Rafe

by Sawyer Bennett

  Once again, my chin pulls in, disbelief that this has all turned so sideways swamping me. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I don’t want to be friends with benefits anymore. I want a real, intimate relationship full of love and partnership with you. Hell, I almost believe my dad got sick as fate’s way of getting you and me back together. And I’m saying I’ll wait for you to realize this is meant to be. So when you’re ready to move forward, I’ll be here. But don’t expect me to go backward to this farce of a situation where we fuck and pretend to be friends. That’s not working for me anymore.”

  Half of me is appalled by his demands, but the other half is charmed. Still, I’m pissed. “You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

  “Yup,” he replies with a confident nod.

  Then he picks up his utensils and starts eating his food.

  With gusto.

  Clearly feeling better about his life.

  Chapter 13

  Rafe

  Everything seems normal when I wake up. It’s game day...the first game of the third round of the playoffs.

  The conference finals, and we have home-ice advantage against the New York Vipers. My belly rumbles with nerves, but that’s typical on any game day.

  I quietly dress in my old bedroom. Long gone are the posters of Wayne Gretsky and Mario Lemieux, my mom having converted this into a guest room long ago. The bed is rustic wrought iron that squeaks with any movement, and the furniture is feminine. Not that it bothers me. It’s merely a place to rest my body until my dad can move on. Until he does, I’m not going anywhere.

  We have a team skate at ten a.m., but I want to get in a light workout—more stretching than anything—before, as my groin’s been feeling a little tender after a fall I took last week on the ice. I’m not about to do anything to jeopardize my chances of playing because it’s starting to become real.

  The Cold Fury is on fire, and there’s a real chance they—we—might win the championship for the third year in a row.

  Grabbing my workout duffel, I open my bedroom door and tiptoe down the hall past my parents’ bedroom. It’s empty, of course. Mom has taken to sleeping on the recliner beside my dad in case he needs anything, though I’m not sure what that would be.

  He slipped into unconsciousness over twenty-four hours ago, and we called the hospice nurse out. She checked his urine output—yes, I’ve become adept at emptying his catheter bag—and took his vitals. In a low voice, she told us it wouldn’t be long.

  I come out of the hallway and get my first glimpse of the living room. My dad is lying in the bed, the blanket pulled up to mid-chest. My mom is sound asleep in the recliner beside him, an old afghan draped over her shoulders. The dawning sun casts a yellow glow over the room, and I place my duffel quietly on the floor at the top of the staircase.

  I move silently, not wanting to wake my mom up. It doesn’t matter with Dad, as chances of him rousing are minimal. Nearing the bed, I note with a smile how peaceful my dad looks in his deep sleep, hopefully secured far away from the pain and torment of dying.

  And then I notice how utterly peaceful he looks.

  My heart thuds to a painful stop in my chest, and a wave of terror hits me. While I’ve been living every moment these last twenty-four hours knowing that death is imminent and could happen between one breath and the next, I’m not prepared for the reality of it.

  I approach the bed hesitantly, my hand shaking as I reach toward my father. My eyes strain in the morning gloom to see if I can tell whether or not he’s breathing. I press my palm against his face and then reel backward, away from the icy chill of his skin.

  My father is dead.

  There’s no stopping the flood of tears that assault my eyes, and I do nothing but periodically blink to dispel them. They come in wave after wave, so I don’t even bother wiping the wetness from my cheeks.

  I take my dad’s hand, curl my fingers around it, and rest my hip against the railing of the bed as I stare down at him.

  Yes, he looks so very peaceful. There’s even a slight smile playing on his lips, and I’d like to believe it means he was thinking of something happy in his last moments on this Earth.

  I think of the conversation we had the day before yesterday, and now I’m the one who smiles.

  Still crying, but smiling all the same.

  I’d sat by his bed and, upon Wylde’s advice, had a conversation with my father like no other.

  “Dad,” I’d said. “I just want you to know that I love you very much.”

  My dad blinked in surprise, and his eyes got emotional and wet. They were words I didn’t give him very often because they were things we just didn’t say a lot to each other. They were awkward and heavy, yet I didn’t fumble over them at all. I spoke from the heart, wanting no regrets to weigh me down.

  “I love you, son,” he’d replied. “I wish we had more time together.”

  I took his hand, and it was all the encouragement he needed. His feelings came pouring out in a litany of love, fervent wishes, and wisdom for me to follow throughout my life. He apologized for not being a better dad, and I assured him that he was the best. He advised me to seek love and hold on to it hard, and I told him I was working on it. He knew I meant Calliope, and he merely nodded.

  My dad got me to promise to always look after my mom, and even told me that he hoped she’d find love again one day.

  Finally, he reminded me to live my life with honor, kindness, and integrity. We talked for forty minutes, a non-stop and welcome diatribe of parental advice from a dying man to his son, condensed down for time management.

  Thinking about it now, I hope I never forget a word of what he said, or a minute of that time when I sat there holding his hand.

  Before he nodded off to sleep, I told him something that I thought was necessary for him to understand. “Dad...Mom and I are going to be all right. I don’t want you to worry about us. You need to move on from this life, knowing that we will survive, strong in your memory, and bound by your love. Don’t hang on, Dad. Let go and be at peace.”

  And he had.

  Blinking away the memory, I return to the present, not sure how long I stand there, clutching my dad’s cold hand. He’s not here anymore. Not really.

  Eventually, I let it go and move to my mom’s side. I squat by her chair and gently shake her by the shoulder. The minute her eyes open and land on mine, understanding filters in, and she starts to cry. I fold her in my arms and hold her for a very long time.

  There’s nothing but the two of us in our grief until I sense that it’s not just the two of us anymore.

  I pull back from my mom, who sniffles hard and looks over my shoulder as I straighten.

  Calliope is standing there, her eyes pinned on my father. I didn’t even hear the front door open.

  Slowly, her gaze drags over to me, and her words stun me. “I just woke up and...felt that you needed me.”

  I take her in. She’s in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, and her hair is a mess. Her feet are stuffed into unlaced tennis shoes, and it’s clear she hurried out of her apartment.

  Of course she felt like I needed her. Because I did. I do. It speaks to our bond, and no words are necessary to explain it.

  Without hesitation, she moves past the foot of my dad’s bed and launches herself into my arms. Calliope presses her face into my chest, and I can feel her body shake as she cries, mourning the loss of my father and perhaps expelling her grief for me as well.

  She shifts, tipping her head back. “I’m so sorry he’s gone, Rafe. And also...I love you very much.”

  Chapter 14

  Calliope

  Rafe doesn’t say, “I love you” back, but that’s okay. I didn’t expect him to.

  Don’t need him to.

  Just like when he first told me he loved me while pushing me on the tire swing and he knew the truth of how I felt in return already. Like then, I’m confident in how he feels now. Even though it took me a few days to vo
ice it to him—to work up the courage and the guts to admit my feelings aloud—I never once worried that he would waver or decide I wasn’t worth waiting for. I had faith in him, still do, and that says a lot.

  Currently, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea while Rafe and Brenda sit by Jim’s bed. I called the hospice nurse, and she came out to the house right away. As required by law, she verified that Jim did, in fact, pass on, and she made the call to the funeral home the family chose. She then collected the remaining narcotic pain medications—as also required by law—to dispose of them for the family.

  Once she finishes, Brenda, Rafe, and I spend time talking quietly. Brenda and I hug frequently, and she cries most of the time. Periodically, Rafe slides his hand against mine until our fingers are laced, and that’s enough for the moment.

  The funeral home folks arrive. Brenda has to sign a bunch of paperwork, and I stand by Rafe’s side as they discreetly place a blanket over Jim’s body and move him to a gurney that will be placed directly in the hearse. Brenda, Rafe, and I follow them out of the house. We stand quietly on the porch, our arms around each other’s waists, and watch as they load Jim up into the back of the funeral home’s vehicle.

  After they leave, there’s no time to sit around. I make calls to my parents, and then I help Brenda make calls to their family members. Rafe calls his coach to tell him that he won’t be there for the game tonight. It was a call the team had likely been expecting at some point, and I imagine there are plans in place to compensate. Jim had tried to get Rafe to promise him that he wouldn’t miss a game no matter what, and Rafe had sternly but gently told his father that it wasn’t his decision to make.

  I know Rafe, though. There’s no way he’d ever leave his mother’s side on the day his father passed.

  Eventually, Brenda moves off to her room to take a shower since we expect the house will start filling with well-wishers shortly. With that thought, I rush out of the house without even taking the time to put on a bra and tell Rafe I need to go back to my apartment to take a shower as well.

  I promise to come back immediately.

  He walks me to my car, our fingers laced. I can feel the gravity of the situation, and the hunch to his shoulders tells me all I need to know.

  He opens the car door for me, and when I move to get in, he holds me back with a tug on my hand. My eyes move to his, and I note his head tilted as if he’s curious about something. “Did you really feel something was wrong and that you needed to be here?”

  I smile back at him. Over three hours ago, I had woken up in a panic, feeling an immense blanket of grief hit me. I’m not sure if I knew that Jim had died and that Rafe had found him, or if it was just an all-consuming need for me to be truthful with Rafe about how I really felt about him.

  “I can’t explain it. I just felt that it was urgent that I get here.”

  He nods, seeming to understand something that frankly seems implausible to me.

  “And you love me?” he asks, his fingers tightening on mine.

  I wondered when he’d finally address what I said to him. I’m not sure how much of a surprise it was, as he seemed pretty confident that I’d come around. He’d boldly told me he’d wait for me to come to the right conclusion, and well...here I am.

  “I know the timing couldn’t be worse,” I say apologetically as I step in closer to him. “But yes...I do love you. I can’t say I carried a torch for you all these years unless you count the type that I’d use to burn your house down, but I do know one thing...what you did was forgivable. I just had to accept that.”

  “So no more of this silly friends with benefits thing?” he presses, putting both palms on my hips.

  My hands go to his shoulders, and I give him a sly smile. “I didn’t say that. I mean, we are still friends—the best of—and there are many, many benefits between us. But I also know there is so much more.”

  I rise to my tiptoes and whisper before I kiss him, “So much more.”

  Rafe’s eyes mist up, his mouth drawing down. His voice is heavy as he admits, “I’m so glad you’re by my side right now. I miss my dad, and I’m not sure how to navigate this world without him in it.”

  “One step at a time,” I assure him. “And I’ll be right here along the way.”

  He murmurs words of promise to me—I love you—and then his mouth is on mine, giving me the most tender and binding kiss a woman could have the privilege of receiving.

  “I love you,” I assure him once again. I imagine I’ll be saying it a lot because he needs to hear it, and well...so do I. They’re the best words, after all, and they represent the good in our world. “We were given a second chance.”

  “I was given a second chance,” he insists.

  I shake my head. “No. We. My life wouldn’t be complete without you. I wouldn’t know a love like what you can give me. So, even though it took me a while to recognize it and not fear it, to accept it, it’s my second chance, too.”

  Rafe pulls me in for a hug, and I squeeze him tight. His voice feathers over me. “Want to know one of the last things my dad said to me?”

  I nod, my head pressed against his chest. My fingers dig into his shirt, and my eyes start leaking because I can feel the gravity in his tone.

  “He told me he was leaving this Earth happy that you and I were back together. I mean...he didn’t really know where we stood, but yet...somehow, he knew. I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t shake the feeling that my dad’s illness and death sort of fated you and me back together again. And while I’d give anything to have my dad back, I actually find it quite peaceful knowing I have you in his place.”

  And, of course, I start sobbing. I think I manage to say, “That’s beautiful,” but my face is pressed so hard into his shirt that I doubt he understands me.

  Doesn’t matter.

  He just holds me tight as we both grieve our losses and marvel about our gains, both emotions seeming perfectly right.

  Epilogue

  Rafe

  A lot can happen in four weeks.

  A man can die.

  A son can grieve his father.

  A team can lose a championship.

  A man can realize he’ll love a woman for eternity.

  James Carl Simmons was cremated, and his ashes now sit in my mom’s bedroom. We have yet to have a memorial service, and that was at my mother’s insistence. She wanted to get me through the rest of the playoffs, a matter she and my father decided behind my back and to which she stuck to her guns about. Within the next few weeks, we’ll have an intimate gathering of family and our closest friends, but for now, Mom is fine having him close.

  The Cold Fury fought a valiant battle, but in the end, we lost the war on ice. The Arizona Vengeance beat us for the Cup in game seven, and it was a bittersweet moment for me. I’ve become a full-blooded member of this Cold Fury team, and I’d die for any of my teammates. I wanted to bring that championship home so badly that I could taste it. Playing hockey and working for a team I believe in helped to take my mind off my grief.

  And yet...a part of me is happy for my former Vengeance teammates. They deserve the win. They wanted it more. They outplayed us. The Cup is where it belongs, at least for this season.

  Next season is another matter.

  But for now, I am on official vacation for the next few months until training camp starts, and while my season has ended, my life is really just beginning.

  “Okay,” I warn Calliope playfully as I pull into the driveway. “No peeking.”

  “I won’t,” she grumbles, pulling down the dark scarf I tied over her eyes. “But, seriously...I have to pee, so I hope wherever it is you’re taking me, we get there soon.”

  “We’re here,” I tell her as I put the car in park. “Don’t move, though. I’ll be right around to you.”

  Before she can reply, I turn off the engine and exit the vehicle, hustling around to the passenger door. I open it, take her by the hand, and gently help her out.

 
I carefully walk her toward the front of my car, making sure there’s nothing for her to trip over, but it’s only smooth concrete. I position her body and then place my hands on her shoulders from my place behind her.

  “Okay...ready?”

  Calliope nods, and I pull the blindfold from her face. I lean to the side so I can see her expression as she takes in the ginormous house in front of her. It’s white brick with a sweeping front porch, shuttered windows, and almost fifty-six-hundred square feet of space that sits on its own private pond.

  “What do you think?” I ask her, unable to hide the tinge of pride in my voice.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she replies in awe as she takes it in. “Who lives here?”

  “We do,” I answer her simply, and it causes her to whip around and face me with disbelief. “I bought it. We can move in at any time.”

  Calliope’s mouth drops open, and it’s the perfect opportunity to kiss her. I do so without hesitation or regret and get lost in the way she kisses me back.

  But all good things come to an end, and she pulls away, shaking her head. “Wait a minute...you bought a house. A beautiful mansion, and you want me to move in with you? Don’t you think that’s moving really fast?”

  Oh, dear Calliope. You have no idea how fast I can move.

  Without hesitation, or a moment’s fear—and my mind flashing back to the beautiful girl I pushed on the tire swing and told boldly that I loved her—I pull the black velvet ring box out of my pocket.

  Calliope’s eyes bug out of her head.

  I open it slowly...with a flourish, and I know she’s not only dazzled by the moment but by the size of the diamond nestled inside. Four carats pack a whopping punch.