Page 122 of Can't Kiss the Chef

My car is barely in park before Byron jumps out and sprints for the front door.

While he stomps up the stairs hard enough to make the house shake, I get him a glass of water and a couple Advil to help alleviate the hangover I know is coming.

By the time I get to Byron’s room he is stripped down to his boxers laying in his bed. I set the water and Advil down on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of his bed.

I push the golden locks away from his face so I can get an unobstructed look into those beautiful blue eyes that I love so much.

“Hey, By,” I whisper.

“Hey, Pips.”

“I promise I’m not leaving you. I just have leave to head back home early tomorrow and I still need to pack.”

He nods. I hate that I have to leave him right now knowing he doesn’t fully trust me. It hurts even worse knowing I gave him a reason to feel that way.

“I love you Byron. I’m not going anywhere. Call me when you wake up tomorrow so I know you’re okay.”

A lone tear falls down his cheek.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just love you so much, thank you for giving me a second chance.”

That simple sentence stitches my heart back together. It gives me hope we’ll get back to where we were.

49

Byron

The first three days of my Christmas break were mostly spent at The Riley Center or at my dad’s bedside overthinking how I left things with Lola. She says she understands why I’m distant. She knows my short texts and two-worded responses aren’t because I don’t love her, instead it’s the best I can do.

Other than my teammates, when I’m at practice she is the only person I’m talking to. That doesn’t stop my constant worry about losing her or that I know that my incapability to open up about my emotions could be pushing her away.

The doctors say my dad only has a few days left. Each day he grows more withdrawn, spending more hours asleep thanawake. The morphine drip makes sure he doesn’t feel the pain of his body shutting down, but it clouds his memory.

Luckily my father is staying at the condo otherwise I’m not sure I would have been able to convince my mom to go home and shower. Her experience in the medical field is both comforting her and making the slow death of her one true love harder.

I know why she always forgave him. Over the last few months I’ve learned that my dad has the biggest heart and has always tried to be better. He tells the corniest jokes that you can’t help but to laugh at. Mom says she loves that I got that part of his personality.

He has a giving heart and when he had nothing he still did whatever he could to help others. I’m just so mad that he couldn’t help himself until it was too late.

I’ve spent the last half hour scrolling through old text conversations I’ve had with Lola while sitting at my dad’s bedside. He’s been asleep for the last hour, but I can’t get myself to leave his side.

My head’s grown more clear as I’ve accepted my dad’s fate. It doesn’t stop the guilt from eating away at me as I look at my one-sided conversations with Lola.

“Byron.”

My dad stirs awake. His voice is weak, simply speaking is now taking more energy than it should.

I turn so I’m fully facing him. His body is frail. The loose skin under his eyes is dark, a stark contrast to his pale skin. His goofy smile and I can finally say I’m happy I share it with him, makes a welcome appearance.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“How’s my girl Lola going?”

“Good. She brought Mia home with her. She’s been happy to have a buddy with her.”

“That’s good.”

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