Finding Home #SYTYCW15 #SpecialEdition

Finding Home Part 14

Chapter Thirteen

The driving wind was throwing sharp flakes of snow past the beams of Conner's headlights as he parked his Jeep outside the nursing home. He sat there in the puddle of warmth cast by the heater, a country song playing low on the radio, and stared at the building.

The windows glowed with light, making the surrounding twilight seem all the more dark. Inside, some of the residents clustered around a piano, laughing and singing and enjoying themselves. Conner let his head rest against the steering wheel and debated whether he could actually make himself go in, make himself interact with... well, anyone.

Truth be told, he'd spent most of the last few weeks holed up in his apartment and even when he worked his shifts at the bar, he kept himself to himself. It was simple preservation. If he had to endure one more look of pity, one more well-intentioned snoop asking how he was doing, he would crack.

But he'd got a call this morning that his dad had pneumonia. No matter what he said, or how he told himself he felt about his dad, he hadn't been able to stop the little thread of worry that had wormed its way into his heart.

So he got out of the car, shrugging his shoulders up to keep some of the icy wind from spilling down his neck. He gave half-hearted smiles to anyone who called his name, kept his head down and plowed his way to his dad's room.

His dad was lying back in his bed, his eyes closed, stubble as pale as frost covering his cheeks. His hair was longer than Conner had ever seen it. The cranky but strong man his father had been only a week ago had somehow contracted into this shrunken, elderly man. Conner stepped up to the bed, put his hand over his father's. He touched him for the first time in over a decade.

"Dad?" Conner's voice cracked as he spoke. He cleared his throat, firmed his voice, knowing his dad hated any sign of emotion.

"Conner." His dad opened his eyes. Then, he smiled.

The sight of it stunned Conner, as much as if he had given him a good hard shot to the face.

His dad flipped his hand over, wrapped his fingers around Conner's. "I'm glad you came. I've been wanting to talk to you. Why don't you pull up a chair?"

The heavy, upholstered chair squeaked a little on the linoleum as he shoved it over to the bed. His heart was beating hard in his chest, not from exertion, but from fear. He'd never seen his dad like this, not ever, and it was scaring the hell out of him. Conner sat, then leaned forward and took his hand again. "What's wrong?'

His dad lifted a weak hand, batted at the air. "Nothing. I'm fine, or will be in a week or two, anyway. I'm sick, son. I'm not dying."

Conner leaned back in his chair, the breath leaving him in a sharp whoosh that made his semi-healed ribs ache a little. "Then what is it?"

"Well, I told you, didn't I? I want to talk to you." He rubbed a hand over the stubble and sighed. "Look, I know I told you a few visits ago that I made mistakes raising you. I don't know if you're going to forgive me or not, but I'd like you too. The truth is, I kept you on a tight leash 'cause I was afraid of losing you. You were always so... wild. So unpredictable. It scared the hell out of me."

Conner pulled his hand away. "Why, because you were afraid of how it would look?"

"No, you hard-headed ass, because I love you!"

The words echoed in the room, the only other sound the tap of ice pellets against the windows.

His dad's cheeks flushed red, but he didn't look away from Conner. "I have a hard time with that, with showing how I feel. I'm a product of a different time, a different generation. We weren't all touchy feely like you all are supposed to be now, but that doesn't mean that I didn't love you, that I don't love you."