vibrated. Cash didn’t groan, but if this was New Hope again, he may just weep . . . or break something.