Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
That’s what terrifies me now. Who do I become when he’s gone? Who will have my back when I’m feeling the weight of the world pressing down on me?
In his room, the drawn blinds mute the light. I don’t know why I’ve done that. It’s not like it would make it difficult for him to sleep and opening them would certainly make things a bit cheerier in here.
But fuck if I want to feel cheerful.
I turn on a bedside lamp and busy myself with the ritual of preparing his medication. I’ve learned to do it almost without thinking—measure out the morphine drops, grab a tissue to hold under his lower lip to catch dribble, check the timing again that I’m at the four-hour mark, double-check the dosage. The rhythm keeps me from falling apart.
“Gray,” I murmur, more for me than him, as I set things on the nightstand. “It’s time for your happy meds.” I shoot him a quick glance but don’t linger. His sunken cheekbones look ghastly. I instead continue with my monologue because even though I doubt he can hear me, on the off chance he does, I want him to know he’s not alone.
“Oh, don’t you give me that look,” I chide teasingly. “I know you hate having me fuss over you, but we’re not arguing about this today. For once in our friendship, I have the upper hand and I’m going to milk it for all it’s worth.”
My voice wobbles. He hasn’t been able to argue with me for days now, and what I wouldn’t give for him to open his eyes, sit up in that bed, and say, “Mads… quit being so morose. Get your shit together. It’ll be fine.”
I move closer to the bed, the little dropper filled with precious pain relief trembling in my hand. But something makes me stop.
The air feels… different.
I stare at Gray with the eyes of a hawk. God, I can’t tell if he’s breathing. It’s been so shallow for days, but I’ve trained myself not to panic. A tidal wave of apprehension hits me so hard, I go dizzy.
I set the dropper down and lean closer, eyes lasered onto his chest, willing it to move only a fraction of an inch. My hand shakes violently as I place it over his sternum.
Nothing.
I count to ten, because surely that’s enough time for his shallow respirations to catch up with the body’s need for oxygen, right? I run through everything the hospice nurse told me about when the end would come.
Gray’s jaw is slackened, mouth parted slightly, lips dried but covered in the balm I applied earlier. I move my hand near his face, holding my fingers close to see if I can feel even the faintest whisper of air.
Nothing.
For a moment, I can’t think. There’s a stillness in this room so complete, it feels like the entire world has paused right along with me.
“Gray?” I whisper. A question. Have you passed?
My eyes roam over him critically. It’s not the lack of chest movement or the paler than normal hue of his skin. It’s more about his jawline—that opened mouth parted as if to exhale his last breath. He looks… at peace.
I don’t check for a pulse. I don’t need to.
He’s gone.
A sob rips free of my chest before I can stop it, and then another, until I’m doubled over, clutching at the blankets. My body shakes with it, grief pouring out of me in great, shuddering waves.
I thought I’d be somewhat prepared for this, but I’m not. My best friend in the world is gone. My anchor. The only person in my life who never let me down. Gone.
I don’t know how long I stay like that. It could be seconds, maybe minutes. But eventually, the sound of my own sobs is too much. I force myself upright, wiping at my face with shaky hands, and step out of the room.
Grayce is still napping in her crib and my chest splinters all over again for this tiny creature who just lost the best dad in the world. I reach down and scoop her into my arms, pulling her gently against me. She stirs only slightly, her head turning to the side against my shoulder, still heavy with sleep.
I press my nose into her fine hair and inhale. The scent of baby shampoo seeps into me, soothing the jagged corners of my grief.
“It’s just us now, kiddo,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the words. “But I promise you… I’m going to give you the best life. Everything your father wanted for you, everything he asked of me. I’ll never let you down the way my parents let me down. You’ll always know you’re loved.”
Tears slip free again and I press my lips to her soft temple, then another kiss to the top of her head. I cling to her for one more moment like she’s the only thing tethering me to the earth before laying her back in the crib. She inhales, then lets out a sigh, completely oblivious.