As she walks away, the weight of her words settle over me like a heavy blanket. The future I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about is now staring me straight in the face, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I’m not ready to lose Dad. I’m not ready to say goodbye.
Taking a deep breath, I make my way back to his room. The sight of him lying there still and unmoving, so unlike the man I grew up with, sends a fresh wave of grief crashing into me. I sink into the chair beside his bed again and take his hand in mine.
"Dad," I cry quietly. "I’m so sorry. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I need you to know I love you. I know I haven’t been here and I know I’ve let you down, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere."
The words pour out of me, a confession I didn’t realize I needed to make. I talk to him about everything—about Mom, about Jasper, and about how scared I am. I tell him about the life I’ve built in Los Angeles, about the highs and lows, the successes and loneliness that come with it. I talk until there’s nothing left to say.
And when I run out of words, I just sit there, his hand in mine, the beeping steady, the silence saying everything I can’t.
There’s no edit button here. No second take.
CHAPTER FIVE
Life Is Full of Hard Things
I wake to a yellowing popcorn ceiling and the smell of bacon. A cruel reminder I’m not in LA anymore.
For a fleeting moment, I forget where I am. But the tight ache in my chest, the lump forming in my throat, it all comes rushing back. I let out a sigh and decide the only way to deal with this day is to start it with a long, hot shower.
Dragging myself out of bed feels like wading through quicksand, my legs heavy as I swing them over the side and force myself to stand. The short walk down the hallway feels longer than it should, every bone in my body protesting. Seeing Dad yesterday in that hospital bed—frail and unrecognizable—was like an out-of-body experience. So much time has passed since I last saw him, and now it feels like I’m intruding on a life that’s been moving forward without me.
Jasper’s been here—and so has Brooks—holding down the fort, while I’ve been out chasing my dreams. I was too harsh on my brother yesterday. I know that. But the stress of coming home, I didn’t expect it to bring out the worst in me.
When I reach the bathroom, I jiggle the doorknob. Locked. Great. I groan and knock lightly. "Jasper, I need to shower."
No response.
I knock louder, more impatiently this time. "Seriously. Open up."
Still no response.
I’m about to unleash a full barrage of complaints when the lock clicks and the door swings open. But it’s not Jasper standing there. It’sBrooks. Annoying and overly-smug.
"Why are you here?" I blurt, crossing my arms and scowling.
He leans casually against the doorframe, his damp hair falling messily across his forehead.
"Good morning to you, too, Sunshine."
I swear, he exists just to provoke me. He always has.
I scrunch my nose. "That didn’t answer my question."
"Breakfast," he replies matter-of-factly as he brushes past me, leaving a faint trail of steam in his wake. "It’s Waffle Sunday. Don’t you remember?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with a sigh. Of course. Mom and Dad have been doing Waffle Sunday since forever. How could I have forgotten?
"Does Jasper know you’re still mooching off his childhood traditions?" I call after him.
He stops mid-stride, turning to face me with a smirk. "Mooching? No.Contributing.I made the bacon, thank you very much."
"Oh, well, I guess you’re officially part of the family now," I reply dryly. "You shower here? That’s weird. Even for you."
"Guess I’ve been waiting foryourblessing, Elowen," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm as he disappears down the hall.
I roll my eyes, muttering to myself as I finally step into the bathroom and shut the door. Brooks. He’s one part charm, two parts irritation, and somehow still impossible to ignore.
I forgot how terrible the water pressure is in my childhood bathroom. Every time someone turns on the kitchen sink, a blast of ice-cold water shocks my system. So much for a long, hotshower. I let out a frustrated growl, twisting the faucet off and grabbing a towel. As much as I’d love to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this is happening, there’s no avoiding the inevitable. Waffle Sunday.
