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CHASE
A man can only stare at the ceiling for so long, talking himself through his problems over and over, before starting to feel like he’s going to come unglued. Minutes tick by. Hours pass. I count sheep, try to read, even take a long hot shower, but nothing is enough to turn my brain off and get some sleep.
With a deep sigh, I grab my cell phone from the charger on my nightstand and—not for the first time this morning—pull up Addison’s contact information. I hover over the call button—also not for the first time this morning—waiting until the clock ticks from seven fifty-nine to eight.
Waiting. Waiting.
The second the clock changes, I press the button. As the ring trills in my ear, I wonder if it’s too early for me to be calling her. She has to be worn out after the past few days. Maybe I should have waited for her to reach out to me instead of calling her at the ass crack of dawn.
“Hello?” Addison’s voice is groggy.
I’m taken back to the last time I heard that sexy rasp, when our limbs were wrapped around each other and my mind was focused solely on her. She might not be in my arms now, but my thoughts are still on her.
“Hey, it’s Chase. Did I wake you?” I feel like a teenager sneaking a call to his girlfriend after his parents have gone to bed, a bundle of nerves and excitement.
“Yes. But it’s okay.”
“I’m sorry.” Maybe a small part of me is, but mostly, I’m just happy to be hearing her voice.I’m a selfish man.
“Don’t be. I’m glad I’m not the one who had to make the first call.”
I hear her rustling around as she stretches and groans and my mind wanders to what she’s wearing. The color, the material, how easy it would be to remove. I think back to the little sleep shorts she wore in Colorado and how tightly they hugged her round ass.
Is she wearing those shorts now?
“Are you still there?” she asks.
“Yes,” I reply quickly, pushing my dirty thoughts aside and willing certain body parts of mine to cool down. “I’d like to meet up and talk today. Do you have plans?”
“No plans. I’m pretty new around here, remember?” She laughs and then says, “When are you free?”
“How about lunch?” Maybe getting out together will help us clear the air better than being stuffed up in the house I live in with my wife. “I could pick you up at noon.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Okay,” I reply.
“Okay,” she says back, and I smirk.
“Talk to you later, Addison.”
“Bye, Chase.”
I place the phone down beside me and roll onto my back. When I stare at the ceiling this time, I feel lighter than I did before.
When I finally wrapped things up at work last night, Emily texted that I needed to pop by my mom and dad’s to pick up Willow. She was supposed to spend the night but decided last minute that she would prefer to sleep at home. Their twice-a-month sleepovers end back at our house more often than not lately.
Emily was asleep by the time I got home, so we didn’t have time to talk, but I know it isn’t something that should be put off any longer.
First, I need reinforcements.
I make my way through the hall and down the stairs as quietly as I can, hoping not to wake Emily and Willow. I don’t want to face the first without coffee, and the second is a grouch if she doesn’t wake up on her own. We have to set her alarm twenty minutes early each morning just to spend that time trying to bribe her out of bed. Some days it works, but usually, she’s not out the door until the very last second.
After starting a pot of coffee, I walk over to the window above the kitchen sink and slide it up to let in some fresh air, then I make myself busy gathering mugs. Feeling a little nostalgic, I reach for the World’s Okayest Dad mug that has Willow’s wiggly two-year-old handprint on the side. I stare at it for a moment, longing for those days back—when Emily was healthy, and Willow was carefree because the fear of her mother dying didn’t cloud her every thought. Before all our good days became too hard for me to enjoy because I knew they were only temporary. Before I wished away all our bad days, praying for a time when it would all be done and I wouldn’t have to see pain etched along my girls’ faces day in and day out.
Living with someone who is dying is an emotional roller coaster. Five years ago, I still had hope. I truly believed she would be able to fight this. She had a strong support system, a great team of doctors within only a few hours’ drive, and she was strong.
But those days of hope are a thing of the past.I’ve done my best to come to terms with the path we’re on. I’ve spent my fair share of nights crying into the morning hours, drank until I was numb, talked it through with Drake over and over. Cursed God. Begged God. You name it, I’ve done it. But instead of any good news, we’ve only come closer to running out of time.
