Chapter 169: The Dad Talk Nobody Escapes
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I barely got the chance to say goodbye before Dad was waving us toward the door like we’d worn out our welcome.
"Don’t make an old man wait another whole two weeks to see you," he called out as Damien efficiently gathered the empty bags from the table, almost like he’d made it his mission to be helpful on our way out.
"I was here just last week!" I shot back, already retreating because, really, arguing with Dad was more instinct than strategy by now.
"Exactly."
"Dad."
"I expect better."
I briefly stared at the ceiling. "I don’t know why I even try arguing with you."
Dad let out a genuine laugh that echoed through the room, making a nurse passing by smile without even realizing it. That sound carried out into the calm corridor of the hospital wing. It felt good to hear him laugh like that; it had taken a while for him to get back to that kind of laughter.
Before we left, Damien turned back to Dad, wearing that polite, composed look he’d been using against me all afternoon. It clearly made older folks think he was just a perfect gentleman.
"It was great meeting you, Frank."
"The pleasure was mine, son."
Son.
I heard Dad say it so easily, like it was just natural and not something he had planned. Damien’s expression shifted for just a moment, something warm and quiet passed over his face before he went back to being composed.
I tucked away the whole moment because I wasn’t ready to dive into it just yet.
"If Oliver doesn’t bring me next time," Damien added, smiling that little smile that meant he’d made up his mind about something, "I’ll come on my own."
Dad’s face lit up in a way that made it clear he was thrilled. "I’d really like that."
I exchanged looks with them. "I thought I was your favorite visitor."
"...You still are."
"You hesitated."
"I did not."
"There was a pause, Dad. A noticeable pause."
Dad didn’t comfirm or deny it, which felt like enough confirmation. "Get home safely, you two."
"I’ll text when we get home," I promised.
"You’d better. Last time, I had to text you first."
With one last wave and the feeling of partially losing this conversation, I followed Damien into the hallway.
The hospital had eased into its late-afternoon vibe, nurses gliding between rooms with the calm efficiency of people who knew how to pace themselves, visitors whispering, and somewhere down the hall, a TV murmured in the distance. Everything felt softer compared to the hustle and bustle we’d arrived to.
We didn’t talk right away. The elevator showed up, its doors opening with a gentle chime as we stepped in. The doors closed, and I leaned back against the wall, letting out a sigh that surprised even me...like I was finally releasing something I’d been holding onto for hours.
Damien glanced over at me as if watching a system finally relax.
"That wore you out, huh?"
I turned to look at him. "That exhausted me?"
"Yeah."
"You." I pointed. "Were the issue."
"Was I?"
"Yes."
"What did I do?"
"You walked into that room, looking like the perfect model of an easy-going, well-behaved college student."
"I am well-behaved and reasonable."
I let out a noise that was a mix of a laugh and a scoff. "You’ve got some damn nerve saying that seriously."
The elevator doors opened, and we walked into the lobby, stepping out into the evening air. The hospital faded behind us, and outside, the late autumn light wrapped everything in a warm glow.
Long shadows stretched across the pavement, and the trees caught the light in a way that made the city look like someone cranked up the warmth.
It was beautiful. I was too busy feeling irritated to fully appreciate it, but I noted it.
"He said you were a good influence," I said as we strolled down the sidewalk.
"I appreciated that."
"I almost called a nurse; clearly, he was showing some neurological symptoms!"
Damien smiled, looking ahead instead of at me, which was even more infuriating than if he’d been smug about it. The evening light hit his face just right, and I made a mental note to ignore that.
"I thought your facial expressions were the best part of the visit," he said.
"You noticed those."
"Every single one. They were pretty noticeable."
"I was trying to send you a message."
"I got several messages. I just chose not to act on them." He said. "Your dad seemed to find it charming."
I stopped in my tracks.
Damien took a couple more steps before realizing I wasn’t beside him and turned back. He had that look that told me he was ready for a speech and had already thought about his defense.
"You," I said, "are unbelievable, you were pretending to be some kind of angel."
Damien smirked at me with the calm, patient look of someone who had been waiting for me to finish. "I’ve always been an angel, sunshine. You’re just finally realizing it."
He said it plainly, without embellishments, and it hit me in a spot I hadn’t protected.
The light filtered through the trees above us, casting shadows on the sidewalk, and the street was quiet except for the occasional car.
"...Thank you," He said, surprising me.
"For what?"
"For trusting me enough to come." He paused. "I know it wasn’t easy for you to bring someone."
I looked sideways at the trees. "It wasn’t."
"I know."
We started walking again, the silence between us settling into something comfortable, the type that takes months to develop and doesn’t need to be filled.
"I’ve never introduced anyone to my dad before," I said after a while. "Like that. As someone significant."
Damien stayed quiet, allowing me to find the words at my own pace.
"He means everything to me. So it mattered who I brought." I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a bit awkward about being sincere. "I wanted him to meet you."
Damien’s expression softened, unhurried and genuine, without any teasing. "I’m glad he did."
I swallowed. "Thanks."
"For?"
I opened my mouth, but the specific, honest words I wanted to say wouldn’t come together in any way that felt right to speak out loud.
"For being..." I tried. "You know." I gestured vaguely at him. "...you."
The words lingered awkwardly, and I watched Damien take them in and...rather than teasing me about my failure to articulate, he smiled. Not the broad grin or the teasing smirk, but the quiet, genuine one that surfaced when he wasn’t thinking about it.
"That might be my favorite thank-you I’ve ever received," he said.
"Don’t get sentimental on me."
"Too late. I’ll be thinking about it for months."
I made an indignant sound and picked up my pace, and he quickly caught up to me, effortlessly, thanks to his height and long strides.
The diner Damien suggested was a cozy little place, small and warm, with windows glowing amber against the deepening evening blue outside.
A flickering neon sign above the door had that charming, worn look of a fixture that had been around for ages and didn’t care to be fixed. Inside, a few booths were occupied, filled with the smell of coffee and frying food, and the hushed chatter of folks unwinding at the end of their day.
We slid into a booth near the window. The vinyl seats were slightly sticky, the kind you’d expect from a diner that had collected stories over the years. The table had a coffee mug ring that no amount of cleaning would ever fully erase. It was, objectively, perfect.
"As long as you’re buying," I said.
"I always buy."
"I know. I’ve come to terms with it. I’m at peace with it."
"You complain every time."
"I complain because I have principles. But then I accept the outcome. The two coexist."
He gave me that look, the one that showed he found my accuracy more than he wanted to admit.
The fries arrived first, an entire basket, golden and smelling like heaven along with two cups of coffee that the waitress placed down with the ease of someone who had done this a million times while still making it feel personal. It was the good stuff, dark and mildly bitter.
I wrapped my hands around the mug to soak up the warmth.
I reached for a fry, Damien’s hand swooped in at the same moment.
He was quicker.
"Are you serious?"
"Reflexes," he said casually, munching on the fry without a hint of remorse.
I glared at the basket. Infuriatingly, it was indeed in the center of the table. "I hate you," I said, snatching another fry and eating it while glaring at him.
He found my little display amusing, taking a sip of coffee as he leaned back like he was in his element, unhurried, settled, completely at ease with everything.
The diner’s light was warm on his face, softer than the harsh hospital fluorescents, making him look like someone who had just enjoyed a great afternoon rather than someone who had just met a parent for the first time under potentially awkward circumstances.
The waitress walked by, noting our expressions, and smiled knowingly. "Cute couple."
I nearly choked on my coffee, why was the whole freaking world convinced that we were a couple?!
I mean...we were–but not really, uh...yeah, whatever. Without missing a beat, Damien replied, "Thank you."