The Hand Job

by Rip Peterson

Table of Contents

I followed her up the stairs to a bedroom.

In the room, her father was in a recliner with an oxygen mask attached to his face.

“No,” was all I could muster.

“Please,” she pleaded. A tear rolled down her face.

“Absolutely no fucking way,” I told her. I never would have talked her like that when we were together but we aren’t together and I have a bunch of liquid courage in me.

Should have went with Zima, you stupid whore.

“It’s spread too far,” she said. “He only has at most a few more months left”

“I don’t care,” I told her. Jack Daniels for the win. I definitely wouldn’t have talked to her like that if we were together.

Tears ran down her face.

“Please, I need your help. You’re our only hope.”

“I’m not Obi Fucking Kenobi,” I responded. Fuck! Jack Daniels makes me clever too.

“I’m sorry for everything, okay,” she tried hard to convince me but due to the Jack Daniels, I was a fucking rock.

I stayed stone faced. I was proud of myself. I was standing my ground.

She began sobbing uncontrollably.

“I’m not ready to lose my daddy,” she said in between sniffles.

Fuck.

I don’t want to talk about what happened next.