Page 155 of Love, Rekindled

I grimace and turn my gaze out the passenger window. “Yeah...got it.”

“Good,” she snaps, and I sneak a glance back her way. She’s gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles are turning white. I knew she’d probably have hard feelings, but I guess I didn’t think she’d still be this bitter after all these years.

I should leave well enough alone, but I have other things driving me than merely wanting to reconnect in some way to this beautiful creature I left years ago. “Do you mind talking to me about my dad?” I ask her quietly.

Calliope jerks, her head snapping my way, eyes round with surprise. “Excuse me?”

“My dad,” I prompt. “It would help to have maybe a bit more perspective as to what I’m walking into.”

“What do you want to know?” she asks cautiously.

I take a deep breath, the bazillion questions, fears, and insecurities I have about my father’s cancer overwhelming me. I try to focus. “He told me on the phone he doesn’t have long...maybe just weeks, but he didn’t give me details. And I tried to talk to Mom about it, but she just cries when I ask, so I left it alone. I don’t want her more upset than she already is. I need information because I’m feeling a little lost and out of control right now.”

I watch Calliope carefully, and while she doesn’t look my away again, her expression is soft with sympathy as she gives it to me straight. “It was just too advanced by the time he went to the doctor. He’s been sick for a long time but kept putting it off, always needing to work. You know how your dad is.”

I nod because if there’s one thing I know, it’s where I got my intense work ethic from. He worked all the time, long hours, and we rarely took vacations. I can even remember him working on major holidays like Christmas and Easter. He certainly missed a good chunk of my games growing up because of work.

“He’s going to decline pretty rapidly,” she says, and the tone of her voice is different. This isn’t pretty, sweet Calliope Ramirez talking, but a seasoned and educated nurse who may not deal with cancer in her line of work, but clearly knows something of which she speaks. “Your parents have already decided to use hospice to come in once he needs more skilled care, but for now, he’s still able to ambulate, eat, and take care of basic life-care skills like dressing himself. He’s just really tired a lot now. That will be the biggest thing you’ll notice.”

A lump settles in the base of my throat, and I can’t even speak past it. She must sense it’s not enough information for me to truly understand what I’m facing, so she continues.

“As his body fights the cancer, his organs will start to shut down. He won’t be hungry, so he won’t want to take in nutrition, and that will further weaken him. He’ll eventually become bedridden. At some point, he’ll go in and out of consciousness.”

My biggest fear—the thing I’ve been obsessing about—pushes forth, past the constriction in my throat. “Will he be in pain?”

“No,” she replies quickly and with such assurance, I believe her. “The great thing about hospice is that they will prescribe medications to make him incredibly comfortable. He won’t feel pain at all.”

The rush of breath that escapes me is guttural, but it leaves a hollow pit in my stomach. He won’t feel pain, but he’ll be unconscious and heavily sedated when he dies. That should make me feel better, except for the fact that he’s going to die, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

I feel the absurd need to cry, which I refuse to do. It’s not something I can afford to give in to, and I think I’d rather die myself than let Calliope see me at my lowest.

“Thanks,” I manage to say, completely grateful for the information she’s provided and yet, a small part of me hating I had to rely on her for it.

She doesn’t respond, but the silence doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. My worst fear—my father dying in pain—has been alleviated. Now I can start to process the rest of it.

Of course, I’ll have to fit that in among other things like finding a place to live—eventually—and joining my new hockey team. Lots to do, and little time to do it in.

I already feel so very tired, and it’s only just begun.

“Hey,” Calliope says, her voice a mere whisper, but it shocks me to my core that she’s initiating communication.

My neck twists, and I give her my regard, my expression unassuming.

“I’m glad to help you navigate through the medical part of it,” she tells me, sparing a glance my way so our eyes lock. “I promised your mom I would help out when I can...as things progress. If you can’t talk about stuff with them, you can ask me, okay?”

The gesture is appreciated, especially since I know she doesn’t want anything to do with me. It’s really not surprising, though. Even though Calliope must hate me for dumping her, she’s still the kindest person I know. It’s why she’s a nurse. She loves helping people and easing their pain, whether it be physical or the type that’s lodged deep in the soul.

I merely nod my gratitude at her and turn my attention back to the window, starting to mentally prepare myself for my reunion with my dying father.

CHAPTER 2

Calliope

Gritting my teeth,I stew over the unfairness of everything. Jim is dying from pancreatic cancer, his wife Brenda is falling apart, and now Rafe has returned home to witness it all.

Damn it all to hell, that man.

What I can’t figure out is why I feel so freaking angry. It’s not like I obsess about Rafe and what he did to me all those years ago. In fact, I manage to go days—sometimes an entire week—without thinking about him at all.

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