Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

Oh, man.

I’m not going to cry.

I’m not.

But the waterworks hit hard, hit fast. I have to turn my face away to keep it together, blinking and rubbing at my eyes and swallowing so I don’t burst into a sobbing fit.

Instead, I manage a smile, squeezing his ankle.

“I’m glad, and I’m so proud of you. You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, Dad. To see you fighting...”

I can’t finish, my voice splintering.

Dad releases his death grip on the blanket and touches my cheek with shaky fingers.

“You’re not gonna lose me, Callie-girl,” he whispers. “I’m not gonna do that shit to you. Hell, I’m sorry I scared you for way too long, boozing my life away. I was so wrapped up in ugly feelings. So stuck in myself... Too damn drunk to realize how much I was hurting you. So don’t you hurt for me now, love. You don’t need to. The crap I’m going through is just what I needed to get my head out of my ass. Don’t apologize. I’m grateful to you for getting me some help.”

Oh my God.

There’s no stopping the warm tears streaming down my face, which catch against his fingers and pool against my skin.

“As long as it’s helping you,” I say.

“It is, even if it doesn’t feel like it some days. I’ll ride this thing out.” His hand falls away like he doesn’t have the strength to hold it up. “I’m real sorry, Callie. Again. You’ve put up with so much with my drinking spells. Every damn time I said it was the last time and got your hopes up, I turned right around and dove back into the bottle. Been letting you and your ma and a lot of other good folks down for too long, and I’m sorry.”

Maybe I really am my father’s daughter.

Because he’s not the only one who kept swearing he’d quit, only to backslide.

Does that make Roland Osprey my drug? My bad habit?

I catch Dad’s hand before it withdraws fully and press it to my cheek. Even if he’s thin and frail, his hand is still warm, the familiar touch of the loving, if imperfect father I’ve known my entire life. Closing my eyes, I press my cheek to his palm.

“That’s all in the past now,” I whisper. “What matters is that you’re doing your best.”

“I am. I promise. Maybe I might even...” He trails off.

“Might even?”

“Might start making tunes again.”

I open my eyes, watching him uncertainly.

This is so hard. I don’t want to squish his dreams. Don’t want to tell him not to, or even to be careful before he throws his heart back in the ring, but after the music industry demolished him...

Ugh.

I guess my thoughts are etched on my face because Dad offers a snort and a wry smile.

“Hey, don’t go looking at me like that,” he says. “Ain’t gonna be like it was before. I don’t need to be a chart topper or walk out to thirty thousand screaming fans who worship the ground I walk on. Don’t need the fame or the groupies or even the fortune I mostly blew before—none of it. I never needed that crap. Not one bit. Losing that ain’t what drove me to drinking.”

“It was losing your music,” I murmur.

His smile turns twisted. Pained.

“That’s about it,” he admits. “But not all. Really, it was realizing how stinking ugly people can be. How they feast on ugliness. Some of ’em damn well love it, and they don’t care who they eat up as long as they’ve got someone to chew on. It’s a scary thing, realizing the world is like that. That you can do your best, try not to do a damn thing wrong, but all you gotta do is catch the wrong person’s eye and suddenly you’re next on the dinner plate for no reason besides feeding their gossip. Reality got a little too cruel for me, is all. Guess it hurt a little less from the bottom of a bottle.”

This shouldn’t hurt so much.

It shouldn’t hurt realizing that my father and I are so much alike.

We want to believe in something beautiful so badly, it’s enough to destroy us when we realize the fires of hell are crackling underneath all the pretty flowers.

“How?” I ask softly. “If you don’t have anything to hide behind...how are you going to live with that ugliness crowding in from all sides?”

“By making things beautiful enough to drown it out, Callie-girl,” my father answers with the sweetest smile. I don’t think he realizes he’s making something too beautiful right here in this moment with his face shining and full of hope. “By getting sober, staying sober, and making beats for ears who want to feel how nice the world can be. That’s my life now, making music that’ll make the world brighter if we just shut up and let it sing.”