Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
“He doesn’t seem to be running a fever,” I murmur and then drop my hand to his shoulder. “How hard is it to breathe, Jim?”
As if to prove nothing’s wrong, he sucks in a big gulp of air and lets it out. “I’m fine. See.”
I know he thinks he just performed a monumental feat for me, but even I can see that his lungs aren’t filling to capacity. It’s not a good sign. But now that I’ve seen him, I also don’t think he needs immediate medical intervention. His color looks good, and he sounds pretty strong, actually.
Jim pushes himself up to lean against the headboard and wipes at his eyes as if to clear the sleep from them. “Listen…yes, I’m feeling a bit tired today. Doc said that would happen. But I’m just trying to rest up for the game tonight.”
“Game?” I ask, turning my gaze to Brenda.
She gives a small shake of her head. “Technically, it’s Rafe’s first game with the Cold Fury. He’s actually been at the arena this morning for his first team practice and getting to know the guys. He should be home any moment to hang out for a bit before he heads back for the game.”
“And I want to watch the game on TV, so I’m just trying to get some rest,” Jim gripes. “And I can’t do that when the two of you are hovering over me. Now, I’m tired and want to nap a bit more.”
“Fine,” Brenda exclaims, holding up her hands in defeat. “Rest. I’ll wake you up for lunch in a bit, okay?”
“Okay,” he mutters and then gives her an apologetic smile. “And sorry I’m a grump.”
“I’ve lived with your grumpy butt for almost thirty years,” she replies affectionately. “I’m used to it.”
Brenda and I leave the room, and she shuts the door behind us. “Want a cup of tea?”
“Sure,” I reply, not really having anything else to do today except clean my kitchen. I’d actually planned to hang out at my place and read a book or watch some TV. I’m pretty low-maintenance on my days off and enjoy chilling more than anything.
I sit at the table while Brenda puts the kettle on. She’s the one who got me into drinking tea years ago when I was still in high school. It always made me feel so adult and part of her family to sit at the table and sip as we talked. Of course, back then, we talked a lot about Rafe because he was the center of both our worlds.
“Is this it?” Brenda asks as she comes to join me at the table while the water heats.
The question may seem vague, but I get what she’s asking. She wants to know if we’re at the beginning of the end.
Before I can answer, the front door opens, and Rafe calls out in an exaggerated Cuban accent a la Ricky Ricardo, “L-u-u-u-c-y… I’m home.”
I can’t help but smile, and my gaze meets Brenda’s. Rafe always used to do that when he came home from school in the afternoons.
“In the kitchen, honey,” Brenda calls back to him.
We can hear Rafe bounding up the stairs, and as he comes into view, his eyes immediately lock on mine. Of course he knew I was here, my Pathfinder is in the driveway.
“What’s going on?” he asks, letting the gear bag he’s holding drop to the floor. His gaze flits from me to his mom.
She smiles at him, wan and fatigued. “Your dad’s having a bad day. I asked Calliope to come by and check on him.”
Rafe’s eyes snap to me, locking on hard. “And?”
“He’s having a hard time breathing—”
“Why?” he demands, his brows furrowing deeply. “I mean…I don’t understand a goddamn thing about any of this.”
“The cancer has spread to his lungs and his liver—”
“No,” Rafe barks at me, looking wildly between his mother and me. “I don’t understand how this happened. How did it get this bad, this fast?”
There’s a world of recrimination in that statement, and he immediately flushes, a guilty expression on his face.
“Sorry,” he mutters and spins on his heel, walking right out of the kitchen and trotting down the stairs.
Brenda starts to rise from the table to go after him, but I beat her to it, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Let me. I think he needs a rational explanation, and I can give that to him without too much emotion.”
Because really…we’re nothing to each other, so I’m perfect for the job.
Brenda nods, and I follow Rafe out of the house, expecting to find him in his mom’s car. I assume his vehicle might be coming via freight carrier from Arizona at some point, or hell…maybe he’s just going to buy a new one now that he’s relocated. It’s not like he can’t afford it.
Instead, I find Rafe sitting on the top step of the porch, arms crossed over his knees and staring out at the street. He glances up at me and says, “I wasn’t blaming anyone.”