The Real

Because she was.

Every second, every minute I stole with her was worth the hell I was tossed back into without her.

She slapped me. Most men wouldn’t think anything of it, but with her it was my breaking point and it was no secret why. At least for me. Abbie was still in the dark.

I scared her with my reluctance to tell her the why, when all I wanted to do was erase the wall before it erected between us.

How much I’d fucked up.

When I tried everything in my power to save my marriage it still collapsed, and so had my shot of happiness with Abbie’s refusal to believe I was a worthy man. A man better than just some philandering asshole who didn’t think one woman was enough. But Abbie was enough.

She was overabundance.

In the entirety of my life, all I knew was that I wanted to be seen as a worthy man. That had been my only goal, in my marriage, in my business, in my friendships as a coach and in my relationship with Abbie. It was instilled in me by my mother, it was my foundation.

From the time I was young enough to know better to the day she left us. I needed her, and she wasn’t there. I needed her when my marriage fell apart, when my life spiraled out of control because of it. And I needed her then, as I stood at her grave, looking down at the granite etched letters of the name of my best friend and compass. I’d relived the last day I was with her too many times and yet not enough to

figure out what to do when there were no more words. No more direction. I wondered how many other cancer orphans wandered around aimlessly seeking answers to questions they forgot to ask.

“You can’t be here son. We agreed,” my father said softly as I approached her bedroom door. In that moment, I hated him for trying to take her from me. But when I looked at him, all I saw was a man defeated. He was losing her too, and it showed in the lines covering the face mine mirrored. But I had her eyes and I knew it was painful to look at me. I was a product of her and I think, in a way, that fact hurt him too. Mark Bledsoe was a man’s man, full of pride and quick to anger. The only tenderness he revealed was when it came to his wife. Despite the fact that I mostly played every sport in some search for misplaced approval, she was what we had in common. It was our love of the games that kept us civil, but it was always her that held us together. What would we be without her?

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” I said through gritted teeth. “If you do this I’ll never forgive you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

His jaw set as he studied me. “This isn’t about us.”

“I know.”

“Then respect her wishes.”

“She’s still here,” I said choking on my words. “Jesus, Dad, don’t take this away from me. Please.”

“You need to go.”

“Mark,” we heard her call from behind the door. “Let him in.”

He let out a harsh breath and studied me before he opened the door. The hospice nurse hung another bag of fluids and made quick leave and my Dad shut the door behind her. My mother sat in the middle of her bedroom which seemed unbelievably bare with only a hospital bed centered in the middle of it. Everything about it seemed wrong.

She was wearing a yellow knit cap that her sister had made for her and her favorite robe. Her body was void of life, her thin frame withering beneath the thin sheet draped over her. My eyes stung as she held out her hand, her fingers skeleton. I bit back every sound threatening to escape.

“Come here, Cam,” she said low as I took the seat next to her and took her cold hand which was covered in bandages, bruised from the needles full of medicine that didn’t help her, and couldn’t save her. All the hell she went through, for nothing. She was leaving, and my chest caved knowing it was the last time I would ever lay eyes on her.

“Look at me,” she said sternly. I gave her my eyes and through all the strength I saw in hers, I faltered.

“This is why I didn’t want you to see.”

I took in a sharp breath that burned my throat. “Mom, stop trying to protect me. I’m too old for that.”

“Never. It’s my right and it’s been the best privilege of my life. Over everything else you were the one thing I’m most proud of and I know you believe that. You know how much I love you. I made sure of it. Because that’s what you do when you live for someone else. When you have your own, you’ll understand.”

I nodded, studying her fingers, unable to speak.

“Cameron, we agreed. I don’t want you to see this. I won’t let you.”

“Mom-”