He’s been off chemo for a year now. A full year. The doctors called it a win. MRIs and appointments every three months, but they’ve been cautiously optimistic.
For a while, things were normal again.
Lately, though…
He forgets small things. Gets tired faster. Rubs his temples like the world is too loud, even when it’s quiet around us.
“When did it start?” I ask.
“This morning,” he says. “Probably nothing.”
That’s what he always says.
The last scan was last week, and we’re still waiting on the results.
I get him a glass of water and take a seat beside him on the couch. He leans into me without realizing it, his weight and warmth a comfort I’ve always needed.
“You should lie down,” I say.
“In a minute,” he promises.
I help him to his room anyway and help him settle into bed, sitting beside him until his face relaxes once he’s asleep.
In the hallway, I press my back to the wall and close my eyes.
Nothing is wrong. It’s just the change in the seasons.
If I repeat the lie enough to myself, maybe it’ll become true.
Down the hall, a floorboard creaks, followed by careful footsteps, if you can even call his shuffling that.
I don’t have to look to know it’s Logan. My body knows and reacts in its own way, with my pulse kicking up and my stomach bursting with awareness.
I go to my room without looking his way and sit on the edge of my bed, hands pressed to my thighs.
I did everything right today.
I showed up. I worked hard. I kept moving.
And still, something feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.
Because no matter how fast I go, some things are catching up to me.
And I don’t know how long I can keep pretending they aren’t.
5
LOGAN
Mornings at the Rhodes’ house are like living in an alternate reality to the one I’m used to. The football house was a never-ending cycle of parties, loud guys, and everything else that comes when you throw a bunch of rowdy men into one house.
And I was one of the worst of them.
After getting my brace on, I head out of my room and toward the kitchen. I’m halfway down the hall when I hear Pops cough.
It’s not loud. Not the kind of cough that demands attention. Just a short, rough sound that lingers a beat too long, like it takes effort to clear.
I stop without meaning to.
