“What do you mean he has to have a heart transplant? He had a few broken ribs, that’s it. They were supposed to heal on their own and then be done with.” The look of terror on my mother’s face while she shook in her seat as we were talking to Dr. Dunkin and his young colleague was a sight I would not soon forget. She looked so defeated, hiding under her lavender poncho. My father stood like a statue behind her. He had mastered the art of being stoic years ago. Frankly, he was an ass, but it was what it was. There sure as shit was no changing that man.

“As Rudy explained to you over the phone, the infection has spread to his heart, and unfortunately, there is little else we can do.” The young doctor hung her head as she put a kind hand on my shoulder. “You’re young and, for the most part, healthy—we will find you a donor, I am sure of it. Just have faith. You will get better.”

I knew she had no fucking clue if she was going to be able to help me, or if a donor organ would become available in time. Also, the icing on the shit cake sank in hard—for me to live, someone would have to die. How was that fair? In the wake of someone’s tragedy, I would find restoration. That just didn’t seem right to me at all. How could it?

“How long are people usually on the waiting list?” My father’s gruff voice bellowed through the small room.

Before Dr. Dunkin could answer, my brother burst into the room, completely out of breath.

“I got here as fast as I could.” Gavin’s face was red as he stood huffing and puffing in the doorway. He was dressed in sweats and stank to high heaven. It irked me that he was pulled out of practice because of me. I hated feeling like a burden.

“Mom, I told you not to call him,” I growled.

Our mother shrugged as Gavin took the seat next to me. “How could you expect her not to? We’re family, little bro.” The concern blanketing my entire family was started to choke me. One injury—a few broken ribs—had turned into an infection, which had turned into me needing a freaking heart from a dead guy at sixteen years old—this shit was fucking unbelievable.

My cold sweats were irritating the shit out of me, my mom’s blubbering was making me uncomfortable, and now I had my father’s look of disappointment and my brother’s unwavering support filling the rest of my tiny hospital room. It was all more than I could handle.

“Don’t you have practice to get back to?” I glared at my father. It wasn’t like I was a priority in his life. His team came first—it had since he was a player, and did even more so now that he was the coach.

Gavin shifted, looking over at me. “They can handle practice without us.”

My father grunted and I wanted to scream. After taking a slow breath, I muttered, “Thanks.” It was all I could think of to say. I wanted to be alone, but they needed to be with me, more to ease their own minds than to comfort me.

My world stopped.

I couldn’t breathe.

How can this be happening?

I stood in the foyer of my home staring blankly at a police officer that was explaining an accident to my stepmother. He was talking about how an incident with a forklift at my father’s jobsite had him in critical care at Flushing Hospital.

I could hear them, could understand what the words they were saying meant, but I did not know how it could be real. There was no way my father was as badly injured as the officer was claiming. He was supposed to be taking me to work on my car at his garage in a few hours; how could he miss that? He never missed spending time with me. He would never be late.

Hilary, my stepmom, started talking to me, having to repeat herself a few times before her words actually registered in my brain. “Olive, grab your coat honey. Liv? We need to go to the hospital.”

I shook my head, frantically trying to clear the jumbled mess as best as I could. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and neck, and my voice was weak when I responded. “Okay, be right down.”

I bolted up the stairs on shaking knees, trying to keep reality at bay. My father was fine. He had to be. There was nothing else that could make sense in this world.

***

Walking into Dad’s room where machines were breathing for him and keeping his heart beating felt like an out-of-body experience. I could have sworn it was a terrible dream I was going to wake up from as soon as my alarm clock sounded and saved me, but the blaring noise that soon broke through my consciousness was not the clock radio on my nightstand in my bedroom; it was an alarm sounding the end of my father’s life.

Nurses and doctors rushed in, a slow-motion blur as my stepmother screamed and I dropped to my knees.

“You need to let the doctors do their job. Please step outside.” A nurse was wrapping her arms around me, trying to get me to my feet, but it was futile. I wailed on the floor as they put paddles to my father’s chest.

Reluctantly, Hilary and I finally were forced into cold, plastic chairs in the hallway right outside of my father’s room. One of the doctors came out, melancholy drenched his features as he spoke to us. I was in a daze—barely able to wrap my head around what he was saying. Shocking my dad worked. They got a faint heartbeat, but it was obvious things weren’t going to be good. He was brain dead—at least that was what he explained to us.

“I’m so sorry.” The doctor’s head dropped, and I clung to Hilary as we both wept.

“There’s nothing that can be done?” she asked desperately, her voice cracking through the sobs.

“Unfortunately, his body is slowly shutting down, and there is no brain activity.”

The words were harsh and cold. My father was a great man—kind, caring, hardworking—and now he had been reduced to a corpse that was being mechanically kept alive for his organs to be harvested.

“Can we say goodbye?” I didn’t know what else to do, wanted to at least have a moment with him.

The doctor nodded and Hilary looked at me. “How about I go in first and then you can take as long as you need?”

With a tight hug, she left me in the corridor to watch as she cried at her husband’s bedside. Hilary was a great stepmom, loved me more than she had to and never treated me like I wasn’t her own daughter. I had never been more grateful for her than I was in that moment.

Once Hilary was finished, I took a seat next to my father’s side. “I am going to grab a cup of coffee,” my stepmom muttered as she exited the room.

We were alone, just like we had been for the first seven years of my life. I had always thought it would be my dad and me against the world forever. It’s crazy how fast things change.

“Daddy…” I sobbed as I spoke. “I love you. I will always be your little girl. You’re my hero, my rock, and now you will be my angel. Thank you for always being such a wonderful father.” And then I broke. I was uncontrollably crying and shuddering, holding on to his hand for dear life. I didn’t want the moment to end. I didn’t want to actually say goodbye.

Hilary’s faint voice came from the door. “Liv, it’s time.”

I stood, kissed my father’s cheek, and said, “This isn’t goodbye. This is see you later. I love you, Daddy.”