Depends On Who's Asking (SWAT Generation 2.0 12)

Daniel shrugged, then quietly so that only we could hear, he said, “Not sure why you’re visiting, to be honest.”

Carolina drew in a shallow breath.

I looked down at her and nodded my head. “Yeah, he’s really that bad. That’s why I told you not to get your hopes up if he’s a dick. On camera, or in front of a room full of people, he’s the nicest guy in the world. Any other time? It’s like he’s not even the same person.”

She looked over Phillipe’s shoulder to the room beyond.

“Do you think we have to go in there at all?” she asked.

I wished that I didn’t.

Yet, I had to get this over with.

I had to talk to him.

I may not be overly fond of him, but he was still my father.

That deserved at least some respect.

Plus, I wanted him to meet Carolina.

I wanted her to know all of me.

Slapping Brad on the back, I pushed him to the side so I could get in. Tugging Carolina, who seemed a lot more reluctant now, I headed straight for the bed.

I was used to my dad being larger than life.

He’d always been impeccably dressed, even when he was at home.

And I couldn’t tell you the last time that I saw him unshaven.

But seeing him in the hospital bed, looking rough and unkempt, I almost pulled out my phone and took a photo.

“Dad,” I said when his eyes locked on mine. “How are you feeling?”

My father looked up, allowed his eyes to trail over to Carolina, then back to me.

“Fine.” He paused. “Who is this?”

“This” —I tugged Carolina close— “is my soon-to-be wife, Carolina. Carolina, I’d like you to meet my father, Christian.”

Dad’s eye twitched at the use of his first name.

He didn’t like for anyone to call him anything other than ‘Mr. Nicholson’ or ‘President Nicholson.’ For me to have introduced him like that meant something, and he knew it.

“Nice to meet you,” Carolina said softly, holding out her hand.

My father took it, trained to do so from the time he was born, and shook it once before dropping it.

“Took you long enough to get here, kid,” he grumbled. “One would think that your father hadn’t been shot.”

My eye twitched.

“I got here as fast as I could,” I lied.

I didn’t really want to come.

It was more of an obligation at this point.

“I heard about your mother,” he said. “Did she look like she shot me and didn’t care?”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

After my father had woken up yesterday, he’d apparently told Phillipe and Daniel everything, including my mother being the one behind it all with his advisor.

“Ummm,” I said. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

She didn’t look too broken up about it, if that was what he was wanting to know.

Not that he really needed to know that.

“Should’ve known when I wasn’t willing to give that to your mother that it wasn’t meant to be for us.” He paused. “She made a great president’s wife, though. I guess I have her to thank for that.”

I rolled my eyes.

That was why my father and I would never be ‘close.’

He was thinking about his political career while he could’ve just as easily said ‘she gave me you.’

“Give her what?” I asked.

“When I decided to run for president again, she told me that she didn’t want me to. I almost listened. Maybe I should have.” He shrugged.

Maybe he should have.

Maybe he should have!

“Dad.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You can’t just go doing things like that. That’s not how marriages work!”

Dad shrugged. “Well, I know that now, don’t I?”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t.

Instead, I changed the subject.

Kind of, anyway.

Dad didn’t like to have his subjects changed completely, and if I wanted to talk about something else, I would need to gently steer him in the other direction.

That was why Dad always kicked ass during his debates. He never let anything go, even if the opponent wanted to. He may, for the time being, let it go. But he would always circle back around to where he wanted to be.

“The boys told me that you weren’t going to run for president any longer,” I murmured.

I was so fucking thankful for that, too. Like, unbelievably. The idea of having to go through another presidential term with him was terrifying.

I wouldn’t actually ‘do’ anything with him, but that fear of ‘what if’ would always be there.

What if they found me? Now us. What if they assassinated my dad? What if they captured and tortured him? All of those things were very, very likely, which was scary as hell.

“Actually.” Dad scrubbed his face with his hand. “If I had you at my side, I could do this.” His eyes turned to Carolina in calculation. “I have the ‘my wife was murdered’ thing at my back. I have the ‘I was shot’ pity card. With you there at my side, with your pretty little wife, I think I could make it.”