My knees scream out against the hard floor beneath them, but I don’t move. I won’t. Not until Kason is ready to. We stopped crying a while ago, yet we still hold on to each other without faltering in our strength. His hands press into my skin, and I want to wail out how sorry I am, but I can’t. His mother is dying, and the last thing I need to do is bring up our heartbroken past.
When his muscles loosen, I slip out of his embrace and settle back on my heels, taking the pressure away from my knees. His hands find me again, cupping my cheeks as he studies my face. I study his, too. It’s more defined, more chiseled, more matured. I look into his eyes and wonder what they’ve seen over the past few years. There’s so much I’m curious about, but I can’t speak. There’s a very foreign unease between us, and I wonder if he feels it, too. That we’ve become strangers to each other.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, breaking the silence while the heat of his hands warm my cheeks.
“My mom called. She told me about your mother.”
“And you came?” His words are a broken whisper of surprise, shocked that, after all this time, I finally stopped hiding from him.
I choke up and give him a nod before he stands and helps me to my feet. When his head drops, I look over my shoulder at his mother. Another piece of my heart snaps away as I stare down at the woman I used to be so close to. We’ve shared so many good times together, and to see her like this, so lifeless, so sick . . . it’s unbearable.
I reach down and cover the top of her hand with mine.
“I can’t let her go.” His voice cracks in agony as he stands by my side, and a fresh slew of tears build in my eyes.
With my other hand, I reach out and hold on to his.
“She was always so sweet to me,” I whimper softly.
“She loved you.”
He says this and my face crumples as the tears fall. He pulls me back into his arms, and I go freely, never letting go of his mother’s hand. I’ve never been through the process of death before. But to be here and to see the reality of this situation, it’s so much more painful than I could’ve imagined. Again, we fall into another fit of sadness over a life this world is about to lose. She isn’t even my mother, and the hurt is monumental. I can’t even begin to comprehend how much worse this has to be for Kason.
Words fail us, but talking feels too abrasive in this moment, so we take turns shedding tears and consoling each other, neither of us sure of what to say. When a nurse comes in to check on Sharon, I take the opportunity to ask, “Do you think we can talk? Maybe grab a coffee or something?”
He nods and leads the way down to the cafeteria. We grab a couple to-go cups and walk outside for a little fresh air. The hospital sits on an island, so we situate ourselves on a small bench that overlooks the water. Kason tips his head back and stares up at the moon, the very moon that, at one time, became too difficult for me to look at because all it did was remind me of him.
“Kason?”
He breaks away from the sky and turns toward me.
“I already know how worried your mom is,” he says. “That’s why she called you, right?”
“She thought you could use a friend.”
“I don’t have any of those anymore.” His jaw flexes, and he swallows hard before saying, “Only two people give a shit about me. One of them is about to die. And the other has stuck around only because you told her to.”
His words sear straight through old wounds. “She would have stuck around even if I had never said anything. My mom genuinely loves you.”
“I hope so. Because I’m not ready to be alone in this world.”
“You aren’t alone.”
“My mom’s dying,” he stresses. “If it weren’t for those machines, she’d already be dead.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his coffee cup dangling from his fingers. He’s cloaked in so much pain, I wonder if it’s suffocating him.
“Tell me what I can do to help.”
He shakes his head with his focus cast out on the water. “I can’t be the one who lets her die.”
“It’s her body making that choice—not you.”
“I don’t know how to say goodbye.” His breath catches on a sob that’s hung up in his lungs, and when I reach out and rest my hand on his back, it shudders against my palm. “She’s my mom.”
“I know.”
“Life wasn’t fair to her.”
“No, it wasn’t. But I believe it was you that made it better for her.”
“I feel like I made it worse. I was just another mouth to feed and another back to clothe. No matter how hard she worked, it was never enough for us.” He sets his cup on the ground and then wipes his teary eyes before sitting back. “She could never afford the proper medical care to keep her healthy.”
“She doesn’t have to suffer any more, though. Maybe letting her go would be her greatest relief.”
Silent tears stream down his face. I wish I could take them away. I wish I could do something to make this better for him. But this is a misery I can’t even come close to touching, which makes me feel so helpless.
“I know you don’t want to lose your mom. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must feel like.” My words tremble as they come out. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
He turns to me.
“I’m here. And if you need me there with you, then you’ll have me.”
“Why?”
So many questions are trapped inside that one word, and after we’ve lost so much, I give him my truth when I answer, “Because I care about you. I never stopped caring.”
His face fractures at my admission. “You’d do that? You’d let me call you?”
It’s something I’ve made impossible for him to do, but I’m no longer the broken teenager I was when he last saw me. I’m stronger, and there is no denying that he needs someone who can offer him a small dose of that very strength.
I hold out my hand, and he pulls out his phone so I can add my contact information. When I give it back, I tell him, “I’m here for a week, so whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there so you don’t have to be alone.”
He stares at his phone, at my number, at my name, as if it were a gift I just gave him. “A week,” he murmurs to himself before asking, “Then where are you going?”
“I’m flying out to California.”
“What’s in California?”
“It’s where I’m moving,” I tell him, leaving out the most important part of that equation, which is Micah. “I’ll be there for a couple of weeks to look for a place to live.”
“That’s a long way from here,” he says with so much distress I have to fight against giving him any more of an explanation.
We linger a while longer as we abandon any further conversation and do something I never thought we’d do again—we look up and share our moon. I hang on for as long as I can until my throat aches from the memories of our past.
“I should probably get going.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” I tell him as I stand, take the last sip of my coffee, and toss the cup into the trashcan that’s next to the bench.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
There’s so much despair in his expression—mine as well, but my heart knows its limit, and I have to go.
“Call me, okay? I’m here for you.”
He gives a nod before I turn and walk away. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the intensity of what just happened. For seeing Kason, for hearing his voice, for feeling his touch. It was all so familiar, yet unfamiliar, until it became too much. I drive back to my mother’s while drying all of my tears. I don’t even realize how late it is until I walk inside the darkened house.
Micah is still awake, lying in my bed when I enter my old room. He sits up, the light from the pool in the backyard reflecting against his bare skin with splintered lines. All it takes is one look, and I break. I rush over and crawl into bed, clinging my arms around him and crying all over again.
“Shh, baby,” he whispers in my hair as he holds me against him.
I press my head to his chest to find his heartbeat, something I’ve become so dependent on because it never lets me forget that he’s my place of solace. It’s here with him, with his strong and steady life source thumping against me, telling me everything will be okay, telling me I’m safe, and reminding me that, through every choice I ever made, every right and every wrong, I was led straight into these very arms for a reason.
Micah lifts my head and kisses my salty cheeks before pressing his lips to mine. I kiss him deeply because a small part of me feels guilty for being with Kason tonight. Not that I did anything wrong, not that I even wanted to. It isn’t something I can even begin to explain, but I feel it anyway.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling away and wiping my face. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
“You loved him,” he says, his words surprising me. “You left him at a really rough time in your life, Ady. It’s understandable that you’re a little shaken up.”
“So, you’re okay?”
“You love me, don’t you?”
I run my fingers through his hair. “Entirely.”
“Then I’m okay.” He kisses me again and then adds, “I’m not going to lie, though. It was a bit shocking to know that he and your mom are close. I had no idea.”
“They had become close while he and I dated. Around the time you and Trent moved to Miami, he started working for her. And you know what his home life was like . . . I didn’t want to see him lose out on any of the things that he was working so hard toward, so I made her promise to look out for him. I also made her promise to never mention his name to me again.”
“Why?”
“Because it was over,” I tell him, and he pulls me on top of his lap as he sits up and leans against the headboard. “To be honest, I had no idea they were still close. I didn’t even think he’d still be working for her.”
He slips his hand under my top, slides it up my stomach, and lets it rest over my heart. “You know what I love most about you?”
I shake my head.
“How soft your heart is. How much you care about others.”
“I care about you.”
I then give Micah my affections, and slowly, layer by layer, we undress each other between heated kisses. Maybe it’s all the emotions this day has thrown our way that has us begging for closeness, but we freely give in, and for the second night in a row, we make love slowly, tenderly, and with undeniable honesty.