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“Hey, buddy, you feeling any better?”
Noah shook his head as he climbed up onto the couch next to Bella, who still snored loudly.
“Do you want me to get you some crackers or something?”
Noah didn’t answer. Dani went to grab the saltines anyway and heard the unmistakable sound of Noah throwing up. She flipped on the light as she rushed to Noah’s side. There was a large puddle of dark vomit on the floor, and Dani stared at it for a moment, puzzled. Noah hadn’t had anything to eat in over twenty-four hours except a little chicken broth last night. Why was his vomit so dark?
And then she saw the reddish brown tinge and what looked like . . . What was that congealed junk? Dani glanced up into Noah’s pale face, saw the burnished smears in the corner of his mouth and chin, and knew.
Blood. Her son was puking blood.
Dani ran to grab her purse from the kitchen and her hard-soled slippers from the bedroom, panic propelling her like a whirlwind. Finally, she scooped a crying Noah up in her arms and raced out the door.
“It’s okay, baby. Mama’s got you. We’re just going to the doctor.”
Noah sobbed into the crook of her neck as she threw open her car door. Buckling Noah into his car seat, she kissed his cheeks and forehead before closing the door.
When she turned the key in the ignition, there wasn’t even a click.
“No, this cannot be happening.” She tried again, begging and pleading with her car, but still, nothing happened.
Noah started gagging again, and Dani grabbed her phone from her purse. As she dialed her parents’ home, she turned in time to watch Noah cover the whole front of his pajamas and seat with blood.
Ending the call, she dialed 911 instead. “Hang on, baby. We’re going to take a ride in a spaceship.”
Chapter Four
HENRY COLESON GLOWERED at Tyler as he held out the spoon of Jell-O to him.
“I’m not a fucking child. So why the hell are you trying to feed me like one, dipshit?”
“Because the nurse said you won’t eat and I should try to convince your stubborn behind to take a bite.” Tyler had limited patience for most people, but Henry was different. The battle-scarred Marine had seen a tour in Nam and Desert Storm, served his country forty-five years, and, six months after retirement, found out he had stage four prostate cancer. They’d taken his prostate but found the cancer had already spread to his liver and lungs. He’d gone through chemo and even a few experimental trials, but nothing had worked. He’d finally said enough.
Henry took a few deep, labored breaths, the tubes in his nose fogging. “I’m trying to starve myself, you dumb fuck. Why won’t you just let me die?”
“I get that, but here’s the thing. I’m not ready to let you bite it yet. I still need you around.”
“For what? The only shit I was ever good at was being stupid and screwing. And you don’t got a problem with either of those things.” Henry’s laughter turned into a hoarse round of coughing that ended in a few painful wheezes.
“Shouldn’t crack yourself up like that. Karma’s a bitch.”
“Fuck you,” Henry said weakly.
“See, if you can still cuss me out, I know you aren’t ready to die yet.”
“Tyler . . . ” Henry’s voice was hoarse, and Tyler met his foggy gray eyes.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“You . . . need to get yourself a life.”
Tyler took a piece of the roast beef off Henry’s plate and fed it to Apollo, who sat next to his chair at attention. He was a young dog, but he and his brother, Zeus, wer
e going to make wonderful therapy dogs. Tyler enjoyed bringing them by the children’s wing of the hospital and watching the kids’ faces light up. He was going to miss them when they graduated from the therapy program and became someone’s sidekicks.
“I have a life. I have my place, my job, training the dogs. I even rescued a dog last week—”
“I’m talking about something you can leave behind. Someone who will be there for you when you’re an angry old bastard being eaten up with cancer. Who cares if you live or die and cries at your funeral.”
