by Sophia Henry
The Philadelphia Deli is a hole-in-the-wall diner across the street from the hospital that serves cheap, fast, and hearty food that hits the spot after a ten-hour shift. A mixed crew from the hospital meets there a few times a week to let off steam and enjoy each other’s company outside of work. I joined the group immediately, always eager to get to know my coworkers.
Suddenly, the door to Jack’s room swings open and Luke charges out. Tonya and I watch as he rushes down the hallway and slams his shoulder into the bathroom door to open it.
Tears fill my eyes thinking about the pain he’s feeling right now. That’s when I understand my reaction to the situation. As much as I feel for the Dellingers, I’m more affected by how Luke’s handling it. I may not know the entire story of their connection, but the tears in his eyes and the emotion in his voice made it obvious that Luke loves that little boy.
“Why don’t you take ten,” Tonya offers. “I’ll handle anything that comes up for your patients.”
I swallow hard and nod, giving her a small smile.
Chapter 11
Luke
“Fuck!” I slam my fist against the door to the first stall in the men’s room. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
I grab my fingers with my other hand and rub them furiously. Every once in a while I forget that I have feeling in my right arm now. Dr. Patel had been right about surgery. I felt good as new. Too bad I can’t fucking play hockey.
Nausea overtakes me. I rush to a stall, fall to my knees, and hurl into the toilet. My head hurts worse than it does on the Monday following a weekend bender in Vegas.
Without looking, I reach up and flush the toilet, spitting into the swirl as the water drains. Then I place my elbows on the edge of the bowl and drop my head into my hands. This would be a perfect time for the numbness that had taken my right arm hostage a year ago to come back and take over my brain.
After a few deeps breaths, I remember the painkillers I took after my surgery. Those pills were the only thing I’ve ever found that made everything numb. My mouth waters thinking about how easy it would be to knock one back when I get home. I swallow hard, pushing away the thought. I hadn’t taken them in a year and I never will again.
I hate even thinking like this, but I’m shaken by thenews about Jack. It’s not like I didn’t know he was terminal, I knew his time would come, but I’m having a tough time dealing with it.
This is why Brandon killed himself. So he’d never have to feel this way. The media blamed the concussions and his ongoing depression, but that was only part of it. Finding out Jack had an inoperable tumor on his lung is what killed him. He literally couldn’t watch his son die.
As fucking angry as I was when he took his own life and left his wife to deal with both that tragedy and Jack’s illness, I understand now. Maybe not completely, but I’m a fucking mess right now and Jack isn’t even my kid. Losing your flesh and blood to something you have no control over would make it virtually impossible to go on with life.
Getting up and making my way to the sink, I try to push my former teammate out of my head. After his death, the entire team pulled together to support Ally and Jack. Not that we weren’t an extended family already, but Jack’s diagnosis and Brandon’s suicide made us all closer. Tragedy tends to do that. And with one of the best pediatric cancer centers in the U.S. right here at Charlotte Children’s Hospital, no one was going to let Ally take him back to some small town in Canada for treatment.
Gripping the countertop for stability, I lift my head. Red streaks snake through the white of my eyes while the gaunt, purple skin underneath swells. My face is cold and pale, so I slap at my cheeks trying to raise some color there. Over the last few months, finding this ghostlike reflection staring back at me has been common. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever get the warm glow in my cheeks back.
“Fuck!” I snap again, slamming my palm on the laminate counter.
Tomorrow Ally will take him home to die. It could be weeks—or days.
I’m not equipped to deal with this kind of news right now. I need to get the fuck out of here and toss back a few drinks—something to get rid of the black knot of emotion taking hold of my brain. I know better, but numbing the feelings makes them easier to control. Shrouding my mind in darkness and trying to forget about my problems is the only thing that keeps me sane when the pressure and stress of life crush me. It never used to be this way. Facing challenges with determination and tenacity has always been one of my strengths—the reason I’ve been the captain of multiple hockey teams. When did I lose control—lose myself?
Jack should have his entire life in front of him. But his dream of playing for the Charlotte Aviators like his dad will never be realized, because he’s about to die.
“Fuck.” This time it comes out in a whisper as I sink to my knees on the white-tiled bathroom floor. Jack, the eternal optimist, who always thought of everyone else before himself, even during his brave battle with cancer.
The bathroom door opens slightly. “Luke?” Bree asks softly.
I don’t answer. Can’t answer.
“Luke,” she asks again. “I’m not going to come in there or anything. I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay.”
“Never been better,” I snap, realizing that was rude and shitty since Bree’s finally showing her concern. And that’s what I’ve been waiting for since we started fucking, isn’t it? I’ve wanted more than her body. I’ve wanted her emotions, too.
Of all people, Bree doesn’t deserve my harsh sarcasm, but I can’t muster up any other response at the moment.
“I know it’s hard, Luke, believe me. I administer to multiple patients daily,” Bree begins, in the professional but kind tone nurses use with their patients’ families. She pauses, and when she speaks again her tone is gentle, more familiar. “I’m not trying to brush off your pain, I—I just wanted to let you know that I understand and I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”
The door closes.
Bree probably thinks I’m a fucking idiot, crying over some random sick kid. I’ve been volunteering at hospitals for years, because it’s one of the most rewarding community-service projects that we do as athletes. A kid dying of cancer is a sad situation no matter who it is, but Jack is family.
Not only that, but he also reminds me of how I was when I was a kid. Hungry. Eager. He knows every stat of every NHL player. He watches skill videos on YouTube and tells me about how he’s going to practice everything he watched as soon as he’s well enough to take the ice again. Hell, he may have taught me a few things from what he learned in some of those videos.
I rub my face in my hands before I take a deep breath and slowly get back to my feet. The only thing I can think about is getting to my condo, drinking a twelve-pack, and crawling into bed. I don’t want to feel anything right now. It’s the attitude I’ve had about life since being told I can’t play hockey again. After that, it’s not like there’s anything left to care about anyway.
Once I’m in the hallway, I scan to my left and right, looking for Bree.
“You all right, Mr. Daniels?” one of the nurse’s aides asks me.
I look up at him and nod. “Have you seen Bree?”
“I think she took her break. I haven’t seen her in a minute,” he responds.
“Are you all right, Luke?” Tonya stops in front of me, peering into my eyes. “You don’t look so good.”
I shake my head and blink a few times. “I’m fine. Just a bit upset over…” I stop. Her breath smells like peppermint, which settles my upset stomach. “Over Jack.”
Tonya places a soft hand on my shoulder. “He’ll be at home and comfortable, surrounded by his family and friends. It’s better than being in here.”
“It’s still not fair.”
“Who told you life was fair, Luke?” she asks.
She has a point. I’m always the first one to tell others that life is not fucking fair. “You are wise for your years, Tonya.” I try to wink, but I thi
nk it comes out as a blink instead. Jesus, I can’t even perform the simplest tasks right now.
There’s nothing left to do but shuffle to the elevator.
“Luke!” Bree calls out to me.
I turn around to find her jogging toward me. Bree has this unsettling way of looking at me that makes me think she can see into my fucking soul. I have this paranoid feeling that if she saw my eyes, she’d know my mind had wandered to those fucking painkillers she’d found in my drawer and how they made me feel. How they took the pain away. It’s my fault to still have them lying about. I know why I keep them there even if I haven’t told her yet.
“Are you okay?” she asks when she reaches me. The petite nurse whose body I know so well takes another step closer. Lines form around her big, blue eyes, highlighting the gaze that sears into my soul.
“No,” I answer in a shaky whisper and scratch my right arm. The numbness from my injury has been replaced by an uncontrollable itch that won’t go away. Or some kind of hidden tic that just appeared over the last year. It’s not from any kind of drug use, a habit more than anything, but it reminds me of my mom. The thought alone scares me into my right mind. “I gotta get out of here.”
I turn around and press the Down button an unnecessary number of times. When the doors open, I step inside.
“Please look at me,” Bree says, with desperation in her voice.
She can’t see me like this. Out of control. Ready to break.
“Please call me if you need anything,” she says softly.
Instead of answering, I nod without meeting her eyes. The doors close, saving me from the look of pity on her face.
Chapter 12
Bree
I’ve never been to one of my patients’ funerals before. There’s always a bond between a nurse and the people in their charge, but going to funerals isn’t my way. While I do mourn the loss, I try to put all of my focus on my current patients, the ones I can still help, because if I dwell, I’d lose focus and wouldn’t be able to claw my way out of the abyss of depression. And a nurse who’s lost her focus isn’t an effective nurse.
Death keeps my job in perspective. It keeps my entire life in perspective.
But I didn’t come to Jack’s funeral for myself: I came for Luke.
I haven’t seen—or even heard from—Luke since he left the hospital after finding out Ally was taking Jack home to pass away in his own bed. I’d called and texted a few times, but he never responded, and I knew enough to give him space.
That was two weeks ago.
And while attending a patient’s memorial service is not something I normally do—or have ever done, honestly—I came anyway because I need to see Luke. I need to make sure he’s okay. I need to make sure he knows I care.
When I step inside the funeral home, the reasons I don’t attend funerals slap me in the face. The first being the small casket at the front of the room. The sight brings tears to my eyes and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying.
Among the various people standing next to the casket is Ally. She’s wearing a shift dress, in a beautiful Carolina blue, the trademark color of the University of North Carolina Tar Heels, the college team Jack cheered for. Her eyes are red and puffy, but she seems more at peace than I’d seen her in the weeks that I’d known her and Jack.
Losing a patient is difficult enough. I can’t even fathom losing a child.
I scan the room, looking for Luke Daniels, but he’s not here. I can’t believe he wouldn’t be at Jack’s service. Though I don’t see Luke, I’m surprised to see Pavel Gribov and Aleksandr Varenkov sitting a few rows from the front. Auden and Kristen don’t seem to be with them. When I look around, I notice a few more guys that I’ve seen volunteering at the hospital over the last two weeks, in Luke’s absence. Why are there so many hockey players at Jack’s funeral?
There’s no time to dwell on that right now. Not when Luke is nowhere to be found. Instead of sitting down, I slide out the door unnoticed. It seems odd that he hasn’t arrived yet, but then again, I don’t know anything about his schedule.
Once I’m in the parking lot, I glance at my phone to check the time, then look around. I’m about to send him a text when I notice a figure slumped over the steering wheel of a mud-streaked, forest-green Jeep about fifty yards away. Adrenaline and instinct send me rushing to the door.
When I reach the vehicle, I clutch the strap of my purse at my shoulder and peer inside. A man sits forward, head resting on his arms, which are crossed over the steering wheel. I’m fairly sure it’s Luke, but his hair is hidden under a gray knit beanie, so I’m not completely positive.
“Luke?” I ask, tapping the window with the pad of my finger.
He doesn’t respond, so I knock harder. This time he lifts his head, slowly. The striking profile confirms my guess. He turns to face me, staring with glassy eyes. The bright-pink tone of the rim above his lower lashes and the swollen skin under his eyes reveal that he’s been crying, a sight that makes my chest tighten. Stubble lines his cheeks and jaw, making him appear older than I thought he was. It’s a bit of a surprise, because when he’s clean shaven, he looks like he may not even be able to grow facial hair.
Warm air blasts my face when he rolls down the window. “What are you doing out here?” I ask gently.
Another quick glance at my phone tells me Jack’s service started a few minutes ago. We should be in there already.
“I can’t go in.” He tilts his head toward the funeral home. “I can’t do it.”
“You can.” I start to reach out, knowing how comforting a simple human touch can be when someone is grieving, but I stop myself because it seems too intimate. “I know it’s going to be hard, but you need to do it. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
He grabs the steering wheel and squeezes it until his knuckles turn white. “It’s not fair, Bree. He should be here. He was an amazing kid. Selfless. Kind. Funny. Sweet.”
“You’re right. He was all of those things. And you have to go in there and tell Ally that. She needs you right now, Luke. You’ve given her so much comfort and strength throughout Jack’s illness. She’s counting on you.”
When he doesn’t respond or move, I continue. “You’re strong enough to handle this, Luke. Jack’s family needs you to share that strength with them.” Letting go of my reservations, I place my hand on his shoulder.
I thought the comforting touch might be the catalyst for him to get out of his Jeep, after my encouraging words, but Luke turns his head and gazes at my hand. His eyes are empty and tired, which makes my heart sink. Maybe I took it too far. Luke and I have had multiple sexual interactions, but that didn’t give me the right to touch him while he’s at his most vulnerable.
My heart races, anxious because I’m not on my home turf. This isn’t the hospital, where it’s my job to keep people calm and help them understand loss and grief.
Caring too much has gotten me into trouble before, but I keep falling into the trap, because that’s who I am. It’s hard for me to see people hurting, so I try to fix it. But this time I may have gone too far. I don’t even know Luke. I don’t know his relationship with Jack or Ally. Maybe it isn’t my place to be here. Maybe he wants to be alone. Maybe he thinks I should mind my own fucking business. My heart starts beating so fast I think it might bounce out of my chest.
Luke squeezes his eyes shut. His chest rises and falls with each breath, but it’s much slower and calmer than it had been just a few minutes ago. When he reopens his eyes, he nods and drums the steering wheel with his palms. “You’re right.”
Oh, thank god, I think as I release a breath. “Come on.” I beckon him, moving away from the door to give him room to exit.
He slides out and stands up straight. He wipes his eyes, then removes his hat and tosses it onto the passenger seat.
I can’t help the sharp breath that escapes as he stands before me in a dark suit, crisp, white shirt, and light-blue tie. Luke is one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in my
life, but seeing him raw and exposed, yet so put together on the outside, makes him a million times more attractive. My pulse speeds up and I mentally chastise myself for checking him out at a funeral.
Luke glances at me with surprise when I hook my arm through his, but I don’t say anything, I just keep hold and steer him toward the door.
Multiple heads turn our way when we enter, because we’ve interrupted the service, but Ally’s smile tells me everything I’d assumed was correct. She’s elated to see Luke. She needed him here.
Next thing I know, Luke is the one leading me. He walks confidently toward the front, excusing us quietly as we edge into a row of seats. Once seated, he glances at the casket at the front of the room. I reach over and take his hand, squeezing it to show that I’m here for him. He’s got a friend, a comfort. Luke looks at our joined hands, then lifts them to his mouth and places a soft kiss on the back of mine.
Relief washes over me. We may not know each other very well outside of the bedroom, but I’m well versed in grief and working with people who are grieving. His sweet gesture is the sign I needed to confirm I’ve done the right thing by coaxing him in.
It also makes my heart speed up and swirl for a totally different reason. A warm feeling starts in my cheeks before melting into the rest of my body. There’s no reason to read anything more into it than an expression of thanks, but I do because I can’t help but look at him in a different way now. Luke may be threading his way into my heart, which complicates our no-strings-attached agreement.
—
When the service is over, I wait at the back of the funeral home, near the doors, while Luke speaks with Ally and her sister. After a few minutes, both women hug him tight. He says a few more words before turning around and joining me. His eyes meet mine and he gives me a smile, but we don’t speak as we exit. Our arms brush as we walk through the open double doors side by side.
Once outside, Luke loosens his tie and gulps in the air as if he’s been holding his breath for the last thirty minutes. I lace my fingers with his and guide him toward his vehicle. It’s the only way I can help. I don’t have any words of comfort that will do any good. Jack is being cremated, so there’s no processional to a cemetery. Leaving the funeral home means it’s the end.