Page 20 of Shelter for Shay
“Take care of yourself, Shay. And your mama too.” Andy tipped his head.
Becca leaned in. “I can’t believe no one’s made him a husband yet. He’s dreamy and a gentleman.”
“He’s also a player with commitment issues.” Shay rolled her eyes but smiled—just as her phone buzzed on the table.
Moose.
Her chest tightened. She picked it up immediately.
“Hello?”
“Shay.” Moose’s voice was low. Rough.
Her stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s—your mom—something changed. Her breathing’s different. Shallow. Rapid.” He paused. “I called the hospice nurse, but I… I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I’m on my way,” Shay said, already rising from her chair.
“She was asking for you,” he added quietly. “She kept saying your name. Then she just sort of… faded out again.”
Shay’s vision blurred for a second as she grabbed her bag. “Stay with her. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
6
MOOSE – LAKE GEORGE, NEW YORK
The house had gone still in that eerie, reverent way that only happened when someone was close to crossing a line you couldn’t walk back from.
The nurse had said it gently, but it still hit like a hammer: “It won’t be long now.”
That was a couple of hours ago, and it felt like years.
Now, the woman who once filled every room with her voice and will was lying small and quiet in the upstairs bedroom, her breaths shallow and slow, her skin as pale as the sheets she rested on. And Shay… Shay was unraveling by the hour.
Moose stood before the living room fireplace. The flames inside popped quietly, casting shifting shadows across the hardwood floor. He was used to silence. He’d lived inside it more than he hadn’t. But this silence felt different.
This was the sound of goodbye.
Part of him felt like he didn’t belong in this house. As if he were an interloper in a world he’d been watching from the sidelines for his entire life. But his heart told him something different and that made him dig his heels into the wood floor, grounding himself—to something.
For years, all he had was the Navy, his team, and his chickens. It was all he’d thought he’d needed. All he’d believed he wanted.
He wasn’t so sure anymore.
Behind him, Shay moved through the kitchen with restless energy. She was trying to keep her hands busy—he could see it in how she’d pulled open drawers, rearranged things that didn’t need rearranging. She’d done that for a good twenty minutes before joining him in the family room.
She poured two glasses of whiskey with a trembling hand, not because of the drink—but because her entire foundation was cracking beneath her.
He knew what that looked like and he wanted to hold her up with all his might. To be the glue that held it all together. But he wasn’t sure how to do that. Or how to be the kind of person she needed.
She crossed the room and handed him the glass without a word, then lowered herself onto the couch, curling one leg under the other like she needed to hold herself together somehow.
He sat beside her, close but not touching. A million thoughts and memories filled his mind. His childhood. His parents. His own suffering. And it all brought him right to this one spot. This one place in time.
“She’s slipping away right in front of me,” Shay said after a moment, staring into the fire like she was trying to see the future in its flickering light. “The nurse unplugged all the machines. All my mom has now are pain meds to keep her comfortable. The nurse said we should prepare for tonight. I asked her what that means, and she said, ‘just be here.’” Her voice cracked at the end, and Moose tightened his grip around the glass.
