Rafe (Arizona Vengeance 6.5)

I take stock of how that makes me feel, and I realize it doesn’t make me feel anything one way or the other. It’s the absolute truth. There was a time when we were everything to each other, and then we weren’t. Rafe made a mistake and ended things, believing with a foolhardy nature that he knew what was best for me.

“We’re just friends now,” I hasten to reassure her.

“I think you’re more than that,” she replies with so much surety, I have to wonder if she has magical powers to see the future or something. I want with every fiber of my being to argue with her, but before I can, she continues on. “People make mistakes, and some deserve forgiveness. Others don’t. That’s up to you to decide. Regardless, I think it’s remarkable that you can put that aside and be here for Rafe. You’re the best type of friend a person could have.”

And just like that, Gray is pulled off into another conversation, and I move over to Rafe. I try to join in on the banter he has going with Zack and his wife, Kate, but my mind won’t stay on point. I keep thinking about Gray’s words, trying to figure out if it was wise advice that I should listen to, or just chalk it up to her being a nosy busybody.

Except I have a pretty solid feeling that no one in their entire life has ever thought of or called Gray Brannon a busybody.Chapter 11RafeMy phone vibrates in my pocket—the repetitive buzz that indicates an incoming call. I consider ignoring it, but I’m not doing anything I can’t step away from for just a little bit. I mean, I’m just holding vigil over my dad while my mom is at the grocery store.

I left for Boston five days ago to play games three and four of the second round of the playoffs. We swept them easily, and while it was an excellent respite to be lost in the thrill of playoff competition, I felt like I was missing something big back here in Raleigh.

Sure enough, when I returned late last night, I found that my father had taken a nosedive. I knew this could happen.

Would happen at some point.

Calliope and her medical expertise have been invaluable to me. I’m one of those people who always does better if I know the full, cold, hard painful truth of things. I can deal as long as I know what I’m dealing with, and she hasn’t held back on how bad it can be.

And yet, when I saw my father lying in that hospital bed in the living room, looking a million times frailer than when I left less than a week before, I knew everything had changed.

I knew my dad wouldn’t be able to make it to any more games, and we’d be lucky if he could take meals at the kitchen table with us. I knew that my time with him was limited, and my hands were tied on game days and with travel. I realized there’s a very real chance that I might be gone when he takes his last breath, and I’m still trying to figure out how to reconcile that.

I snap myself back to the present. I have no clue who is calling, but I could use a break. My dad’s been sleeping deeply, aided by a few drops of morphine that I put under his tongue a bit ago. He refuses to ask for it, but I can tell by his shifting and grimacing that he’s in pain, so I strongly encourage him to take it. It felt both weird and right to put my hand behind his head and gently lift it from the pillow so I could give him the medicine.

I snag my phone from my pocket, needing a break from the heavy feelings that seem to be pressing down on me at all times lately. The only respite from them is when I’m deep inside Calliope, but those times are limited by my travel and spending time with my dad.

Not even glancing at the screen to see who it is—because, at this point, it could be a telemarketer, and I’d welcome the break from my thoughts—I answer. “Hello?”

“Just checking in, dude.” It’s Aaron Wylde. He’s been in contact with me nearly every day since I left Phoenix, either by call, text, or email.

“How are you doing?” he asks lightly. I appreciate the tone because he knows how bad it can get, and he doesn’t want to bring me down right off the bat.

“I’m hanging in there, man,” I murmur in a low tone, pushing up from the chair next to my dad’s bed. I doubt he’ll wake up, but I decide to move away in the off chance I might disturb his sleep. I think it’s the only time he’s genuinely comfortable right now.