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“Please,” I whisper.
“Does Hunter know?” he grounds out.
“Hunter doesn’t know. No one knows. It would destroy him. He’s already losing it over the painkillers I’m taking, the weed, everything. I can’t do that to him.”
“But to me you can. I’m not going to be the one to help you knock on heaven’s door. Fuck, babe,” he swears under his breath.
Shaking my head, I say, “Don’t.”
“Don’t do what?” He raises his voice.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
He blinks furiously, as if trying to keep his tears from spilling over.
“You’re a drug dealer, Tim, and I know you still have contacts everywhere. Don’t act like you don’t.”
“But what you’re asking me. That we … we, I …” his voice falters.
“Please, Tim. I can’t go on like this,” I tell him, sounding braver than I feel.
He brushes both his hands across his face. “I can’t, honey.”
“Think about it,” I plead.
He takes me into his arms, burying his face in my hair. He kisses my forehead then the corner of my lips. “Don’t make me do this.”
“Please,” I beg, my cheeks wet with tears. “I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure. I can’t live like this anymore. The doctors can’t tell me why I’m getting worse so quick. It’s like I’ve been holding on so tight these last couple of years, that my body is finally letting go. Please, Tim,” I beg. “Promise me you’ll take care of it. I can’t hold a cup of coffee in my hands. I can barely walk anymore. I’ll lose my speech. I already lost my left arm. I will lose everything.”
He shakes his head violently. “Fucking hell.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Thank you, Timmy,” I say, brushing my wet nose with my sleeve. He hugs me tight to his chest, holding me while we both cry.
Hunter
I park the bike in front of the garage and place my helmet on the seat. It’s almost nine in the morning. I need to talk to Sky later and apologize, and thank her for reaching out to my father. After taking a quick shower, I crash on my couch and wake after a couple hours. I pour myself a cup of coffee when there’s a knock on my door.
“It’s open,” I yell, walking out of my kitchen, cup still in hand.
“Hey, Hunter, got time for a talk?” Timothy says, tapping his hand on the frame.
“Sure, man,” I say reluctantly, pulling a sweater over my head. “Want a coffee?”
“Yeah,” he says, taking his seat on the couch. He brushes his palms on his jeans. After placing his coffee on the table, I take my seat in the chair opposite him. Spreading his legs, Tim crosses his arms in front of him like he owns the place.
“So,” he begins, leaning forward, “can I bum a smoke?”
I nod. “You can have the pack.”
After he lights the cigarette and blows out the smoke, he takes a small sip of his coffee with shaking hands. “I know we haven’t exactly been friends since I came here.”
I snort.
“We both have wanted to protect the people we love, each probably in our own fucked up, flawed way,” Timothy says, his voice rough.
