“I can’t find them!” Rory called out to Clare from where he stood in his daughter’s bedroom. The place was a wreck of pink and tulle and Barbie dolls. “Which sneakers?”

“The pink ones with the light-up heel,” Clare replied from the entryway where she was currently juggling their two children and getting them ready to head out the door. “Or just grab any pair. I don’t care.”

Being a parent of two young kids involved a lot more time trying to find things than Rory ever would have guessed beforehand. Not that he would trade his life for anything, though. Marrying Clare and having first their son, Murphy, and then their daughter, Brontë, had been the biggest blessings of his life. Everything before Clare, before his children, felt irrelevant and inconsequential. Like his entire life had been leading up to the sole purpose of being her husband and their father.

That wasn’t all he did with his time, of course. Both he and Clare worked, not so much because they needed to, but rather because they wanted to. Clare was a veterinarian at the rehabilitation clinic he owned for former fighter dogs and bait dogs. She did amazing work, and often brought the kids with her when it was safe. Other times, they were with him or his mother.

Rory divided his work schedule between running the business end of the clinic and being one of the owners of Legends gym. After his father had retired, all of the Kavanagh children, including Casey, had received equal percentages of the gym. The main people working there day in and day out, however, were Kieran and himself. They set their own hours and supervised the rest of the staff, but he couldn’t leave it entirely. Fighting might not be something he could do much of anymore after his injuries, but it was still a part of him. Training other up and coming fighters was his way of revisiting that part of himself, and feeling like he was truly leaving his legend in the world.

Though now as a father, legends took on a whole new meaning. His legacy was in these two beautiful kids that Clare had carried so strongly, was raising so beautifully. He just felt honored she let him be a part of it all, because he felt like a complete novice at fatherhood, even all these years later. Clare was awe-inspiring in how she handled their children—both gentle and tough, loving and purposeful. Every moment he watched her with them and saw how they hung on her every word, he fell more and more in love with the woman he’d married all those years ago.

“Mama?” Murphy’s soft voice fell below the clutter of noise as Rory walked back out of the bedroom and joined them in the entryway with a pair of pink sneakers for Brontë.

“Did you find them?” Clare asked, lifting Brontë onto her hip, seemingly not hearing Murphy.

He passed her the pair and then began pulling on his own shoes. “What’s up, Murph?”

“I want Mama!” he cried, louder this time.

“Yes, baby?” Clare turned to Murphy after she finished putting shoes on Brontë. “What’s wrong?”

“My head’s hot.” He shoved the back of his hand across his nose, and the sleeve lifted to reveal a dark bruise that covered most of his wrist.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Clare turned to Rory, her brows furrowed with worry. “Babe, can you take the baby?”

He nodded and scooped Brontë from her arms, kissing his daughter’s little cheeks as she giggled and kicked out her legs. “Who’s daddy’s favorite little girl?”

She squealed and raised her hands. “Dada!”

Clare squatted down and unzipped Murphy’s jacket, holding the back of her hand to his forehead and then his cheek. She then kissed his forehead, and cupped his cheeks in her hands. “He does feel really hot, Rory.”

“We’re heading to the doctor now. We’ll ask him.” Rory shifted Brontë to one arm and grabbed his car keys with his free hand. “He’ll have you feeling right as rain, kiddo.”

“How’s your belly feeling?” she asked Murphy, lifting the edge of his shirt to reveal another large bruise across his side. “Any better?”

The young boy shook his head and stared at the floor.

Rory swallowed hard, trying to ignore the growing wave of panic that had been settled in his stomach the last two weeks.

“All right. It’s going to be fine. The doctor will make everything better.” Clare zipped his jacket and scooped him up against her chest.

He anchored his tiny arms around her neck and burrowed his face into her blond curls.

“Mommy loves you,” she whispered.

A few hours later, they sat stoically in a stark exam room in the Children’s Hospital in Upstate New York they’d been referred to. Brontë was fast asleep in his arms while he stood leaning back against the wall and out of the way. Clare sat on the exam table next to Murphy, letting him curl into her lap as she caressed his head gently.

He was such a handsome kid. The perfect combination of him and Clare—his long, dark hair and her sweet face with a button nose. He was both adorably sweet and young, while also looking like a mini-version of an adult man all in one. Not to mention, he was intelligent as all hell. Rory couldn’t be prouder of his little man.

“Kavanagh?” An older doctor with balding hair and droopy cheeks poked his head into the room.

“That’s us,” Rory replied, nodding to him.

Clare sat up straighter, but didn’t say anything. Murphy moved closer into her side.

“This must be my main man, Murphy!” The doctor gave a cheery greeting and lifted his hand for a high-five.

“Go on,” Clare encouraged him.

Murphy tentatively smacked the doctor’s hand, a small smile spreading over his face.

“Whoa! Strong high-five there! This kid’s going to be a fighter like his dad, huh?”

Rory chuckled, his chest puffing up with pride. “He’s strong.”

“I won,” Murphy suddenly called out, pausing to wipe a hand over his eyes. “I won an arm wrestle against Dad! I beat him!”

“You did,” Rory agreed, even though he’d obviously thrown the match to his son. He loved how happy that had made the young boy. He’d never push Murphy to be a fighter like he’d been, but it was in his blood. If he wanted to follow that path, Rory would definitely support him. “He’s going to be one of the best.”

If he gets the chance. The thought popped up so quickly, but Rory quickly shoved it down. He wasn’t going to think about that today.

“I think that’s a great plan,” the doctor replied. A nurse entered the exam room behind them. The overhead fluorescent lights flashed off her brightly colored uniform with cartoons all over it. “Now, Murphy, tell me. Do you like chocolate?”

Murphy nodded enthusiastically.

“I thought so. This is Nurse Elly. She’s got soooo much chocolate at her desk, and she’s going to take you to have some while I talk to your parents.”

Murphy glanced up at Clare, who nodded her head approvingly and lifted him onto the ground. “Sounds yummy, baby. Save me a piece.”

“Okay!” The nurse took his hand and led him out of the room, offering them a reassuring smile.

Rory looked down at his daughter, but she was completely passed out against his shoulder, so he doubted she’d hear a thing. “So, doc, what are we looking at?”

Clare wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning into him. She was shaking so hard, and he knew that she must be terrified for the results.

“Unfortunately, your primary care physician’s instincts were spot on. Your son has acute lymphoblastic leukemia,” the doctor began. He kept talking, explaining and describing the situation, but it sounded like he had marbles in his mouth. Or maybe Rory had water in his ears. He wasn’t sure. Everything felt so far away and muffled.

Clare stifled a sob with her hand over her mouth, turning her head into his shoulder. He could feel her tears leaking into his shirt, her cries shaking her body against him. Rory felt like his chest was about to cave in. He’d never realized his heart could physically break before, but he was almost certain that’s what was happening right now. An ache so sharp slammed through his chest, and it took all he could to keep standing.

“I’m so sorry.” The doctor’s words slowly began to come back into focus. “We have set up a treatment plan that I’d like to start right away. The quicker we tackle this, the better. Like I said, there is a high cure rate for this type of cancer. We have a great shot at this.”

Clare just began crying harder, but Rory swallowed his fear. “What’s the treatment?”

“Chemotherapy. We’ll do it in phases over the course of about two years at this hospital, starting immediately. Today.” The doctor picked up a folder from the counter and began pulling out informational packets and handing it to them one by one as he continued to explain the treatment cycles, side effects, and more.

Rory did his best to try and retain as much information as possible, but was struggling to keep up. He was still reeling over the fact that their worst-case scenario was true. When they’d brought Murphy into the doctor after he’d been having weird bruises and nosebleeds, the doctor had run a few tests and admitted his suspicions. They’d taken his referral and come to the best pediatric oncologist in the country for this type of cancer, but, honestly, he hadn’t believed any of it was real. Hell, they hadn’t even told his family. Clare had practically insisted on it, but he’d agreed. He didn’t want them all panicking over what he was sure was nothing. He’d hung on to the hope that it was just a doctor wanting to rule out everything—just in case.

This wasn’t their child. This wasn’t their life. Murphy would grow old and healthy. He’d graduate high school and college, find a woman he couldn’t live without and give them grandkids. He’d flourish in whatever career path he chose, and he’d make the world a better place by just being in it. He already did.

Rory wasn’t the same person he’d been before he’d become a father, and he credited that to his son. This little man had made him who he was now, and the very idea that he might lose him…unfathomable.

The doctor continued to describe the situation to them, but Rory barely heard him. The statistics sounded so positive, so full of hope. This doctor had an amazing success rate. This was a type of cancer with a high cure rate. This was still cancer. This was still the next two or more years of his precious son’s life, precariously balancing in the in between. Hospital stays, chemotherapy, drugs, side effects…this was going to be their new normal.

It would be Murphy’s new normal.

The moment Rory had first held his son in his arms, he’d promised to protect him against everything. He’d sworn he’d do anything to keep him happy and safe. And for the first time, he was realizing that was a promise he couldn’t keep.