by Piper, M.
“It’s Ford,” is all he says and just from his tone I can tell something’s wrong.
“What happened?” I ask, suddenly wide awake, shooting up in bed.
“It’s our dad…” he curses, his voice pitch changing. “You need to get to the hospital, Nico.”
He ends the call and seconds later I get a text with the name and address of the hospital. I throw on my clothes and rush to my car, putting the address in the GPS with shaking fingers.
Fifteen minutes later I’m pulling into the parking lot of the hospital and swerve into the first spot possible. I rush into the ER waiting room and immediately my stomach drops.
It’s silent. But it’s not empty.
Every West family sibling is there, along with their significant others and the kids.
Everyone has someone, except Reagan. She’s solo. All alone. And I feel like the biggest fucking asshole in the room. Everyone’s staring at me but her. She’s curled in a ball, head on her knees and arms wrapped around her legs, staring blankly at the floor.
She’s utterly heartbreaking.
“Guys,” I whisper, already knowing what they’re about to tell me. That’s not the look of ‘he’s going to be ok’ written all over their red rimmed eyes and pale faces. Reagan’s head lifts and she bites her lip hard when her eyes hit mine.
“Shit,” I huff. “God, Ten.”
She stands and rushes me, slamming into me and throwing her body around mine. It takes all I have not to topple over, but I hold firm for her.
The doors swing open and the doctor comes walking out with their mom, her face streaked with tears and her hands gripping onto a tissue so tight she’s almost obliterated it.
“Mom?” Ford whispers and all she does is shake her head.
That’s all it takes to break a room of Wests.
Mackenzie’s arms go around Ford, Lincoln curses and holds onto Carter tight, and Reagan pushes her face into my shirt. She sobs into my neck. Her body shaking from the tears. The others start sniffling and I glance at Ford who’s stone face is glaring at the tile floor. Lincoln’s holding Carter on his lap, fast asleep, tears rolling down his cheeks while the baby sleeps in the carrier. The twins are asleep in the stroller and Mackenzie and Wren are sitting firm in their spots next to their husbands.
This is the disheveled sight of a family who just lost their dad in the middle of the night emergency room trip.
“He’s gone,” Reagan hiccups through her tears and I smooth her hair down.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I say, not wanting to let her go. Ever. I want to take every ounce of pain from her. I hurt when my mom died. I know what it feels like losing a parent, and my mom and I were nowhere near as close as Reagan and her dad were.
“It’s not,” she shakes her head, still buried in my neck. Her arms grip tighter around me and she tries to silence her cries but it doesn’t work.
“Come on, Ten. Let’s get some fresh air,” I say, eyeing the babies in the stroller who are starting to stir with all the commotion.
She lets me walk her outside and the cool air helps my nerves a bit, but not much.
Reagan sits on the bench next to me and I wrap my hands around hers. She’s cold.
“Here, take my jacket,” I say, pulling it off and putting it over her shoulders.
“He’s gone,” she keeps saying and my eyes fill with tears for her. For her mom. For her entire family.
“I know, Ten.” I pull her to me, pressing my lips to her head. “I know.”
There are no words I can say right now that will make her feel better. Nothing to take away the pain. So I sit with her while she stares at the ground and her tears drip to our hands.
“He had a heart attack,” she finally whispers. “Massive…sudden…” she trails off. “I was just talking to him earlier today and he was fine. Then my mom called and… God. They got him here and he was still alive…”
“At least he didn’t suffer too long,” I say, hating this. This isn’t how we were supposed to get back together after all this time apart. This isn’t supposed to happen. No girl in her twenties should have to bury her father. Ever.
I pull her tighter against me, taking in every word she’s saying and not offering any empty words of encouragement to her. She doesn’t need them, and I know she doesn’t want them. When my mom died I hated people asking me how I was doing, or wanting to know every detail of her death.
She’s gone. It doesn’t matter. And I wasn’t doing well.
Not at all.
“Hey guys,” Ford says, walking out the hospital doors. I glance over at him and give him a small smile, but even that small of one feels wrong right now. “It’s cold out here, you sure you don’t want to come back inside?”
“I want to go home,” Reagan whispers, her eyebrows pulling together as she looks up at him. “Can I go home? I need to go home.” She stands and I stand with her.
“Uh… yeah. I think we’re all about ready to. Mom… She had some things to clear up.”
“Okay,” Reagan says, taking my hand. “Take me home, please.” Her eyes hit mine and I don’t even ask if her car’s here. I don’t ask about the guy she was with because it doesn’t matter. I don’t say anything other than, “Okay,” then I look at Ford. “I’m sorry, man. Call us with any updates.”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Sure thing.”
She grips onto me on the way to my car like her life depends on it, pours herself into the passenger seat and buckles slowly, on autopilot almost. When I get in, her hand stretches to mine and she’s got no words the entire drive back to her place.
I take the keys from her trembling hands to unlock her door and walk in to her apartment right behind her, locking the door behind us.
She’s miserable and my chest physically hurts because there’s nothing I can do for her.
“I’m going to go to bed,” she mumbles, walking to the bedroom.
I pause, because while I know I’m not going anywhere, I’m also not sure if she wants me in there or not.
“Okay,” I finally say, watching her walk away. She pauses and turns, her eyes filled with tears.
“Can you lie with me please?” Her voice is so weak my throat tingles as I nod.
“Of course,” I whisper, following her to her room.
I wrap myself around her and listen to her quietly cry, earth shattering tiny noises come from her, and there’s no relief from the gravity of the situation in sight.
She cries herself to sleep in my arms. I listen to her slow, even breathing. Her hair smells like what I remember her smelling like, her body feels better than it ever did pressed against me. But I hurt.
I hurt for her, and I hurt for us.
Because I have no clue what to do from here.
I fall asleep like that, wrapped around Ten, and we don’t wake up until the sun’s full in the sky.
“Hey,” I whisper, pushing the hair out of her face. I woke up with her wrapped around me and it feels amazing lying here like this with her.
“Hi,” she mumbles, blinking blankly.
“You feeling up for coffee?”
“A shower,” she says, then stands from the bed and walks in to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
“Fuck,” I huff, texting Ford.
Nico: Hey
Ford: We’re all at Mom’s. When you’re awake you guys should come over.
Nico: Absolutely.
I watch the bathroom door and when I hear the shower turn on, I head out to the living room to find Monroe asleep in his kennel.
“Oh buddy, you’ve been in there so long,” I say, walking over to him. I immediately smile at how big he’s gotten since the last time I saw him. His tail thumps the side of the kennel and I pull him out, snapping the leash on top of his collar and taking him out to use the bathroom. It’s cold out here and all I have is the t-shirt and jeans I rushed here in but the cold air feels amazing. Refreshing. Reminding me I’m still here, alive, on this earth and I need to m
ake the most of my life.
Death always puts things into perspective for me. It sounds terrible, but realizing you could die any moment makes me want to live every moment here on earth to its fullest and I’m going to, starting with making sure Reagan’s okay.
He does his business almost immediately then is whining to get back in, so we head in and I find his water and food bowl and fill them for him before getting to work making coffee. It’s strange, I haven’t been here too many times but it feels more like home here than it did at my Chicago apartment. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve wanted to move out of that place since earlier this year, or maybe living with my brother doesn’t allow the place to feel all like my own, but being here is a much more comfortable feeling than I ever had there.
Even under these circumstances.
I hear the water to the shower turn off and pour her a large mug of coffee, making it just the way she likes it, and walk into the bedroom. She opens the door to the bathroom wrapped only in a towel around her body and one on her head and she gives me a very weak, faint smile.
“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.”
“I made your coffee and took Monroe out for you.” I walk across the room and set the coffee on the dresser near her, really testing my self control because all I want to do is lean over and kiss her. “And don’t thank me. Please.”
“Thanks. Sorry,” she whispers, eyeing the coffee. “You… You don’t have to stay here. I’m okay now. I’ll be okay.” She takes a deep breath and her eyes hit mine and my stomach flops. God, I love this girl.
“I’m not leaving your side. And if your boyfriend comes around, I may just have to beat him off,” I mutter, walking back to the bed.
‘Boyfriend?” her eyes narrow then the realization dawns and she chuckles. “Nico, that isn’t my boyfriend. We’re trying to be friends, but even calling him a friend is pushing it.”
I watch her cross the room and shake her head, taking a sip of coffee while she picks out clothes from her drawer.
“He’s not your boyfriend?”
“Dot?” she says, turning around. “No. Years ago he was, but he’s a tool. Not my type.”
“Do you have a type?”
She rolls her eyes and I catch myself grinning at her, and then feel guilty because this isn’t the time to be talking about this. Her dad just died hours ago. I shouldn’t be pushing this, but I love this girl and I need to know if I even have a chance with her anymore.
“You know I do,” she whispers, her eyes pausing on mine, then turns around to finish finding her clothes before silently returning to the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
I grin to myself and pull out my phone, scrolling through my e-mails to pass the time until we leave to go to visit her mom.
“You ready for today?” I stupidly ask. No one’s ever ready to bury their parent and that’s on the list of questions I hated people asking me when my mom died, but it came out stupidly because after that conversation in her room the other day she’s been so closed off and I haven’t known what topics are safe talking about with her. She’s either been at her mom’s, spending time with her, or she’s been home sleeping. She doesn’t want to talk. She barely wants to eat. I know the feeling of losing a parent, but I don’t know the pain she’s going through because I was never as close to my mom as she is to her parents.
I want to kiss her. I want to touch her. I want unlimited touches…but I can’t have those yet.
I want to talk about us, but the timing just fucking sucks.
I want to tell her about moving here and the job, but I fear anything about my life that’s happy may set her off because she’s so down right now.
I just want her to be happy, and I know it’ll come with time.
Time. We all need a little more time.
The wake last night was rough, but she made it through it without too many break downs. She slept for thirteen hours that day beforehand, which I know she needed but I was starting to worry. Now, the day we bury her dad, she was up at five am, running around the house cleaning like a mad woman.
“No. I’m not ready,” she blurts, tossing shit out of her drawer. “Where are they?” She yells, opening and slamming drawer after drawer, socks and underwear flying behind her.
“Hey,” I say, walking over to her and resting my hand on her lower back. The dress she’s wearing is pitch black and she’s got a black fur thing to go over it. I thought she was ready, but apparently she’s not.
“The socks,” she whispers, then the tears start again. “He got me unicorn socks last year. I never wore them because I thought they were stupid. I need them.” She cries. “But I think I lost them in the move.”
My chest aches more for this girl and I turn her in my arms, taking her in my embrace.
“We’ll find them. You didn’t lose them, I’m sure,” I whisper, holding her tight until she calms herself down enough. When she stands straight, adjusts her dress, and hits me with those painfully beautiful eyes, I smirk. “I’ll find them. You sit.” I nod to the bed and she rolls her eyes.
“You just want to go through my drawers.”
“It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.” I chuckle when she pouts and retreats to the bed, watching me shuffle through her drawers.
This would be a fuck ton easier if she would keep her shit organized, but I’m not going to start in on her for that right now.
“Here,” I say, pulling out a pair of socks. “These?” I toss them to her and her face lights up.
“Oh my God, thank you.” She smiles tight and takes a deep breath. “I’m ready to go now.” She shoves the socks into her purse and I want so badly to ask what she plans on doing with them but I don’t push it. She has her reasons.
I take her hand as we walk towards my car, making her smile at me.
“You’re beautiful, Reagan. And you’re strong. And you’re a badass.” I grip her hand tighter. “We’ll get you through this.”
All I get is a smile from her and it breaks my already shattered heart.
“My father was a strong man,” Lincoln starts in and already I feel the knot in my throat. I hate funerals. I mean, who in their right mind really enjoys them? They’re morbid and sad as fuck, but for most people they’re a necessary part in grieving. It’s not for the deceased as much as it is for the living who are mourning their loved one. “His entire life, all he wanted was for the people he loved most in his life to be happy.” He gives the crowd a small nod then glances at the casket. “I’d like to think he got his wish.” His eyes fly to Reagan and she goes still next to me, then he glances at me before clearing his throat. “I remember when we were kids, the three of us, Ford, Reagan, and I, would always give him a hard time because he worked too much and wasn’t home a lot. My mom raised us the majority of our childhood. I never understood why he wasn’t there. Why he cared more about the House than he did us.” He shakes his head. “I get it now. I got it when my son was born, but I get it more now and I’ll regret every day that goes by that I’m not able to tell him thank you. Because without his hard work, none of us would be here still, where we belong. I’d probably still be out in Seattle. Ford would probably be in jail by now,” he says and everyone laughs. “Reagan wouldn’t be home, I’m sure. She’d be living it large still in Chicago.” He shrugs. “But our dad instilled early on in our lives the importance of hard work. And family. And love. All of which I like to think start here. In Springfield. With our parents.”
Lincoln goes on, telling stories about the past, his siblings, and his relationship with his father but I tune him out because I can’t take my eyes off Reagan and how beautiful she looks. The cloudy morning made way for a sunny afternoon and the way the sun’s glowing on her face right now makes my heart have so much hope that she’ll be okay after this. That we’ll be okay after this.
I watch Ford give his speech, and while it’s got a little more life and humor to it than Lincoln’s, it’s still emotional and heartfelt. He end
s it in tears but I don’t think there’s a dry eye in this place at this point.
Then Reagan gets up to talk, and before she does she gives my hand a quick squeeze.
My heart’s hammering out of my chest because I hate how much she’s hurting and to get up there and say something to this group of family and loved ones when she’s hurting that much isn’t something anyone wants to have to do.
“Hey,” she says, waving and I grin because she’s a goof and absolutely adorable. “I’m the youngest trouble maker for those of you who don’t know.” She nods and mumbles something about nerves and I pull my lip between my teeth to calm my own nerves for her. “My dad gave me these socks,” she says, waving the unicorn socks in the air. “And…” she takes one of them and holds it, showing that they’re still attached by that plastic thing the store uses to keep pairs together. “I always thought I was too cool for them. I’ve had these in my drawer for over a year now, unworn and unwanted, because I’m not a kid anymore. I shouldn’t be wearing unicorn socks.” She clears her throat and takes a deep breath and Ford glances over at me with a curious look. I shrug, because I have no clue where she’s taking this.
She hasn’t really talked much these last few days.
“It didn’t hit me hard until this morning. When I was in the shower, I remembered that Lincoln had told us yesterday morning we’d have to do this speech, if we wanted. Well, I couldn’t say no and let my brothers stand me up like that,” she rolls her eyes, making some people chuckle. “I know, I’ve been that stubborn my entire life. But this morning, I realized I had nothing prepared.” She breathes deep, trying to calm the tears at bay. “Then I remembered the socks. And I remembered how excited my dad was when he gave them to me because he thought they were so funny. And I remember thinking that they were funny, but I was too cool to show that I thought that, so I tossed them into a drawer and forgot about them.” She looks at me. “But when I went to get them… I couldn’t find them. And I panicked. Because the last thing I had in my life to remind me of my dad was gone. Like that.” She nods at me. “But then Nico found them. And my entire life seemed okay for a brief moment.” She rolls her eyes and dries the tears that have fallen. “Sounds ridiculous, right. Letting socks make or break a day like this? And it probably is…but that’s ok. Life’s ridiculous, and I’m ridiculous for thinking these socks weren’t cool enough for me. Like keeping these socks and wearing these socks would make me less awesome. Like it would bring me down.” She laughs and kicks off her shoes, then breaks the plastic piece and slides the socks on her feet. Her mom sniffles on the other side of Lincoln and I watch him wrap an arm around her. “These socks are way too cool for me,” she says, wiggling her toes and making people chuckle. “My dad was a pretty awesome guy. The best dad a girl could ask for. I never wanted for anything, I pretty much always got what I wanted, and most people would say he spoiled me. I knew he did it, and I drank it in. I wasn’t always the nicest to him and I definitely gave him a hard time, but I’d like to think in the end I made him proud. Hopefully.” She wipes a tear and takes a deep breath. “These socks are too good for me. They’re way cooler than I am. Honestly, I don’t deserve these socks. I almost lost these socks. But they came back to me this week.” Her eyes hit mine and I furrow my brows because I feel like she’s talking more about us than the socks right now. “I’m keeping them, though. And I’m going to cherish them, because they mean the world to me. I love these socks. And if my dad taught me anything in life, it’s to hold tightly to those things that you love.” She turns to the casket about to be lowered into the ground. “I love you, Daddy. Thank you for giving me everything a girl could ask for in life.” She blows a kiss to it then her brothers meet her at the front and wrap their arms around her and I have to look away, wiping the tears away from my eyes before they fall.