“Yeah. I would have preferred to hear it from you instead.”
Her mouth drops open as she swings toward me. We stare for a painful heartbeat before laughter falls from her lips. Great big belly guffaws that leave me confused. “Are you kidding me? Why the hell would I tell you anything?” As unexpectedly as it started, it abruptly dies away and her green gaze spits fire. “Since when does being fuck buddies make us friends?” Slowly she shakes her head. “Newsflash—it doesn’t.”
My shoulders slump under the weight of her words. “Fine, you’re right,” I mutter, scooping up a handful of sand. Tiny grains fall through the cracks between my fingers. “No matter what’s happened between us, I still care about you and your family.”
She snorts. “I’d really hate to see how you treat people that you don’t care about.”
Ouch. Direct hit. But it’s one that I deserve.
“Look, I—”
“I don’t need your sympathy,” she snaps. “I came here to be alone. So, if you wouldn’t mind,” she makes a shooing gesture with her hand, “go.”
There has to be a way for me to rectify the situation. “Skye—”
“No! I’m serious.” She waggles a finger between us. “There’s no need for any of this. We’re not friends. As far as I’m concerned, we’re nothing. Ever since I returned, all you’ve wanted to do is hurt me, and you know what?” Her voice falters as she pushes on. “You’ve accomplished your goal. You should feel really proud of yourself. Now it’s time to move on and leave me be.”
The accusation in her voice leaves me flinching. “I’m sorry.”
She drags her fingers through the sand and jerks her shoulders into a shrug. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Yes, it does.” Desperation fills me. I’m not sure what kind of reaction I was expecting from her, but it wasn’t this ambivalence. It’s as though she’s too exhausted to even give a damn.
“Why?” she asks, “why does it matter?”
“Because I know Mason was behind our breakup.”
That statement is met with silence. Long moments that tick by as my nerves stretch taut. For the second time in a matter of minutes, I’ve managed to surprise her.
“Your brother told you what he did?” she asks carefully.
“Not in so many words, but he sure as hell didn’t deny it. But the real question is—why did you go along with it? Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”
With a puff of breath, she draws her knees to her chest before resting her chin on them. Waves crash against the shore and the breeze blows through our hair. A response doesn’t seem forthcoming.
As I turn restless, she says, “I didn’t want to stand in your way.” Her voice fills with emotion. “You’d already lost so much.”
“Do you realize that when you left, you took away everything that mattered to me? You had no right to make that decision on your own. You walked away without giving me a choice in the matter.”
She blinks back the wetness as it fills her eyes. “At the time, I did what I thought was best. It wasn’t an easy decision.” She turns her head until our gazes are able to fasten. “And now look, you’re so close to having everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“What I wanted,” I snap, “was you!” How does she not understand that?
Her body deflates and her voice drops. “It’s over with, Hunter. There’s no way for us to go back and rewrite the chapters of our story, no matter how much we might want to.”
“You’re right, but we can give ourselves a different ending.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible.” Slowly she rises and dusts off her shorts.
How can she leave when there is so much that needs to be said?
I scramble to my feet as well. “Skye—”
“You know what?” A little bit of her weariness falls away. “It’s a relief that you finally know the truth. Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but I did it. I loved you enough to let you go. As far as moving forward,” she shakes her head, “I can’t do that with you. There’s too much going on in my life for me to deal with anything more. I’m barely holding on as it is.” When her voice thickens, she pauses. Only after she’s gotten her emotions under control, does she continue. “Can you understand that?”
My shoulders collapse as the fight in me drains away. What else is there for me to do? Instead of arguing and trying to wear her down, I jerk my head into a nod.
I’ve hurt Skye enough, the last thing I want to do is cause further damage.
Chapter Thirty
Skye
E ven though I tell myself that Dad is getting better—or at the very least, staying the same—deep down I know the disease is getting progressively worse. The chemo makes him sick and he continues to shed weight. It’s painful to watch. There’s nothing I can do to make it better. I’ve never felt this powerless in my life. It seems like we’re always waiting for the next test results and what it will tell us. We’re always hopeful that it will be positive and let down when it turns out to be more bad news. The numbers have continued to steadily creep up. The doctors want to give it more time in hopes that the medicine will finally do what it’s supposed to. But that hasn’t happened. And there’s no guarantee it will.
There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t pop over for a visit. I try to bring a smoothie or a new protein cookie for him to try. Anything with nutritional value I can get in him feels like a small victory in this battle being waged against cancer.
Today I’ve brought chicken noodle soup. Instead of knocking on the front door like I usually do, I walk in. If I’m lucky, I can time my visits when Brandi is out doing whatever the hell it is that Brandi does. Plus, I enjoy having Dad to myself. Sometimes we talk about my grandparents and what his childhood was like growing up in Chicago. I’ve started to jot down names and dates so I can remember these family stories later on.
I close the door and yelp in surprise when I find Brandi standing silently in the foyer. She’s wearing yoga pants and a gray T-shirt. Which is odd. What I’ve noticed about wife number three is that she likes to glam it up, even when she’s hanging out at home.
“Brandi!” My hand flies to my chest. “You scared me!”
“Sorry.” Her lips barely lift. “I heard the door open and wasn’t sure who it was.”
It’s only after I hold up the container of chicken noodle soup, that I get a good look at my stepmother. She’s not wearing a drop of makeup and her face is splotchy as if she’s been crying.
The soup is instantly forgotten as panic takes hold. “What’s going on?”
Brandi compresses her lips into a thin line and gives me a quick head shake as tears flood her eyes. She attempts to blink back the wetness before glancing away as a shuddering breath escapes from her lips.
“Where’s Dad?” Dread snakes through me like adrenalin. It’s enough to weaken my knees.
She points toward the family room before turning away and climbing the stairs to the second floor. I watch as she disappears from sight. The soft sound of their bedroom door closing resonates through the eerily silent house.
Unsure what to do, I stand rooted in the entryway. My heart thumps painfully against my breast and I raise my hand, rubbing gently at the spot that now aches. The room shrinks until the walls feel as though they are pressing in on me. My chest tightens and sucking in full breaths becomes impossible. I’m tempted to sink to the floor and close my eyes to get my bearings.
Is this what a panic attack feels like?
The voice inside my head urges me to leave. To walk out the door so I don’t have to hear any more bad news. But I can’t do that. I have to pull it together. Dad needs me.
I suck in a shaky breath before slowly exhaling it. Then I force one foot in front of the other. Silently I count the steps as I go. It takes exactly sixty steps for me to reach the family room where I find Dad parked in his favorite recliner. It’s a dark brown corduroy and ugly as sin but he loves it. It’s the
one piece of furniture Brandi was unable to purge from his former life. It’s the only thing that foils her perfect decorating scheme. For obvious reasons, I love it.
My footsteps stutter as I take him in. Even though I was here yesterday, he seems both thinner and paler. How can someone’s physical appearance deteriorate so rapidly? It doesn’t make sense.
I blink back the tears, unwilling to let them fall. I’m afraid that once they start sliding down my face, it’ll be impossible to stop them.
“It’s a line drive to left field!”
The baseball announcer’s voice from the TV cuts through my thoughts. It takes a moment for me to realize that he’s watching the game from last night on the DVR. Dad has been a diehard Cubs fan since he was a kid. He’s ecstatic that his favorite team has made it to the playoffs this year. He’s been waiting a long time for this.
I clear the emotion from my throat and Dad’s gaze cuts to mine.
A small smile tilts the edges of his lips. “Hey, kiddo.” He glances at the paper bag in my hand. “What do you got there?”
I look down in surprise, having forgotten about it. “Oh, um, soup. Do you want some?”
With a grimace, he shakes his head. “Not right now. Brandi forced me to drink a protein shake and it’s not sitting well. But thanks.”
“No problem.” I point toward the kitchen before heading in that direction. “I’ll put it on the counter. Maybe later you’ll want to give it a try.” With robotic steps, I walk to the next room and set the bag on the marble island next to Dad’s pill bottles. There must be a dozen of them. He has a medication box that can hold enough pills for seven days. He keeps the container next to his recliner for easy access. I’ve seen him take a small handful at one time. No wonder his stomach is always upset. Maybe the chemo destroys the cancer, but it kills everything else, too. Including his appetite.
Dad clicks off the television as I settle on the couch across from him.
Unsure where to start, I say carefully, “I saw Brandi when I came in, she seemed upset.” I search his face. As much as I’m afraid to ask, I need to know. “What’s going on?”
A puff of air slides from his lips as he glances away. The silence that stretches between us makes my nerves dance more frantically.
“The doctor is taking me off this medicine.” He stares out the window before his gaze returns to mine. “The numbers aren’t getting better.”
I swallow past the lump of nausea that has wedged itself in my throat. That’s a good thing, right? Now they can try something else. Something that won’t make him so sick all the time. “Okay. What’s next?”
One beat passes.
Then another.
I shift on the couch as unease fills me.
“There isn’t anything else left, kiddo. At this point, we’ve exhausted all of the viable studies. The one Dr. Waterman thought I might qualify for isn’t taking new patients.”
I shake my head. No, that can’t be right. “But—”
“The numbers are too high, and nothing has helped to lower them.”
Tears sting my eyes. “But you said there were other treatments you could try. New drugs get approved by the FDA every day. Maybe there are other experimental studies you can participate in. You can’t give up, Dad!” My voice rises, turning panicky. “You can’t do that!”
His shoulders fall as wetness shines in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Skye. I know this is difficult to hear, but I’ve been fighting this disease for the last year and I’m tired. The doctors have done everything they can.”
“I don’t understand…” I shake my head. “You’re not going to take anything? You’re just going to let it get worse?”
“That’s what’s happening anyway. The chemo isn’t knocking out the cancer the way it did in the beginning, and it’s continued to spread. I’m riddled with it.”
“But Dad—”
“I’ve got two to six months left. I don’t want to spend the rest of my time sleeping and feeling sick to my stomach. I want to make every day count and I can’t do that on chemo.” He waves a hand, his face filling with disgust. “There’s no quality of life on this shit. Haven’t you seen that for yourself?”
Unable to hold his gaze, I stare sightlessly out the family room window that overlooks the wooded backyard. The sky is a deep cornflower blue and the sun is peeking out from behind a few clouds. How can it look picture perfect outside when my world has been blown to bits?
“I don’t want you to die,” I whisper. My voice catches on the last word and I burst into noisy tears. I’ve been preparing myself for this moment, but I don’t feel anywhere near ready to accept it.
I curl up on the couch in a tight ball as all of the anxiety, grief, and sadness I’ve kept bottled up inside is released in a wild torrent of emotion. When I finally manage to pry open my eyes, Dad is beside me, brushing the hair away from my face with gentle fingers. I can’t remember the last time he did that.
Tears fill his eyes and his voice becomes thick with unspent emotion. This is the closest I’ve seen him come to crying and it breaks my heart. “I don’t want to die either, but there’s not a choice in the matter. I had a feeling this was the way things were headed and I’ve tried to make peace with it. You need to do the same.”
Is that a joke?
“How am I supposed to do that? How can you even ask that of me?”
He strokes his hand rhythmically over my hair and I focus on that instead of this harsh new reality. “You have to know that if there were anything else I could do to change the outcome, I would.” He releases a shaky breath. “The prognosis was never good. We knew this wasn’t a battle I was going to win. I wanted more time and that’s what I was given, but we’ve come to the point where the treatment is doing more damage than good. I can’t live like this anymore.”
“I really thought we’d find something that would send you into remission.”
“Everyone dies, kiddo,” he says quietly. “It’s just a matter of when.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better!” I wail as tears course down my cheeks.
“I know, but it’s the truth.”
“Well, the truth sucks.”
“I’m not saying that it doesn’t, but it is what it is. And fighting it, refusing to accept it, won’t change the end result. As difficult as the situation is, I need you to be strong.” He searches my eyes. “Can you do that for me?”
“No.” I shake my head frantically. “I can’t be strong. Not about this. Not when I’m going to lose you.” I want to sob out my pain until all the tears inside me run dry and even then, I don’t know how anything will ever be all right again.
He kisses the top of my head and whispers, “You’re the strongest person I know, Skye. You’re going to get through this. Please, kiddo, let’s enjoy the time I have left, okay?”
I press my lips together and swipe at my eyes.
He’s asking for the impossible, but what other choice do I have?
I want to be as strong as he believes I am, but I’m not sure I have that kind of strength in me.
I thought saying goodbye to Hunter was the hardest thing I’d ever have to do, but I was wrong. Saying goodbye to my father will be.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hunter
I slide onto my seat for health and throw a quick glance over my shoulder only to find Skye’s desk vacant. This is the second time this week she’s been absent.
Where the hell is she?
In the pit of my gut, I know something is wrong. It’s not like her to blow off class for any reason. Even when we were in high school, and I’d try to persuade her to skip class, she would refuse.
I’ve shot her a few texts, but it’s been stereo silence from her end. And yeah, I get it. Skye wants me to leave her alone, but how can I do that when I’m being eaten up by concern? She might not want me to care, but I still do. I’ve just done a shit job of showing her that.
Midway through class, I catch Jaxon’s gaze and jerk my he
ad toward the unoccupied seat next to him. He shrugs and looks away, purposefully avoiding my eyes. Jax knows exactly what’s going on but he isn’t going to tell me. I’ve been a douche and we both know it.
Bennet drones on and I find myself clock-watching which makes this class feel like it’s never going to end. Once Dr. B dismisses us for the day, I pack up my shit and join the flow of students fleeing the classroom. Even though I’m quick, Jax is faster. I have to jog to catch up to him, weaving my way through the herd in the hallway.
“Hey,” I say, pulling up alongside him.
He gives me a sidelong look but doesn’t stop walking. “What’s up, Price?”
The tension simmering beneath the surface of our friendship rachets up a couple of notches. There’s no longer any easy camaraderie between us.
Instead of prolonging the moment, I do us both a favor and cut to the chase. It’s obvious that neither one of us want to be having this conversation. “What’s going on with Skye?” When he remains silent, I grow impatient. “Is she sick or something?”
“Dunno.” He tosses a glance my way. “And if there were something going on, it wouldn’t be any of your damn business. So just stay out of it.”
It pisses me off that Jax is playing games. I lay a hand on his shoulder and jerk his body toward mine. We skid to a halt in the middle of the hall. People grumble and funnel around us.
“Just tell me where she is.” I pause before admitting, “I’m worried about her.”
“Seriously?” Jax snorts. “You’ve been a complete dick since she came back. And now you’re concerned?” He shakes his head before knocking my hand off his shoulder. “Sorry, bro, I’m not buying it. I’ve already warned you to leave Skye alone. You’re the last person she needs to deal with.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but everything’s different now. She didn’t breakup with me because she wanted to, she dumped me because of Mason.”
Jaxon steps closer, invading my personal space before driving a finger into my chest. “You know what? I don’t give a shit why she broke up with you. That was Skye’s choice to make. Whether Mason forced her hand or not, at the end of the day, she chose to walk away. Instead of respecting that decision and leaving her alone, you made her life hell the first opportunity you got. The way you acted was complete bullshit and we both know it.” Disgust fills his face. “I’m disappointed in you, Price. I really thought you were better than that.”
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