by K. A. Tucker
The week had been good, I’ll admit. But now it’s all gone to hell.
“So Jonah knew.” I feel a sharp sense of betrayal as I say those words out loud, as the pieces click together. That’s why he’s been pushing me to stay. Because when I get on that plane for home, I’ll be saying goodbye to my dad forever.
The next few weeks . . . months . . . are going to be hard.
They’ll be hard not because my dad will be fighting cancer. There is no fight.
He’s already given up.
Without another word, I get up and duck out of the hospital room.
By the time I’ve reached the exterior doors, I’m running.
Chapter 23
Twenty minutes standing under a stream of hot water in a daze and I still can’t seem to find any warmth or comfort in it. All I feel is the biting sting from the numerous blisters on my heels and toes. The distance between Bangor’s local hospital and my dad’s house must be at least six miles, and I ran all of it in my rain boots.
My arms feel sluggish as I lift them to my hair to scrub my scalp, working the shampoo into a heavy lather, releasing the scent of wood-burning smoke that my hair absorbed while in the cabin.
I begin to laugh. It’s a soft, humorless sound—not really a laugh at all—as I remember my conversation with Diana, in the club that night. It feels like forever ago that I voiced a seemingly unbelievable thought at the time: What if I came to Alaska and somehow found the dad I’d always wanted, despite his many flaws, despite the fact that he all but abandoned me so many years ago, only to lose him again?
It’s happening.
I found him, and now I’m going to lose him all over again. This time, for good.
He’s breaking my heart all over again, whether he intended to or not.
I’m not sure exactly when the water pressure started going, but suddenly I’m standing under a sad trickle, my head covered in soapy suds, my body shivering from the loss of heat. “No, no, no . . . Don’t tell me . . .” I fumble with the showerhead, adjusting it this way and that. Nothing.
I turn the tap all the way to the right. Nothing.
We’ve run out of water. Jonah warned me that this could happen.
I let out a heavy sigh of frustration and drop my forehead to the shower wall with a thud. “God dammit,” slips from my lips.
And I finally stop fighting the tears.
A soft knock sounds on the bathroom door. “Calla?”
I press my lips to my knee to keep from answering. I can’t deal with Jonah right now.
A moment later, he calls out more sternly, “Calla?” The doorknob rattles. “Let me in.”
“Leave me alone,” I mutter.
“Look, either you let me in or I’m coming in.”
I don’t answer. Don’t make a move.
The floor creaks as he moves down the hall, away from the bathroom. But then he’s back again and there’s an odd metal-against-metal crunch. With a pop, the bathroom door eases open. I can see Jonah’s distorted reflection in the shiny chrome tap, hovering in the doorway, but I don’t turn around.
“What are you doing?”
“I ran out of water.” How long ago was that, that I sank to the tub floor and curled my arms around my knees? It must have been a while. I’ve stopped shivering, stopped crying. My hair’s still covered in soap, though the suds have flattened out.
He sighs. “Come on, you can use mine.” He steps into the bathroom and stretches out a hand.
I ignore it, shifting away from him.
“Calla . . .”
“When did you find out?” I ask, my voice oddly hollow.
He settles his big frame on the edge of the tub, keeping his gaze ahead of him, on the vanity doors. He’s still wearing the same clothes, the smell of smoke permeated into them. Last night feels so long ago now. “The same day Aggie told me what was going on, the day you came. I had a bad feeling when I pressed him for details. He was all wishy-washy about the treatment plan, about how many days a week he’d have to be in Anchorage, where he’d be staying. Then he took off and I flew out to get you.” He studies his ragged fingernails intently for a moment. “I got it out of him later that night.”
That’s the difference between Jonah and me, right there. I just accepted my dad’s reluctance to talk about it, because deep down I wasn’t ready to talk about it, either. I was just as happy to avoid the truth that I should have seen coming from a mile away.
“So you already knew, that morning I came to ask for a ride to Meyer’s.” He’s known all along.
His head falls into his hands, his fingers combing through his hair, making it stand on end. “He made me promise not to say a word to you or Aggie. Believe me, I wanted to so many times. I came close last night. But Wren wanted to be the one to try and explain his decision. I couldn’t take that away from him.” He pauses. “You can be mad at me all you want, you can hate my guts and not want to talk to me, but it won’t change the fact that Wren’s going to die, and we’ve all got to figure out a way to come to terms with that.”
“Did you at least try to talk him into the treatment?”
“What do you think, Calla?” Irritation flares in his voice. “Don’t you dare think for one second that you want this to happen any less, or that this is going to hurt you more than it does me, or Agnes, or Mabel. You’re gonna go back to your life in Toronto with a memory of him. Meanwhile, we’ll be here, feeling him gone every single damn day—” He cuts off abruptly, his voice turning hoarse.
“How are you not angry with him?”
“Not angry? I’m fucking pissed! Pissed that he waited so long to get checked out. Pissed that he didn’t quit that shit years ago.” His booming voice fills the small space. It’s a moment before he speaks again, more calmly. “But Wren doesn’t make rash decisions. He thinks long and hard about them. If even the doctors are saying they can only buy him a few extra weeks, then I can’t blame him for not wanting to waste what he’s got.”
“What about the rest of us, who have to sit by and watch?” I ask hollowly. Hasn’t he considered what this is going to do to the people who love him?
“He’s convinced himself that he’s making the best decision for everyone’s sake and the thing with him is, once he’s made up his mind, there’s no turning him around. He’s more stubborn than I am.”
Like the decision he made to let my mom and me go all those years ago.
What is life going to be like around here with him gone, I wonder, as my eyes crawl up the molded shower wall. This little modular house with the tacky ducks felt so empty when I first stepped into it and, while it’s still the same empty little house, I now have memories attached to it, to help fill it up. Of my dad’s soft chuckle carrying through the perpetual silence, of the smell of his fresh-brewed coffee in the morning, of the sound of the floors creaking as he pads down the hallway after saying good night to me. Such little things—tiny, trivial slivers of his life that shouldn’t count as memories—and yet I know they’ll be the first things that come to mind when I think of him here, years from now.
And that’s just within these walls. What about out there, beyond them? “What’s going to happen to Wild?” I ask numbly. Jonah’s not running things until my dad gets better.
He’s running things until my dad dies.
And then what?
Jonah shakes his head. “I don’t know. That’s a conversation for another day. Not today.”
“Why did you even let me waste my time building that website? It was totally pointless. And stupid.”
“No, it wasn’t. You wanted to try and help your dad. You were making an effort to know what he’s been doing around here, all these years.” I feel Jonah’s heavy gaze finally venture over, to linger on my bare skin. He pauses. “What the hell did you do to your feet?”
“I ran home from the hosp
ital in my rain boots,” I admit sheepishly, curling my body tighter, suddenly feeling self-conscious about my nudity, even if Jonah saw every part of me many times over last night. Nothing about this moment feels remotely sexual.
“Jesus. They’re all chewed up. I’ve got a first-aid kit at my place. You need to cover those blisters.” He reaches for my towel, holding it out for me. “Come on. Water truck doesn’t come until tomorrow. If you want plumbing, you better grab your things and stay with me.” After a moment, he adds a soft, “Please.”
Finally, I accept the towel from him.
Knowing that I need to be near him tonight, running water or not.
The bathroom door opens as I’m rinsing face wash from my cheeks and nose. “Almost done, I swear.”
The curtain draws open behind me and Jonah steps in. Despite my dour mood, the sight of him naked stirs my blood instantly.
“Okay, fine.” I make to climb out.
He grabs hold of my shoulders, keeping me in place, his thumbs sliding over my slick skin, back and forth a few times, soothingly. And then his long, muscular arms are roping around my body and he’s pulling me backward against him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, bowing down to nestle his face in the crook of my neck, his beard tickling my skin. “I wanted to tell you, but I also didn’t. Don’t hate me.”
I let my head tilt into his. “I don’t hate you.” Far from it. I don’t even think I’m angry at Jonah. I’m angry with my father, for the path he’s chosen. With life, for how unfair it can be.
But Jonah . . .
Reaching up, I let my nails skate over his biceps a few times before gripping his arms tightly, returning the embrace. “I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper. I can’t imagine facing this without him.
He folds in closer, tighter, until I’m cocooned within him, the hard press of his collarbone all the way to his thighs conforming to my body. I can feel him growing hard against my back, and yet he doesn’t make a move to try to satisfy that need.
I think he’s too busy satisfying another.
We simply stand there, holding each other until the water turns cold.
“This is so much easier when you’re conscious and sitting upright,” I murmur, slowly drawing the comb through Jonah’s beard, feeling his blue eyes intently studying my mouth.
“And I’ve actually consented to it.”
And I’m straddling your lap.
“Shhh. Don’t move,” I scold, frowning as my gaze shifts from side to side examining his jaw, making sure I’ve trimmed it evenly.
“How bad were your hands shaking that night?”
“I was fine while I was doing it. I was totally calm and in control.”
“And after?”
“Petrified. My dad said I was twitchy.”
Jonah’s head falls back into the couch as he laughs. It’s such a deep, beautiful sound and I’m momentarily lulled by it, admiring his thick throat, imagining my mouth pressed against it.
“You weren’t, seriously, were you?”
“I was scared that I’d gone too far, and you were going to hate me again,” I admit.
“What? I never hated you, Calla.”
I give him a high-browed knowing look.
“No. Even when I was annoyed as hell and chewing you out at Meyer’s that day, half of me wanted to see what you’d do if I just went ahead and kissed you.”
“Really?” I smooth my palm along his jawline, appreciating the perfection. What would I have done? Probably freaked out. He was just the angry yeti back then. He made me angry. And yet now that I’m getting to know Jonah, I don’t know how I ever wasn’t attracted to him, horrendous bushy beard and all.
His eyes twinkle as if he can read my thoughts.
I toss the scissors and comb to the coffee table, satisfied. “There. I’ve fixed you up, as requested. I knew you were secretly vain.”
“Did being your plaything for a bit make you happy?”
“Maybe,” I admit wryly.
“Good. Figured we could both use a distraction.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I sigh heavily as reality drifts back in. Smoothing my hand over Jonah’s wrist, I turn it to check his watch. “I guess you have to go back to Wild now?” It’s been a couple of hours since he found me curled up in the shower. I was sure he’d have left by now, but I’m so thankful that he hasn’t.
“I don’t want to,” he admits somberly. “Ten years working there and this is the first day I want nothing to do with planes and people. But I should check in with all the guys. They’re probably wondering why Wren hasn’t called yet.”
“Are you gonna tell them?”
“We all know Wren’s not gonna jump on the phone and do it. Some of them have already heard, I’m sure. But, yeah, it’s better they hear it from me than Maxine or one of their passengers. Plus I can’t leave everything to Agnes to handle, not when she has Mabel to deal with, too.” He sighs. “That poor kid. Wren’s like a father to her. This is gonna absolutely destroy her.”
I’ve been so focused on my own pain, I haven’t given much thought to her. Now that I do, I note that there’s no flare of jealousy behind his words, no spark of envy. Only sympathy. “I’ll come with you. Just let me grab my phone from the house.” I plugged it in when I got home from the hospital and left it there, having no desire to talk to anyone from back home.
I make to slide off, but warm, strong hands settle onto either side of my backside, trapping me in place. Jonah’s gaze drifts downward over the fitted “But first, Coffee” T-shirt that Diana had made for me, to where my thighs meet his. He opens his mouth, but then seems to change his mind about whatever he was going to say. Steely blue eyes lift to meet mine.
“What?” I ask softly, smoothing my palms over either side of his jaw again. I can’t get enough of the feel of his beard against my palms. That comment Diana made about how having me shave Aaron’s face was too intimate for her liking? I think I get it now.
Jonah pulls my body flush to his, until his hands are gripping my back tightly in an embrace and he’s buried his face in the crook of my neck, his hot breath skating over my skin, sending my blood racing.
I can feel the hard press of him between my thighs.
He wants me, but he doesn’t feel right asking.
Reaching up to cocoon his head within my arms, I roll my hips, letting him know that it’s more than okay.
The moment Jonah strolls into Wild’s lobby, he seems to shed the coat of reluctance he wore in the car ride over, my hand cradled in his.
“Working hard, Sonny?” he calls out in that booming, deep voice, startling the Alaska Native couple huddled in a far corner—the only passengers waiting in the lobby.
Sonny, who was leaning over the front desk chatting up Sharon, stiffens immediately. “I was just finishing up my break. I’m gonna get back out there. We’re almost done loading up for the last few runs,” Sonny babbles, already taking backward steps toward the exit.
Jonah drops a hand on his shoulder. “Sounds good. Tell Clark to come see me when he’s got a minute.”
“Will do.” Sonny bolts out the door.
“You are a horrible human being,” Sharon hisses with an accusatory tone.
Jonah throws his hands in the air. “What did I do?”
“Oh, come on. You know you’re intimidating.”
“I am not.” He turns to me. “Am I?”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “And obnoxious. And annoying . . .” And gentle and affectionate . . .
“Alright, alright.” He waves me off with a smirk.
Mabel is curled up in a chair next to Sharon, her head bowed as she plays a game on her phone.
Jonah pauses a moment to look down at her and his jaw tenses. “Hey, kiddo.” He ruffles her hair.
She looks up long enough to give him a sad
, shy smile, before ducking down again. Clearly not in the mood to talk, which is shocking for her. He leaves her be, disappearing into the office.
“I love your hair all up like that,” Sharon says, gesturing toward my messy topknot. Her green eyes are full of sympathy, even as she tries to play it off casually.
“Yeah, that’s called ‘Jonah hid my hair detangler and my volumizer and every other beauty product I own in the name of revenge.’ ” I’ll have to search his house later, when I care enough to. In the grand scheme of things, I’ve almost forgotten that I’ve been bare-faced for days. It’s been oddly liberating.
“That sounds like something he’d do,” she says with a soft chuckle, and then swallows. A pained expression fills her face. “We heard the news. I’m so sorry, Calla.”
Word does travel fast. I wonder how exactly it came out. Not that it matters, really. I steal a glance at Mabel, and Jonah’s words from earlier linger in my mind. The reality is that while he may be my dad, I have an entire life built back home that doesn’t include Wren Fletcher, that hasn’t for many years. Meanwhile, he’s everything to people around here. Standing in Wild, accepting Sharon’s condolences . . . It doesn’t feel right. I should be the one offering it.
All I can manage is a nod, and then I duck into the back office. Agnes and Jonah are going over some scheduling and weather reports with George. Agnes flashes a sad, hesitant smile my way and I offer her one back. She’s as innocent in all this as I am, after all.
I hold my phone in the air. “Do you mind if I use my dad’s office for a minute?”
Jonah waves me in. “Nah, go ahead.”
I push the door shut behind me, quickly scanning through all the “Did you see all your likes?”, “Are you getting these?”, “Where are you?”, “Nordstrom’s having a sale on your studded boots! Did you bring them with you? You need to get a picture in a plane with them stat!” texts from Diana that I don’t have the energy or interest in responding to right now. There’s also a “How are things?” text from my mom.