“Maybe another time.” I patted his arm. “How’s it going today?”
Dillon shrugged. “Eh, the same as yesterday. I have to wear a diaper now, which is pretty hot, let me tell you. And I don’t even have the energy to jerk one off. This is my idea of hell.”
“Where’s Reagan when you need her? Shouldn’t she be taking care of that for you?” I chuckled.
I hated his fiancée. She was selfish and vapid. And she sure as hell didn’t deserve my brother.
But he loved her.
And given that he had only weeks left, I would never tell him that she had made it very clear that I was welcome in her bed anytime I wanted.
“She hates the hospital. It upsets her too much. I told her not to bother coming today.” Dillon closed his eyes, obviously not able to keep them open.
“She should be here anyway,” I argued.
Dillon frowned. “Please, don’t start on Reagan, Mas. She’s doing the best she can.”
“And it’s not fucking good enough,” I growled.
Dillon sighed. “Please, Mason. I don’t want to spend what little energy I have defending her to you.”
“Fine. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
Dillon opened his eyes, the blue dull and listless. “Ha. I’d like to see that. It’d be a first.”
I playfully punched his arm. Lightly. Very, very lightly. “Don’t think you can use the whole I-have-cancer thing to get out of an ass beating, Dil. I’ll still take you.”
“Then I’d have to cry on the hot nurse’s shoulder and tell her all about my mean big brother while she sponges me off.”
I laughed and he smiled as much as he was able.
“You know, I’d blow a priest to get out of this fucking bed. Maybe play another round of basketball. Too bad this body isn’t good for anything anymore.” Dillon rarely indulged in self-pity. I was surprised to hear him sounding so negative, though I had expected it at some point.
“You don’t have to blow a priest, dude. That’s just gross,” I joked.
Dillon didn’t smile.
For the first time I saw how depressed he really was. How hopeless he felt.
“I’m dying, Mason. And all I want to do is play basketball one more time. That probably sounds pretty pathetic. Of all the things on my bucket list, that’s what I really want to do. No bungee jumping or race car driving. Just a game of one-on-one with my brother.”
I wrapped my hand around his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Then this weekend, I’m busting you out of here. We’ll go to the park and I’ll kick your ass on the court.”
Dillon’s face lit up, just enough to lift my heart. “Yeah? You promise?”
I nodded, not realizing that I was lying to him. “I promise.”
—
When I started thinking about Dillon, it was hard to stop. It was like falling into a grief spiral.
I put the photograph away. Talking to my parents always brought up the stuff I wished I could forget.
I had to focus on the job that I had ultimately chosen over my dying brother.
It should have made me resentful of my work. Instead it had done quite the opposite. I needed my work to confirm that I was doing something productive. Something important that would make all the bullshit worth it.
And now it was finding Freedom Overdrive.
