“You what? Whatever for? You can’t even drive, Camden.”
So about that picking fights thing… This was the one I had to pick.
“I’m twenty-eight, Dad.” I swallowed a mouthful of ice water.
“You’re… That’s not right,” he muttered. “You still shouldn’t have my keys. Give them back.” His blue eyes narrowed on me.
“I can’t do that.” I wound another piece of fettuccine around my fork, hoping he’d let it go. That he’d forget this as easily as he’d forgotten my age.
“You sure as hell can and will! Those are my keys.” He jabbed his fork in my direction, punctuating his words.
“They are,” I agreed.
“That’s my car!”
“It is.”
“Do I have to call Tim Hall? Teach you a lesson about stealing other people’s property?” he threatened, leaning forward.
“Dad, you’re not safe driving it. I can’t give them back to you in order to keep you safe.” I spoke slowly, calmly, using every trick I’d learned over the years to talk him down. I’d dealt with warlords less stubborn than my father.
“I’m a better driver than you’ll ever be!”
“That might be so,” I agreed. “But, Dad, you started the car, ran it into the garage door, then got out to fix it and almost died.” My throat closed on the last part, and I had to clear it, then take another swig of my water to ease that lump.
“That’s nonsense. I would never hit the garage door.” He waved at me, fork still in his hand. “You’re lying. You just want to steal my car.”
“No, Dad. I have my own car.”
“You’re thirteen!”
“I’m twenty-eight.” I looked to Xander for a little help, but he stared at the table in defeat.
“Cam, you know triggering his emotions is just going to make him spiral,” Xander warned.
Thanks for the help. “Dad, you’re not safe behind the wheel anymore.”
“That’s bullshit! You say you’re a man?”
“I am,” I agreed, even though some days I wasn’t quite sure where that line really was anymore, because I sure as hell felt like a child the minute I walked into this house. Hell, even this town.
“Then, you know I need my keys. A man drives! He has control! Who is going to take your mother to the library when it snows? You know she hates that driveway.”
Shit, that hurt.
Xander’s eyes squeezed shut. Fine, okay, I could be the bad guy. It was pretty much the role I’d been born to play anyway.
“Dad, Mom passed away a long time ago. You don’t have to drive her anywhere. Both Xander and I are grown. We can drive you wherever you need. Your nurses can, too. They’re extremely capable. Xander and I made sure you have the best people around you. You don’t need to worry about driving. Let us make this easier.”
“I want my goddamned keys!” The fork flew from his hand, skidding down the honey oak table and landing in Mom’s empty chair.
“You. Can’t. Have. Them.”
He roared in frustration, and my chest clenched like I was a kid.
“Fine, I’ll just ask Sullivan to get them. He’s the only one of you who ever listens,” he grumbled.
That was a fight I refused to have.
We ate the rest of lunch in silence, until Nikki arrived, all smiles in her green scrubs.
“There you are!” She waved to Dad, then turned to Xander and me. “Thanks. It was great to grab lunch with my boyfriend.”
“Who are you?” Dad asked.
“Nikki,” she answered like it was the first time. It wasn’t. “I’m here to spend the day with you. How about we pop this back on”—she looped the oxygen back under his nose—“and get you set up for a little relaxation time? Your boys tell me that you love Band of Brothers, so I’ve got the first episode queued up.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed as he watched her take his empty dish from the dining room.
“I’m supposed to watch movies with this girl?”
“She’s just here to help, Dad.”
“She’s bossy.” He thumbed his oxygen tube.
“So are you,” I countered.
“Okay, we’re all set. Want to come with me, Art?” Nikki asked.
“Well, I guess you’re pretty enough,” he commented and stood.
“Dad, you can’t call her pretty.” I cringed in Nikki’s direction. “Sorry.”
“No worries. I’ve been called worse.” She shrugged it off.
“Why not? Look at her. Red hair, nice skin. I like pretty girls. We’ll get along just fine if you don’t talk through the show.” Xander moved his walker, and Dad stepped into it, leaning heavily for support.
Nikki smiled and took Dad to the living room as Xander and I carried the remaining dishes to the kitchen.
“So you’ll take his keys to save his life, but you’re going to take me to court for a DNR so he can end it,” Xander accused as I washed what was in the sink.
“Not the same thing,” I argued, loading the dishes into the dishwasher.
“Really. Because if you think he’s lucid enough to say he wants a DNR, then he should be lucid enough to drive, right?”
I shut the dishwasher and turned to face my brother.
“What? No answers to that?” He shoved his arms through his suit coat and stared me down with an open disdain he’d hidden from our father.
“You still don’t see?” I asked quietly. “After everything in the hospital, when he woke up screaming because he didn’t know where he was or why there was a tube down his throat. You think he wants to live like that? Tied down with restraints while his own sons hold him prisoner?”
“Twelve days!” Xander snapped. “It was twelve days in the hospital, and now he’s home. And half the time, he’ll be Dad. So yeah, I’m willing to take those shitty days so we can have the few good ones that we do. Because I love him and I will keep him on this earth as long as I can.”
“You’ll take the shitty days?” I shook my head. “You didn’t take the shitty days, Xander. He did. You watched. At some point you’re going to see that this has never been about what you want—what I want. It’s about what he wants.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, all the time using our family mine to try and sway public opinion to your side, try to convince everyone that you’re some kind of reformed hero. That’s all about Dad. Sure. I’m telling you, brother, they’ll be grateful for the income, but it won’t work to get the people or the judge on your side. I know Alba a little better than you do.”