Four words. Four words I wasn’t prepared for. Four words I never thought I would hear. Because William Masters III was immortal.
“What do you mean dying?” My voice shakes. Hell, my entire body starts shaking.
“I have a tumor. It’s spread to my lymph nodes. It’s inoperable, and treatments have been ineffective.”
I look over at Bastian, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he cannot make eye contact with me. “You knew,” I accuse.
“He wanted to tell you himself.”
“How long?” I whisper.
“It doesn’t matter, Maddox. All I want is to spend what time I have left proving tomy sonthat he has never been a disappointment and that I am so very sorry for the part I’ve played in how hard his life has been.”
“How fucking long,” I hiss again, this time fighting back the tears.
“A few months, hopefully. More likely a few weeks.”
“Weeks,” I croak as tears sting the back of my eyes. “Weeks! You come to me with all of this. Telling me you want to make amends. And you only have weeks!”
“I know I have a lot of making up to do, Maddox. I know it’s not much time, but please let me try.”
“Did you know when you bought my label? Were you sick then?”
“Yes. I’ve known for a few months now. I didn’t tell you kids because I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Callie and Chris know?”
“No. I haven’t told them yet. I needed to tell you first. You’re the one that I have so much to make up for.”
I shake my head. The tears I’m trying desperately to hold back begin to fill my eyes, but I won’t let them see. “I can’t do this,” I tell them as I grab Bastian’s keys. “I… No.” I’m out the door before they can stop me, needing to be anywhere but there.
I hauled ass on the bike with no plan at all but to ride. To escape. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t put what Dad told me out of my head.
Which is how I find myself on the Island. It’s been years since I was out here. Since the night I met Zoey, in fact. I just haven’t had the time.
I pass a few tourists, but it’s mostly locals fishing for whatever is in season as I walk out onto the long pier that stretches into the gulf with my hood up, glasses on, and head down. Around here, that’s not the best thing to do. It gets more stares than walking out with a fruit bowl on your head, but I need to stay as unrecognizable as possible.
I reach the end of the nine-hundred-footpier, squeezing between two fishermen to lean against the railing. I look out over the water and exhale heavily as I remember this place being one of the few places Dad came with us before Mom died. It was one of the few places where we felt like an actual family, and I wasn’t a nuisance.
We’d spend hours here every Sunday walking the beach or fishing. Dad complained the entire time that he had boats for this sort of thing, but we all knew he loved the simplicity of it. It was the only simple thing in his life. The only simple thing he allowed himself.
I don’t know what to do with what he told me. I can’t fathom him not being around. I also can’t fathom us getting past our differences. It feels like a crossroads where every path is the wrong choice.
I reach into my hoodie pocket and pull out the bottle of whiskey.It’s not what I really want right now.Just like I know that neither will really help.But the need to be numb is too strong.
I take the first burning swig and sigh with relief.I relish the sweet flavor with its smokey undertone as it warms my insides.Feels like regret, but it’s so good going down.
I sip straight out of the bottle and enjoy the sounds of the waves crashing and the pelicans calling out.It’s the same type of noise that fills my head sometimes, but when it’s actually there, it’s almost soothing.
The pier begins to clear, more and more calling it a day from whatever they were doing, leaving me mostly alone in solitude.Not something I wanted as badly as I thought, I realize when the two on either side of me leave.
I grab my pocket, pulling out the phone I take with me for emergencies but haven’t turned on since I got here.I need to talk to someone.Not about me or Dad or anything else but just talk.
My finger lingers over Ryder’s name. He’s the voice I want to hear. I’ve missed him so fucking much, but he’s still in rehab for a few more days. Besides, he doesn’t need my shit. Not now or ever. He needs to focus on getting better for Heaven and Tyler.
So I tap another number. One I know that will be as deep or as casual as I want the conversation to be.
“Well, if it isn't my favorite tattooed sex pot. What did I do to deserve a call from the great Maddox Masters?” he quips after the third ring. Hayes has always been such a smart ass.
