Page 41 of Trusting Skulls

Raffe’s gaze bounces over my face frantically, and I can tell he’s still unsure if he can trust me. “My …” He pauses. Whatever he’s feeling tonight, it’s clearly crushing his soul.

“I’ve still got the scars. Do you want to see?” I pull up my pant legs, showing him both of my knees.

He runs a thumb over one of them before looking up at the night sky.

I feel like he’s having a conversation with the stars. Maybe I should leave him alone with his thoughts. He clearly has some heavy shit on his mind. I hope it’s nothing my situation stirred up for him.

“My wife is dying,” he says quietly. He drops his head, and my heart breaks clean open at the raw pain in his voice.

It takes my breath away. My lips part, but nothing comes out.

“She won’t let me tell anyone. Not yet anyway. It’s been pure torture to not reach out to the club. To them.” He nods toward the cabin. Jesse and Dirk are sitting on the floor in front of the windows still playing their game.

I remain quiet, but I reach out and hold his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Rachel’s been battling it for four years.”

My eyebrows rise in shock. I never would have known.

He chuckles sadly, sits back, and pulls his shirt up to wipe his face on the bottom of it. “Fuck. It feels good to say this shit out loud.”

“Why are you here with me? Go home. Be with her,” I tell him, suddenly feeling guilty for taking up so much of their precious time together.

“She’s not there. It’s getting harder and harder for her to hide it. So, when she’s not feeling well, she leaves. For almost a year she’s slowly been pulling away from me.”

“Could you go with her?”

“I’ve asked. I’ve even begged, but no amount of groveling on my part changes her mind. I just want to take care of her.”

It breaks my heart for her and for him. “How does she do it alone?”

“She has acquaintances. She’s worked in the medical field her whole life.”

His face falls, and he breaks down again. I slide closer and hug him.

“I owe her my life. I’m walking today because of her. Why won’t she let me help?” he asks, not me but the universe.

“Are you sure she won’t get better? Maybe she just needs to focus on her health free of distraction.”

He chuckles sadly. “I am a distraction, you’re right there, but no, there’s no getting better. It’s spread … it’s everywhere.”

We’re both quiet for a moment.

“I know she’s scared to tell Jackson and Dirk. I’ve suggested hospice. I think they could help her talk to our family, but so far she’s refused.”

He hits his chest with a closed fist. “I’ve had no choice but to stuff all this shit down. It’s killing my soul, but how do I deny my wife’s wishes? Fuck, I’ve never felt so alone.”

“That’s a feeling I understand. You can talk to me anytime, Raffe. I will keep our conversations to myself,” I tell him.

We chat well into the morning hours, and by the time we head inside, we’re both mentally exhausted. Between the two of us, we unpacked a lot of shit.

As we’re heading inside, I pull out my letter to Ash. Raffe watches as I tuck it under the mat where he can see it if he shows up again.

“Is it worth it? The pain I see in your eyes?” I ask him.

He nods. “It’s worth it.”

I stare at the letter, my fingers itching to pick it back up.

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