When It's Right

by Denault, Victoria

  “Shit. I have to get to practice,” I say with remorse. “I want to drop you off at the hospital but I’ll be late.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll get a Lyft,” she explains, and as she steps out of the bathroom she rocks up on her toes to give me a quick kiss. “And in case I wasn’t clear with the moaning and the orgasm-induced tremors, last night and this morning were magical. Almost as magical as the horseback riding and almost as orgasmic as the barbecue.”

  “Almost?” I repeat in mock indignation.

  She giggles and starts down the stairs. I follow her and grab her ass as punishment for that snarky remark. She squeals and swats at me. I follow her right out onto the deck, and as we wait for her Lyft I turn her to face me and lift her so her ass is on the railing.

  “I have a question,” I say as I part her legs and push my hips between them.

  “Is it ‘do we have time for a quickie?’ Because the answer is technically no, but I’m willing to try anyway,” she says with a sly smile as she wraps her arms around my neck.

  I laugh softly and step closer. “My question is, who is helping you come to terms with this?”

  She looks suddenly flustered. “What?”

  “You’re clearly there for your sisters and everyone else, but who are you leaning on while everyone leans on you?” It’s a loaded question; I think I already know the answer is no one. I want to be that person for her. I don’t care how crazy that may seem given that we’ve known each other less than a month. I want to be her rock.

  “I’m fine,” she says, but she’s not fooling anyone, least of all herself.

  I reach up and cup the side of her face, tilting her by the chin so she has to look right at me. “Promise me you’ll call if you need anything or want anything. Whether it’s to talk, cry, scream, or get naked.”

  She smiles at that. “You are definitely my go-to for nudity from here on out.”

  I kiss her. “I want to be your one and only for nudity from here on out. Sound good?”

  “Yeah. It sounds good.”

  I cock my head and scrub my chin like I’m deep in thought. “I think that means we just kind of made this official.”

  “Nudity clauses usually do that.” She winks at me, and I feel myself getting hard over that sexy smirk of hers.

  I’m about to kiss her again when a car honks. She glances over her shoulder, and I step back as she drops to her feet. She looks down. “You’re in your underwear,” she notes. “And you’re half hard.”

  “Oops.” I adjust myself and glance around. The marina is pretty empty except for her Lyft and a few cars in the—

  “I’ll call you later.” She kisses my cheek and gives me a quick hug, which I return, but my eyes are on the van I spotted parked near the end of the lot, sideways across two spots so the tinted driver’s side window is aligned with my houseboat.

  She jumps in the Lyft, and it turns and drives out of the parking lot, but I don’t move. I keep standing on my deck, looking at that van. Is it the same one we saw on the beach a couple of nights ago?

  I suddenly don’t care that I’m barefoot and in only my underwear. I hop over my deck railing and onto the dock. I start marching toward the parking lot, and as soon as my feet hit the pavement the van roars to life and moves toward the exit. I start to jog and then run, cutting in front of the vehicle. I worry for a split second I’m about to become a speed bump, but, thankfully, the van stops. I slam my hand on the hood with a loud bang.

  Through the windshield, which is less tinted than the side windows, I see a terrified dude staring back at me. He’s got greasy, long, black hair and beady dark brown eyes. He looks startled and guilty as all hell. Like a raccoon you find raiding your trash bin.

  “Open your window!” I bellow, and a second later I hear the hum of the window going down. I walk around the side of the van.

  “Look, buddy, I don’t want any trouble. Don’t make this worse for you than it already is,” he warns, and I frown.

  “What the ever-loving fuck are you talking about?” I demand, holding onto his side mirror even though I know, realistically, it’s not going to stop him from driving off if he truly wants to. “Were you at the beach last night? Are you following me?”

  “I’m doing my job, buddy,” he replies. “And no offense, but you’re making it incredible easy. I almost feel sorry for you, but I don’t know…My boss says your wife is a looker and paying us a ton.”

  “I don’t have a wife,” I snap, and every muscle in my body turns to stone. “I have an ex-wife. Holy shit. Did she hire you to follow me?”

  He looks confused for a moment, and then he shrugs. “Alls I know is I’m supposed to document your activities with other women and anything else you do that’s shady or can be made to look shady.”

  I don’t know what is more shocking, that Lauren would actually do this or that this jackass is stupid enough to confess everything to me. “You’re shitty at your job, you know that?”

  He smirks smugly. “Nah, dude. I got you looking pretty shady in a lot of photos.”

  He turns his fancy digital camera around and shows me a series of shots that have my jaw fall open. He’s got a picture of me catching Trish when she slipped at the arena. Somehow it looks like we’re about to kiss. Then there’s also pictures of me with Sadie at the beach, and minutes ago on the deck, and there we are kissing. But the combination of them both make me look like a womanizer for sure. And then there are pictures of me out with Charlie, and in every single photo I’m turned away from her or on my phone. I hardly ever touch my phone when I’m with her, but I’ve been breaking that rule a lot since Lauren started this custody thing, because I’ve needed to talk to Hunter a couple times a day. But these photos, out of context, make me look like an uninterested parent.

  I reach through the window for the camera, but the guy is quick and yanks it back out of my reach. He looks smug again, and I really want to punch him. If all hope is lost and these photos are going to build Lauren’s case, then I have nothing to lose. He sees my balled-up fists and he inches away from the window. “Dude, relax! You break this camera or my face, and your ex definitely wins.”

  “Do you even know what you’re doing? You’re fucking up an innocent little girl’s life with your bullshit photos,” I snarl. His indifferent expression doesn’t even flicker.

  “You can make this go away,” he says simply, and I glare at him in confusion. “All I care about is getting paid…by whoever the fuck wants to give me the most money.”

  We stare at each other. He’s starting to look at me like I’m a brainless sleazeball. He inches a little closer and spells it out for me. “She hasn’t seen any of the photos yet. You don’t want her to, then pay me double what she paid me.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifteen hundred.”

  I point at him. “Don’t fucking move.”

  I stalk back into my boat and head straight to my room, throwing on a pair of jeans before heading to the small safe in my closet and grabbing my emergency cash supply. I’ve got two grand. I take out $1,500 and grab my cell phone off the night stand. Just before I step back outside, I turn on my audio recorder app, which I use to mutter notes during games.

  When I get back to his van, I hold up the roll of cash. “So I pay you and these pictures go away instead of to my ex?”

  “I’ll give you the memory card right here and now for fifteen hundred,” he replies, a slimy smile on his face. His beady little eyes are glued to the cash. It’s exactly why I held it up for him. I don’t want him to notice the phone in my other hand.

  “And you don’t have any copies, because, buddy, I swear if you give them to her anyway…” I don’t finish that sentence because I’m not about to threaten him on video.

  “No other pics. I don’t even back this shit up,” he says and pops the memory card out of the camera. “I wouldn’t fuck you over, dude. You look like you could fuck me up. What are you, like a personal trainer or bodyguard or something?”
>
  I shove the money at him. He grabs it and hands me the memory card. “Get out of here and don’t fucking follow me anymore. If I even see you on the street and you don’t turn and walk the other way you will regret it.”

  “Sure thing, buddy.” He gives me a yellow-toothed grin. He starts his van again, and I turn to leave. “But she’s got other shit on you too.”

  I turn back to him. “What?”

  “Some injury,” he explains. “You took your daughter to the hospital and didn’t tell her or something. I don’t know. My partner covered the files part, and he already gave them to her. I told him he should see if you’d buy them.”

  “Go,” I growl, and he has the fucking nerve to look offended for a second before he rolls up his window and drives away.

  I head back into the houseboat while dialing Hunter.

  20

  Sadie

  It’s time to start make the final decision about the—”

  “I understand.” I cut the doctor off, because if he says the words I will break down. I can’t break down. I have to be strong for my family. So he can’t say the words It’s time to put in a feeding tube. Because I will not hold it together. He’s just finished giving me the devastating results of my dad’s swallowing tests, which in a month have gotten worse, and I think he picks up on the fact I have to absorb that before he continues. After a minute of silence he goes on.

  “I know in the past your father has indicated to me that he will not allow a feeding tube,” the doctor says. I nod, my heart aching so badly I can barely breathe. “However, that opinion sometimes changes when the decision becomes imminent and not just a hypothetical.”

  “And it is imminent now.” I can’t believe my voice isn’t shaking.

  “It is.” Her expression becomes a little softer as she adds, “If he says yes, I would start the process immediately.”

  “He won’t change his mind,” I tell her—and there it is. My voice shakes. I swallow and try to calm down. “My father doesn’t make snap decisions. He’s thought this out. He knew we’d end up here. He’s never sugar-coated his illness to us or himself. He won’t change his mind, and he knows what that means.”

  There is a small girl inside me, wailing and sobbing over the unfairness of this. The pure, brutal cruelness of this. I want to run into his hospital room and cry and scream like a child throwing a tantrum until my dad agrees to the feeding tube, but I won’t. Instead I’ll keep Dixie and Winnie from doing that, because they’ll try. And I’ll let my mom cry in my arms, and I’ll make sure Jude doesn’t punch anything. Because if he wasn’t my dad, if this man was my patient, I would wholeheartedly get it. This disease has only begun taking away his life. A feeding tube prolongs the inevitable suffering. I understand that. I just don’t want it to be true.

  “Sadie?”

  Oh. Apparently she was talking to me. I take a deep breath, but it’s ragged. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lack, what was that?”

  She stands up and walks around her desk. She sits on the edge of it in front of me. “Your family. When should we have this conversation with them?”

  “Today. I’ll get them to all come in,” I say.

  She leans forward and squeezes my shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Sadie.”

  “I know. I am too. Thank you for everything, especially giving me the chance to know first.” I wish my heart would stop aching so damn hard. It’s making me feel faint.

  “Your dad okayed it. He must know how strong you are,” she remarks.

  “He knows I’m the only sane one,” I joke, but it feels flat. She smiles anyway. I stand up. “I’m going to go check on him and wrangle the family.”

  “Let me know when they’re all here, and I will come down to answer questions and talk about other options,” she offers. “Although the feeding tube would be my best recommendation, we have other alternatives that can help a little.”

  I leave her office and walk slowly down the corridor. Everything feels wrong. The halls are too white, the floor tiles too shiny, the lights too bright, the people walking by too happy. My world is shattering, splintering, and people are just…continuing on. I’m on my way up to see my dad, but I can’t make it. I slip into the restroom on his floor and lock myself in a stall and sit on the toilet with my head in my hands as my breathing becomes erratic. I am fighting off tears with every fiber of my being, and instead it’s causing a panic attack. I focus on my breathing and will myself to take long, deep breaths even though it physically hurts.

  With shaking hands I dial Griffin’s number. I need someone, anyone, to talk to. I need to share this information—the weight of it—with someone I won’t have to then pick up, emotionally or maybe even physically. But the call goes straight to voicemail. I open my mouth to leave a message but can’t. I hang up.

  I try again a few minutes later. Still nothing. God, I need him right now.

  Stop it, Sadie. Just focus on your breathing and calm down. You can do this.

  It takes me about twenty minutes, but I get myself together when I get a text from Dixie. She and Winnie and Mom are on their way over to visit Dad. Eli and Jude are at practice. I send her a text back telling her I will meet them here. She sends back another text saying she wants all the details of my hot night with “Coach Sexy Skates,” which I guess is her new nickname for Griffin. Normally it would make me smile, but not today.

  I turn off my phone instead of responding and get myself out of the stall and over to the sink, where I splash cold water on my face until the puffy redness brought on by the panic attack is mostly gone. Then I take some deep, cleansing breaths and head to my dad’s room. He’s sitting in a chair by the window reading Sports Illustrated when I knock on the open door. He looks up, and his blue eyes brighten when he sees me. He drops the magazine in his lap.

  “Hey, pumpkin,” he says. Pumpkin is his nickname only for me. Winnie is Sunshine. Dixie is Little D. Jude is just Jude. “Are you working today? I thought you were off.”

  He’s slurring less than yesterday, less than he has in a while. I wish that could make me hopeful. I wish I didn’t know that a good day in this illness is just that—a day. It ultimately changes nothing. I smile at him. “I’m not working. I came by to talk to your doctor and see your silly face.”

  “Watch it, pumpkin,” he warns playfully. “You and Jude look the most like this silly face.”

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me,” I joke and drop dramatically onto his empty bed, which makes him laugh. I close my eyes and absorb that sound with every fiber of my being.

  “Which doctor were you seeing, Sadie?” he asks as I sit up. “I’ve got so many these days it’s hard to keep track.”

  “Dr. Lack, your neurologist.”

  “Aha. So that’s why you’ve been crying.” Our eyes meet, and he smiles.

  “I haven’t,” I lie. “It’s allergies.”

  “You’re allergic to ALS side effects?” He tries to kid, but when I don’t laugh or smile his expression grows solemn. “Honey…Dr. Lack told me the results too.”

  “Dad…”

  “The answer is still no,” he replies. His tone reminds me of the time I had a broken arm when I was seventeen but still wanted to go to a water park with my girlfriends, promising that I would wrap my plaster cast in a trash bag. He said no with the same remorse then. He wanted to give me what I wanted, but he couldn’t. “We know how this ends, no matter how many tubes they put in me.”

  I nod.

  “Your siblings are going to need you to talk them through this,” he says. “You’re the only one who can look at this as a professional. I need you, pumpkin.”

  You’re still my dad, I want to cry to him, but that will make it harder on him, and that’s not fair. So I just nod again. “They’re on their way over now.”

  “Okay, good.” He picks up his magazine again. “Did you know that Sports Illustrated wants to put your brother in the body issue?”

  “You mean the issue with naked athletes?” I question, and
he nods. “Gross.”

  Dad chuckles and then starts going on about the Thunder’s prospects in the upcoming playoffs. I listen, but my brain is elsewhere. I’m planning what I will say to back up Dad’s decision and how I will console my sisters. And then, as I run my words over and over in my head, along with every possibility from my family being okay with it to them screaming at the top of their lungs in protest, I remember Griffin’s words from this morning.

  “My question is, who is helping you come to terms with this?”

  Where is he? Why isn’t he there for me?

  As my dad tries to explain what the Thunder need to do to make it back to the Stanley Cup Finals, I pull out my phone and turn it back on. I’ve got three more texts from Dixie asking me explicit questions about last night and what happened between Griffin and me. Everything from Was he good? Did you come? to I hope you didn’t forget how to do it. It’s not like riding a bike. But nothing from him. I text him.

  Can you call me?

  My phone buzzes again. My heart leaps and then nosedives when I see it’s just Dixie demanding, in all caps, that I answer her immediately. I shove my phone back in my purse.

  “Pumpkin, are you listening to me?”

  “Sure, Dad.” I grin at him, even though it’s hard. “You said Thunder blah, blah, blah. Jude blah, blah, blah. Hockey blah, blah, blah.”

  He laughs.

  “Good to see you laughing.” My mom’s voice fills the room from behind me, and I turn to see her smiling back at my dad. She squeezes my shoulder as she passes by me on her way to my dad.

  The look on my dad’s face when he sees my mom is utter perfection. It’s love, adoration, and elation all whirling together. It’s the look every woman deserves to see from the man she spends her life with.

  “Sadie won’t listen to my predictions for tonight’s game,” he complains as Winnie and Dixie walk into the room after my mom.