Trade Me (Cyclone #1)

“Your doctor is Kevin Wong?” Tina is asking.

“Yeah,” Dad says to Tina, ignoring me. “Kevin. That’s him. He lives two streets over. He can be here before the paramedics. And he’ll make sure we get in front of the narrative. God knows what the fucking ambulance drivers will say if they get here before Kevin can tell them what to think.”

“Narrative?” I say. “You’re having a heart attack and you’re worried about what the public will think?”

But inside I’m screaming. This is exactly what happened to Peter—exactly. Heart attack. Just before a launch. I can’t lose Dad, not like this.

Dad shakes his head. “It’s not what you think.”

“What,” I ask him, “you’re not having a heart attack?”

Tina speaks swiftly into the phone. I tell myself it’s going to be okay. Someone will be here soon, someone who will be able to fix this. They’ll make it all better.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He shuts his eyes. “I’m only having a heart attack, Blake. That’s all that’s happening, right? That’s what we have to make sure everyone thinks.”

I don’t understand what he’s saying at first. Tina sets the phone down. She doesn’t look at me. She looks at my dad, looks at him as if she’s seeing him for the first time.

“How long…” Her voice shakes. She lets out a long breath. “How long,” she finally asks, “have you been doing cocaine?”

For a second, I don’t know what to say. It’s fucking ridiculous to even consider. My dad wouldn’t…wouldn’t…

I lift my head. It’s on the counter. A fine dust of white powder glistens in poisonous contrast to the gleaming marble. It sits next to a plastic bag filled with a white substance.

On the floor, Dad shuts his eyes. “Oh, you know. On and off. For ten years or so.”

Ten fucking years? He has to be shitting me.

“More on than off these last six.” He blows out his breath. “I was losing my edge. I had to do something.”

“Christ.” I can’t breathe.

“Blake.” He motions me close. “Look. I was going to tell you. I meant to.”

He was going to tell me? I don’t even know what to say to this. The thing he’s talking about—it’s just not possible. I don’t believe it.

“When I was twenty and thirty, I didn’t think anything of doing ninety hours a week. But then I hit forty.” His hand curls around me. “It was like I hit a wall. I needed something to keep my edge. And Peter and I…”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” I say. “Peter knew about this, and he let you do it?”

And that’s when Dad breaks. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t moan. But his face collapses.

“God, Blake. Why do you think I couldn’t tell you? You think Peter had a heart attack at forty-five for no reason? He didn’t just let me do it. He was doing it with me.” He gasps for air. “How could you live with me once you knew I killed him? I can’t even live with myself.”

I don’t even know what to say. “You told me you wanted to go on vacation.”

He shakes his head. “Vacation. Rehab. Whatever.”

“What about tonight? You just shrugged and told me not to worry about you. You didn’t tell me.”

He opens his eyes, meeting mine. “I killed Peter.” There’s a stark coldness inside him. “You think, once you told me, I’d kill you, too? I’d rather fucking die.”

He just might.

It’s weird. All this time I’ve been telling myself that my father is stronger than I am. That the last thing I want is his disappointment. That I can’t tell him that I have a problem, because if I do, I might lose his respect.

I was right. There are no gods, just us shit-stupid mortals.

I take hold of his hand. “You stupid fucker,” I say. “I’m never going to stop being proud of you. I’m never going to stop loving you. So live. Live, you stupid bastard.”

I hear the door open in the distance. I hadn’t even realized that the doctor was here. Tina must have let him in. Dr. Wong comes in at a half jog and leans down beside my father.

I expect him to take his pulse or examine him, but apparently that’s old school. He pulls out a phone and snaps a little plastic alligator clip on his finger.

“Are you experiencing chest pain?” Dr. Wong has a soft, sweet voice. It’s almost instantly calming. I can already tell he has a great bedside manner.

“It’s cliché, but…it’s like there’s a damned elephant sitting on my chest.”

“There you are,” Dr. Wong says in his quiet voice. “I told you to stop doing cocaine.”

“Hey, asshole,” my dad snaps back. “This is a heart attack, not a fucking teachable moment.”

“Technically,” Dr. Wong says, “I won’t know it’s a heart attack until I see an EKG. Until then, my official diagnosis is teachable moment.”

“Shit,” Dad grumbles. “You’re fired.”

Dr. Wong ignores this. “Once I get an EKG, it turns into a fucking teachable moment.”