"I'm headed over to Saccatori for lunch with a few friends, if you want to come," she offers.
It's tempting, but I ultimately shake my head. "Thanks, but I can't. Maybe next time?"
The corners of her mouth raise. "Sure."
As we reach the parking lot, the two of us go our separate ways with a quick goodbye. I climb into my car and take a deep breath. I'm not sure how or why my life became such a chaotic mess, but that's my reality now, and the only thing I can do is deal with it.
One day at a time.
One minute at a time.
One breath at a time.
It's the only way to make it through.
THE HOUSE I GREW up in is nothing short of a mansion. In all actuality, I think the only one in this town bigger than mine was the Bradwells’. They're comparable in size, but theirs has a few hundred more square feet. The only reason I know that is because I vividly remember my dad complaining when they built it.
Being the best at everything has always been my father’s goal. It was instilled in him by my grandfather from a young age and just seemed to stick. However, one thing he's never failed or faltered at is being a dad.
As soon as I walk inside, I can hear my mom moving about in the kitchen. I close the door behind me and head that way. Sure enough, I find her making a sandwich. Pastrami, turkey, and cheese—Dad's favorite.
"Paige," she greets me. "I didn't expect you home so early. How was school?"
I shrug and place my purse onto the barstool next to me. "Same as usual. Books, lectures, and assignments."
"Well, no one ever said getting a good education would be fun, but—"
"I know, I know," I interrupt. "Dad would have a conniption if I didn't get a college degree. You've told me a million times, even when you don't need to."
She smiles warmly at me. "Maybe you'd enjoy it if you had a little more of a social life."
"Mom."
"I'm just saying." She raises her hands in defense before focusing back on the plate. "You're constantly either here or at school. You need some happy in your life."
The urge to run builds inside of me, the same way it always does when we have this conversation. I pull my hands into my sleeves in search of some kind of comfort. Thankfully, my mom can sense the change in my demeanor.
"Just consider it," she says, dropping the subject. "In the meantime, bring this to your dad for me, would you?"
A small grin stretches across my face as I stand up and take the plate from her. The hallway is filled with pictures spanning from my childhood years, all the way up to my high school graduation and the trip we took last summer.
Before it all went wrong.
Before my life crashed and burned.
Before that phone call.
With a light knock on my parents' bedroom door, I can faintly hear my dad welcoming me in, followed by harsh coughs that he claims sound worse than they are. No part of me buys it. The pain in his eyes when he has one of his fits is evident. But if he wants me to believe it doesn't hurt, then that's exactly what I'll do.
My gaze rakes over him as I step inside. I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing him like this, the strong man that I've always looked up to wasting away to skin and bones. His complexion has a grayish cast, and as the muscles have atrophied, the skin has sagged, making him look twenty years older. Even his voice is different.
Brittle.
Frail.
Broken.
The doctor said Stage Four Lung Cancer. The game plan was to hit it with chemo and radiation, but when that didn't work, they turned to clinical trials. Still nothing. Six months to a year, they said.
And so did the second opinion.
And the third.
Until finally, my parents, along with the best oncologists in the country, had to accept his fate.
My father is dying, and no one even told me he was sick until all the treatments failed.
"Is that for me?" he questions with the same loving tone he's always used with me.
I nod and pass him the plate. "Mom made it. She asked me to bring it to you."
He takes a bite and hums in appreciation. "I'll never know what I did to deserve that woman."
The love story my parents have is one for the record books, and one I want for myself one day. They were high school sweethearts, and though my grandparents expected that romance to end after graduation, they were proven wrong. My dad went to my grandfather and told him he wanted to marry my mom. Of course, being eighteen years old and knowing fuck-all about life, my grandfather laughed in his face. But my dad stood his ground, and while neither one of them have ever shared what was said during that conversation, he somehow changed my grandfather’s mind and got his blessing.
They were married the following spring.
"Is that what it takes to be a good wife?" I tease. "Make good sandwiches?"
He chuckles softly. "No, but it definitely helps."
A part of me wonders what my mom will do when my dad takes his last breath. I mean, I want her to be happy, but I don't think I could ever handle seeing her with someone else. It wouldn't feel right. She belongs with him. Today, tomorrow, forever—just like their wedding vows.
"So, how's my future president doing?"
I roll my eyes playfully. "Future president?"
He shrugs. "A father can dream, can't he?"
Naming a job for me that requires dreams, ambitions, and drive is something he's done for as long as I can remember. Never has the career mentioned been anything less than the best of whatever field he picks. It's like he's wiring me to believe I'm capable of anything.
If only I was capable of saving him.
I spend a few more minutes with my dad, until he breaks out into another one of his coughing fits. My mom comes in with a glass of water and places his oxygen mask on his face. With as strong of a smile as I can manage, I step out into the hall.
The second I get into the safe confines of my bedroom, I press my back against the door and let the emotions flow, sobs wracking my body. It hurts so much that I can’t take a full breath, and I wonder if this is how my dad feels every second of the day.
He's dying.
The man who loved me first.
The man who dedicated his life to being there for me.
The man who has always motivated me to be the best I can be.
I'm going to lose him, and nothing I say or do is going to change that.
I am living my worst nightmare.
Despite the fact that I'd love nothing more than to crawl under my blanket and disappear from the world, I do exactly what my dad always taught me to—give myself a few minutes to let it out, then pick up the pieces and get back to work.
I WAKE TO THE sound of my phone ringing. The keyboard beneath my face tells me I must have fallen asleep while working on my essay. I rub my forehead, feeling the indents of the keys in my skin, and wince as I grab my phone. Becca's picture smiles at me from the screen.
"Hey Becs," I answer.
"You were sleeping, weren't you?" she accuses.
"If I say no, will you believe me?"
"Not a chance."
"Then yes. I was sleeping."
She snorts. "Paige, it's not even dinner time yet. Your obsession with sleep is a little concerning."
"Now, now. Don't be jealous of me because you can't take naps," I tease.
Knowing her as long as I have, I can picture her throwing her head back as she groans. "It's just not fair. My body will not do it. There is no reason I should be incapable of sleeping during the day."
I chuckle softly. "Don't worry. It's not all it's cracked up to be."
"Yeah, yeah," she says, verbally waving off the topic. "So, how's Papa McAllister doing?"
I sigh, and a part of me wishes I could have just stayed asleep, just for the reprieve from the grief. "I don't know. He says he's fine, but I can see it, Becs. He's fading to nothing right in front of my face. It's so hard to watch."
"I'm so sorr
y. I can't believe this is even happening."
"Yeah. Me either."
Becca makes it a point to check in as much as she can, and I make it a point to only fill her in every once in a while. She's still living her best college life, and she deserves to do that. The last thing I want is for her to waste her time worrying about me, but she does anyway.
The sound of someone in the background echoes through the phone, and I know it's one of the sorority sisters telling her to come with them somewhere. Bec, of course, makes an excuse and whispers for them to go ahead. It weighs heavily on my chest, and I sigh.
"Can we pick this back up later?" I ask. "My mom needs my help with something."
If she knows I'm lying, she doesn't call me out on it. Her tone is just as warm and loving as it always is as she makes me promise to FaceTime her before I go to bed tonight. When she pulls the phone away from her ear to hang up, I can faintly hear her tell someone to wait up. A small smile makes its way to my face.
Looking over my essay, I can see why I fell asleep. Writing three thousand words on the Victorian era might be fun for some people, but I'd rather chew on glass. I'm just starting to pick up where I left off when my phone rings again. I don't even bother looking at it as I bring it to my ear.
"Becs, if I have to make Chloe force you out of your bed, I will. Don't tempt me," I threaten playfully.
The voice that comes through the other end of the phone isn't my best friend at all. "Oh, that sounds hot. Can I watch?"
"Ha, ha, ha. You're just so hilarious, Carter," I grumble.
"Who said I was kidding?"
Everyone had that guy in high school—the super-hot jock who was the captain of the football team. You know the one. He usually had about seven girls at his feet on a constant basis. Yeah, Carter Trayland was that guy. I can't tell you the number of girls who tried to become my friend just for a chance with him. Honestly, it plays a part in what made Becca and I so close. He tried to hit on her once, and she shot him down so fast it made his head spin. From that point on, I knew she was my person.
"What do you want, Carter?"
He gasps, feigning offense. "What? I can't call my dear friend Paige without wanting something?"
My eyes roll dramatically. "No. You always want something."
It's not entirely true. The two of us used to be pretty close at one point in time, but after we graduated, we lost touch. Granted, that may have been mostly my fault, but I had my reasons. Reasons like...
"Jace, stop. I'll be out in a minute."
...that. Jace London is Carter's best friend, and he used to be mine, too. But now, just the sound of his name has my whole body tensing. I take a deep breath to calm my anxiety, but there's no use. I need to get off this call like yesterday.
Clearing my throat, I straighten my back like it's going to make me stronger. "Listen, it was great hearing from you, but I've got to get going."
"Wait, please," he begs. It instantly catches me off guard. In all the time I've known him, I don't think I've ever heard his tone so desperate. "I need your help."
"With?"
He pauses, as if he's contemplating not telling me at all. "Jace—but don't hang up."
I want to. Really, I do. And I know I should. I should hang up the phone, block his number, and run so far in the other direction it's not even funny, but I don't. For some reason, I can't. My brain is screaming at me to move, and I just can't.
"I don't know what happened between you two," he confesses. "He honestly never told me. But I'm hoping it's something that can be forgiven, because he needs you, Paige."
A lump builds in my throat, and I need to swallow it down. "He doesn't need me. He has you."
"I'm not enough. Not for this."
My heart is beating harder with every second that passes. A part of me wonders if it's had all it can take. I mean, first everything with my dad, and now this? I don't know how much more I can handle.
"Carter, I really have to go," I tell him, with a little less confidence than I was hoping for.
He sighs heavily. "Okay, but maybe you could meet me tomorrow? Loretto's for lunch. Just me and you."
No matter how much resistance I have, I don't think anything could stand against the plea in his voice. "Okay. Make the reservation and text me the time."
I don't give him a chance to answer before I hang up, praying to God I'm strong enough for this. Whatever it is, it can't be good.
Sunlight pours in through the window, landing on my face and intensifying my headache to an almost unbearable level. To make matters worse, I can already hear Carter fucking around with something in the kitchen. Dishes clank together loudly. I don't even know what he's doing; that guy can't cook to save his damn life.
I grip my head tightly and make my way out of my room to find some caffeine. Usually I'd prefer something a little stronger to ease the pain, but I have my therapist appointment today. The last thing I need is for some bitch, who thinks she's fancy because she has a piece of paper, to tell my dad I came in high. He'd snatch my trust fund away in the blink of an eye.
As soon as I step into the open living room, the smell of something burning meets my nose. It doesn't help at all with the churning of my stomach. I look over at Carter, who is trying, and failing, to make bacon. I mean, the dipshit isn't even using a frying pan. He's stirring the strips around a pot like it's fucking pasta.
"What the hell are you doing?" I raise an eyebrow.
He glances back at me, confusion etched across his face. "Some parts are burnt, some parts are still raw. I don't know why it's not cooking right."
I reach over and grab the pot from the stove. "Probably because you've never cooked a damn thing in your life. Why start now, princess?"
As I shove the whole pot into the sink and turn on the cold water, smoke billows and fills the air. Once that's taken care of, I grab an energy drink from the fridge. Carter is standing there with a pissed-off look on his face when I turn around.
"Try being a little fucking quieter. You're not the only one who lives here, and not everyone wants to wake up at the ass crack of dawn."
I go to push past him, but with a hand on my chest, he shoves me backward. "What the hell is your problem?"
"I don't have one, but if you don't get out of my way, I will."
He laughs dryly and gets even further in my face. "You've been a real prick lately, but since yesterday you've been even worse. So clearly, that means something struck a nerve." He pushes me back again until my back is against the fridge. "Go ahead, fucker. I'm waiting."
I want nothing more right now than to punch him directly in his smug little face. I mean, that’s how I feel more often than not recently, but this morning, it's a hundred times worse.
"Don't act like you don't know," I growl and push him away. "You at least could have fucking warned me that he was going to threaten my trust fund if I didn't go see some know-it-all therapist so she can tell me how screwed up I am."
His brows furrow for a moment until realization crosses his face. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. I pop open the can, taking a sip before fixing my shirt. Meanwhile, Carter is muttering obscenities under his breath.
"Your dad is such an idiot."
I snort. "Tell me something I don't know, but that doesn't make you any less of an ass. Whose side are you on here?"
"Like you even have to ask that," he grumbles. "Yours, shithead. Always yours. Your dad mentioned possibly sending you to a therapist, and I said that he could try, but I didn't think you'd go. The only part I played in it was finding one for you."
Searching his face for any sign that he's lying, I come up empty. "You really didn't know?"
"Of course not. If I had known he was going to threaten you into it, I never would have let it happen."
A rush of relief floods through me, making me feel a little less alone than I did last night. Carter may be pissing me off lately, but to think he went along with something like
that felt like a dagger in my back. Instead, my dad went rogue.
Not like that’s a surprise.
The man might have the best intentions, but I swear, half the time he's clueless. He's never really known how to raise my brother and me, and my mom learns everything from Dr. Phil. It's like he wrote the damn Bible and his word is holy.
"I'm sorry I blamed you."
He looks down at the ground for a second, and when his eyes meet mine again, there's a certain sadness to them. "I mean, in the grand scheme of things, I am to blame—aren't I?"
Yes.
No.
Yes.
Fuck.
The simple mention of the topic has me itching for my next fix, but I have to resist. "Don't."
It's obvious he was hoping for more of a conversation. Thankfully, he knows me well enough to understand he isn't going to get one. All the chaos that consumed our freshman year of college is completely off the list of possible talking points.
"Are you at least going to give the therapist a chance?" he asks. "She might be able to help."
I bark a laugh. "What do you think?"
Carter smirks and shakes his head in amusement. "Yeah, I figured as much. That's why I made sure she's nice to look at. If you're going to have to sit there for an hour, at least make it enjoyable."
"And that's why you're the man."
THE MINUTES TICK BY slowly until I'm finally pulling into the parking lot of North Haven Behavioral. You'd think that would be a good thing, since the last place I want to be is here, but it's not. It meant having to deal with the stupid ass withdrawals for longer. My head feels like it's caving in, and I'm fidgeting like a motherfucker.
All I have to do is get through the next hour, and then I can go fix myself the best way I know how.
Taking a deep breath to get control of myself, I get out of the car and head inside. The place is immaculate, and everything you’d expect from a doctor’s office. It’s as if these people make it a point to try to bore the hell out of you. Not a single thing is out of place.
Change My Game: An Emotional Second Chance Romance (North Haven University Book 2) Page 2
