Chapter 224: The Promise I Wasn’t Ready to Make
•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•
That man could probably sense emotional tension from three rooms away, a skill he’d honed over decades of catching me in half-truths.
"So," he said, leaning back against the pillow, "how was your trip?"
I stared at him. "You’re asking about my vacation?"
"Yes."
"Dad, you’re in a hospital bed."
"And?"
"And you almost died!"
"Almost."
"That’s not reassuring!"
He smiled. "You’re so dramatic."
Dad grinned, clearly delighted by our banter.
For a little while, we managed to pretend everything was normal, he talked about school, exams, how tired I was.
Dad complained I was still too skinny, I complained hospital food was probably why he couldn’t gain weight.
And I wanted to freeze that moment, capturing the sound of his laughter and our easy back-and-forth, never letting either of us step out of that room.
Eventually, though, the laughter died down.
Dad looked at me quietly, some of the lightness fading. "Did they tell you, I told them not to call you."
I knew exactly what he meant, my smile vanished. "Yes."
"I didn’t want you to drop everything."
"You were getting worse."
"I didn’t know how bad it would get."
I looked down at my hands. "You should’ve told me."
"I know."
"No, seriously, Dad."
My voice wavered. "You should’ve told me."
He held my gaze for a long moment, something raw flickering in his eyes. "I was scared."
That hit me hard.
Dad rarely admitted that; I’d seen him shoulder so much without a complaint, he turned to the window.
"I didn’t want you worrying about me while you were focused on your exams. You’ve worked too hard, Oliver. You’ve been carrying too much for too long."
I swallowed. "I would’ve wanted to know."
"I know."
"Then why?"
His eyes returned to mine. "Because you’re my son."
His voice softened.
"And sometimes fathers make dumb choices thinking they’re protecting their kids."
My throat tightened, I looked away to hide my eyes from filling.
Too late.
He reached over and squeezed my hand, weaker than it should have felt, but it was still him.
"You don’t need to carry everything by yourself anymore."
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Hearing those words from him hurt more than everything else that had happened that night.
After a beat, Dad shifted his attention to Damien. "He’s good for you."
I nearly choked.
"Dad."
"What?"
"Can we not?"
"Why?"
"Because you’re making this weird."
Damien looked way too amused by my discomfort.
Dad continued, undeterred.
"I’ve watched you grow up, Oliver. I’ve seen you try to handle everything alone. You don’t have to do that anymore."
I glanced at Damien, he wasn’t smiling now.
He was just looking at my dad with that quiet intensity he had whenever something mattered, giving that moment the weight it deserved.
Dad squeezed my fingers again. "I’m glad you found someone who stays."
My eyes stung anew, I looked down.
"Yeah."
My voice was softer than I intended.
"Me too."
A few minutes later, Dad’s eyelids started to droop, exhaustion winning over his stubbornness.
A nurse came in to check the monitors, and Damien quietly stepped outside with her to discuss some paperwork.
That left just me and Dad.
The room felt much quieter, the beeping of the monitors the only sound in the silence between us.
Dad looked at me. "You’ve been crying."
"No."
"Oliver."
"Okay, maybe a little."
He smiled faintly. "Come here."
I moved in closer.
He reached for my hand again. "Whatever happens with the surgery..."
My stomach dropped.
"Dad."
"No, Ollie. Listen to me."
I nodded, bracing for whatever he was about to say. His fingers tightened weakly around mine.
"I need you to keep living."
I stared at him. "I don’t like that sentence, dad."
"I know."
"I really don’t like that sentence."
He smiled sadly. "You’ve spent your whole life worrying about me. I need you to understand something."
"What?"
"I’m proud of you."
That broke me, I looked away, blinking rapidly, unable to hold his gaze through the blur in my vision. "Dad..."
"I’m proud of the man you’ve become."
I rubbed at my eyes. "You can’t say shit like that and expect me not to cry."
"You’re crying anyway."
"Shut up."
He laughed softly, the sound fragile but genuine. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his hand.
For a moment, we didn’t speak, then the door opened. Damien walked back in and Dad looked over at him.
"Take care of him."
Damien’s gaze came to me, steady and sure. "I will."
Dad smiled. "Good."
Then he turned to me. "And make sure he eats more."
I groaned. "Dad."
"He’s terrible at taking care of himself."
"That is true," Damien agreed.
I looked between them, absolutely betrayed. "Are you two really teaming up against me while I’m right here again?"
Dad smiled. "You’re outnumbered."
"Unbelievable."
Damien’s hand settled gently on my back as Dad’s eyes started to close again, sleep finally taking him.
The exhaustion had finally caught up with him.
"You should rest," I whispered.
He nodded faintly. "Come back tomorrow."
"I will."
"Promise?"
I squeezed his hand. "Promise."
He smiled one last time before his eyes shut.
I stayed there a moment longer, watching his chest rise and fall under the blanket, counting each breath as if it might reassure me more than the last.
But the monitors reminded me none of that was guaranteed.
When I finally got up, Damien opened the door for me.
I stepped into the hallway, and as soon as the door shut behind us, the strength I’d been trying to hold onto began to slip away.
Damien didn’t say anything.
He simply took my hand.
I let him.
We walked down the hospital corridor together, surrounded by fluorescent lights and the quiet sounds of machines and distant footsteps.
And somehow, instead of feeling completely relieved, that made the fear sitting in my chest feel even sharper.
Because now I’d seen just how fragile he really was.
And the surgery was still ahead of us.
I tightened my grip on Damien’s hand as we walked.
He squeezed back, for once, I didn’t make a joke, I didn’t pretend I was fine, I just leaned into him and allowed him to walk with me.