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I shut my phone off. I don’t have the energy for that shit right now.
When I walk into my parents’ house, the outside lights are on, but it’s dark and quiet inside. There’s a dim light back in the kitchen, so I go there.
My parents’ friends Dave and Melissa are putting food out on the kitchen island.
“Knox,” Melissa says, “You’re here.”
I look between her and Dave. “Is he…?”
“He’s still hanging on,” Dave assures me. “Your mom and two hospice nurses are in with him.”
I breathe a massive sigh of relief. “Thank God. Is my sister here yet?”
“She should be here within an hour,” Melissa says.
I nod. “I need to go be with my parents.”
“Of course.” Melissa takes my hand into both of hers, her cheeks tear-stained. “We’ll be here for anything you guys need.”
“Thank you. We appreciate it.”
I set my coat and phone on a chair and make the long walk back to my parents’ bedroom. I haven’t spent much time in this house, because they just bought it a few years ago, but there are family photos everywhere. It’s like a movie of my dad’s life, and it’s nearing a sad ending.
As soon as I walk into the bedroom, my mom lets out a sob and gets up from the chair she’s sitting in beside my dad’s bed. I have to remind myself not to fall apart. My mom is losing her husband and best friend. She’s never needed me as much as she needs me now.
“How is he?” I ask after hugging her.
“He’s comfortable.” She smiles sadly. “He took a really bad turn overnight. He’s been sedated since this morning.”
One of the nurses tells us they’ll be back soon and then looks at the other one, signaling that they need to leave so we can have time alone with Dad. There are several chairs pulled up around his bed, and Mom and I sit down next to each other.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says. “He was adamant that you not miss games, but this time…I’m glad you didn’t listen.”
My dad looks much worse than he did when I last saw him, and it wasn’t that long ago. All his bones are prominently showing, and there’s no way he weighs more than a hundred pounds. He’s laboring for every breath he takes. There’s no resemblance to the tall, broad NHL star he used to be.
My mom seems to read my thoughts.
“I didn’t call anyone but you and Faith and Dave and Melissa,” she says. “I know the aunts and uncles and cousins would have come, but I didn’t want anyone else seeing him like that. He wouldn’t have wanted it.”
“You’re right.”
She takes my dad’s bony hand in hers and says, “You mentioned you were seeing someone when you were here last time. Reese? How’s she doing?”
“She’s good,” I say, not wanting to mention our fight. “Really good.”
“I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you so happy. You remind me so much of your dad when he was your age.”
The door to the room opens, and Faith walks in. After more hugs and tears, the three of us sit down by his bed for the last family gathering we’ll ever have.Chapter TwentyReeseI have to read the news headline a second time before it sets in.
Hockey Legend Drake Deveraux Dies at 66
But that’s Knox’s father…isn’t it? I remember him telling me that his dad was a hockey player and that his name was Drake. I read more of the article and discover that he is, in fact, Knox’s father, and that he was battling colon cancer for the past several months.
Part of me wants to call him immediately. My heart is broken for the man I’m in love with. But another part is so hurt that he never told me that I can’t bring myself to talk to him.
How could he keep something so important from me? I wouldn’t have given him the silent treatment—or even have gotten into that fight with him—if I’d known his dad was so sick.
“Are you sure I can’t take you to the airport?” my friend Gabe asks as he returns to our table after going to the bathroom.
I set my phone down. “No, I’m good. Already called an Uber.”
“I’m so glad you came, Reese.” He gives me an affectionate look and I feel uncomfortable for about the hundredth time since I got here yesterday.
Gabe always had a thing for me in culinary school, but I made it clear I wasn’t interested. And from the time I got here, he’s been acting like I came to see him and not because of the job opening.
“Thanks so much for the tour of your restaurant and for spending so much time going over the plans for the new place with me,” I say, getting up from my seat at the coffee shop across from my hotel, where we had breakfast.
