Before sitting down, I grab the quilt that hangs over it and wrap myself in it, breathing in the scent I've been able to keep on since taking it home with me.
"So, what brings you into my neck of the woods?” I say, trying anything I can to lighten up the mood and get him out of whatever it is that's caused him to come to me. “Still thinking about how lucky you were to kiss me not once, but twice?"
His large hands sit on both knees while his eyes stay on the floor. This is the first time I've seen him sit still. His fingers aren't tapping on his knees. His legs aren't bouncing. I’ve never seen him like this. Ever. He’s always moving.
"August?” Lifting myself up from the chair, still wrapped in the quilt, I amble to the couch and sit next to him. I’m afraid if I startle him, he’ll run away. And I don’t want that. I want him to talk to me.
I knock my knee into his. “August. Say something. Why did you come here?”
Straining my eyes, I look at his chest to make sure he’s still breathing. We can’t sit here forever in silence. What is he thinking? What happened? Has his dad gotten worse?
“August.” I grab his chin and force him to look at me.
His eyes—usually bright and clear—look empty and sad. They’re puffy and red. The stubble on his jaw pokes at my fingers when I let go.
“My dad.” He shakes his head.
Tossing the quilt off my body, I kneel in front of him on the floor, and the rug beneath me rubs against my skin.
“What happened?” I urge him to talk to me.
He swallows, and finally, he lifts his gaze to me. “He doesn’t want the surgery.”
The surgery. I heard something about that when Ellie and Rowan were talking about it the other day. I didn’t poke or prod more about it. What I do know is that it can help prolong his life.
August clenches his fists. “He would rather die than have this surgery.”
“Why are you saying this?” I grab his wrists, wanting him to relax. I rub the top of his hands, attempting to slip my fingers into his palms, and he lets me.
“This surgery—something that can save his life, he doesn’t want it.” He presses his lips together.
“Did your dad tell you this?” My thumb strokes over his rough knuckles.
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Ellie. She was with him at the doctor’s office.”
The heaviness I feel in my heart tries to drag me down.
“You need to talk to your dad.”
Shaking his head again, he squeezes my hand. “There isn’t anything to talk about with him. He made his choice already.”
“August.” A sharp edge sneaks into the tone of my voice. I close my eyes before I continue to talk. “You’re not being fair to yourself or your dad.”
“First, I lost you”—his voice cracks— “and now I’m going to lose my dad.”
“Hey, you didn’t lose me.” He didn’t lose me. He never did. “And you’re not losing your dad.” I push off my knees and stand. “Come on.”
“What are you doing?”
I’m asking myself the same question right now.
I hold out my hand. “We’re going to your parents' place. You’re going to talk to your dad.”
“You want to come with me?”
