Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
BEFORE
My eyelids were heavy. I tried to focus on the teacher—a middle-aged guy in a Star Wars T-shirt. Seemed a little unprofessional. It was a good shirt, though. Chewbacca posed front and center, with big, bold letters that read: May the Force Be with Chew.
Actually… That wasn’t even funny.
I shut my eyes for half a second, just giving in, and my elbow slipped off the table. The girl beside me shrieked, and I jerked upright in my seat.
“Shit, sorry,” I muttered.
Chewbacca guy shot me a glare before droning on.
Three weeks of classes and I was already losing my mind. The constant flying back and forth was brutal. I probably should’ve taken a leave of absence and stayed in Seattle with Dad. Leaving him didn’t feel right.
The last few months had been a disaster.
Dad made the most impulsive financial decision of his life—sold his shares in the company, then signed everything over to me.
Every single account, property, and investment was now in my name.
Not Mom’s. Not my older brothers’. Not even his lawyers’.
Mine. His nineteen-year-old, barely functioning, sleep-deprived son who couldn’t stay awake in a class he wasn’t even sure he’d registered for.
I was suddenly responsible for reviewing financial statements, keeping tabs on market activity, approving wire transfers, fielding calls from advisors, and making decisions I didn’t always understand.
I had to sign off on tax filings, oversee trust distributions, and make sure nothing slipped through the cracks.
It wasn’t just money—it was his legacy. And I was expected to manage it like I had any clue what I was doing.
To top it off, no one was speaking to either of us. My brothers had blocked my number. Ilana was busy moving to Spain to finish her master’s. And my mom…
Sigh.
Mommy Dearest had been jumping back and forth between ignoring our existence, crying loudly in the living room and shrieking at my dad behind closed doors. I begged him to rethink it, but he’d just waved me off, sat me down, and walked me through all the documents now under my control.
I hated the feeling it gave me too.
Like he was getting his affairs in order.
We went to his checkups regularly. He started chemo a week after telling us, and when my mom refused to go, I stepped up.
He needed the distraction anyway. So I brought headphones, made an endless playlist of every ’80s song he liked, and we sat for hours—listening, talking.
Watching the others struggle was tough, but he handled it like a champ.
Eventually, it became my favorite part of the week.
We had never been this close. I was used to the version of him that was strong and formal. Not affectionate, not exactly warm. But now…things had shifted. He was my friend. And I was his. That small truth made something bloom in my chest. I clung to it and pushed everything else aside.
When he finished his first round of chemo, he told me I could go back to school.
So I did.
I enrolled where Holly was going and actually started to feel excited about it. Right before I left, we had another appointment with his oncologist. Another round of chemo. The news wasn’t great. But he was going to get better. I was sure of it.
Now I just needed to be there for his treatments, go with him to CT scans, play the music, make sure Jaz had the diet right, that he was taking the meds, not being too proud about it. All while starting college, going to class, and maybe attempting a social life.
That last part could wait. I needed sleep. Or Red Bull.
The screech of the chairs startled me from my cozy position, face planted on the desk.
I groaned, rubbing my neck. “Fuck.”
“We have an assignment due next week. And I think Mr. Willis hates you,” the girl beside me said.
“Cool,” I replied.
She promptly turned and left.
I stretched like a cat across the desk, then dragged myself out too. One more class before I had to head home and pack.
“Well, hello, sunshine. Don’t you look dashing?” A familiar sarcastic voice cut through the air.
“Hey, Hols.” I slung my arm over her shoulders. “Nag me while we walk. I’m short on time.” I yawned into my elbow.
She arched a brow. “Class?”
“Yeah. Then the airport. I’m leaving tonight—back the day after tomorrow.”
She stopped, slipping out from under my arm.
“Don’t do that. If you’re not holding me up, I can’t sleep and walk at the same time.” I dragged out the words with a fake pout.
She crossed her arms. Uh-oh. Serious Holly face.
“What?”
“You just got back two days ago,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, I know. But he’s got chemo tomorrow, and it’s been harder this time.”
Her expression softened. “I know it’s hard on him, Noh. But do you have to go every time?”
I didn’t even blink. “Yes.”
“But—”
“No. No buts. Yeah, I have to be there for every single one. He needs me, Hols. My mom checked out the minute the C-word came up. My brothers bailed—even fucking Ilana bailed, and she never does.”
Her voice dropped low, almost pleading. “Noah, you’ve been at this for months. When do you sleep?”
My shoulder tensed. “I can sleep on the plane.”
“I’m a little worried, Noh.” She hugged her elbows tighter, shifting her weight.
I forced a smile and kept walking. “I’m fine.”
“Have you talked to anybody about this? That’s not your dad? It doesn’t have to be me. Maybe a therapist?”
I blew out a heavy sigh. “I don’t need to talk to anyone. Stage three isn’t even that bad.”
“I don’t think that’s true, actually…”
“And it’s not about me. My dad’s the one who’s sick. He’s gonna be fine. Chemo hasn’t even made him nauseous.”
“I hate to break it to you, but the inability to express your emotions? Definitely a family trait.”
“Holly, stop it.”
We both halted our steps.
“I just want to help.” Her arms loosened across her chest.
“Then stop acting like this. Stop telling me to sleep, to eat, to talk. You’re not my keeper. You’re my friend. And friends are supposed to support you no matter what.”
We stared at each other. Concern was written all over her expression, and for a second, I almost let that pull me down. But she really didn’t need to waste her energy on this. He was going to be fine. And I was fine too. I hadn’t even thought about what I was feeling at all.
“So we’re just jumping off this plane without a parachute?”
My lips twitched. “No parachute.”
She rolled her eyes before linking her arm through mine and tugging me forward. “The things I have to put up with. I swear, your crazy ass is going to be the end of me. At least bring me donuts when you get back.”
I smiled. I knew better than to think she wasn’t worried about me—but at least she let me pretend I was fine. And if that wasn’t a best friend, I didn’t know what was.
Back at our house, everything was tense.
As soon as I arrived, my mom took off for a three-day retreat, and Ilana locked herself in her room.
Since Dad had stopped working, he didn’t have much to do—so whenever we weren’t at appointments, he used the time to walk me through how everything was set up.
How the holdings were structured. How to manage the accounts, track the investments, and figure out which calls I could make on my own and which ones needed to go through the lawyers.
But this time, something was off. He kept sighing, over and over again. And underneath it, he seemed…distracted. Detached. He’d been like that ever since we got back from treatment.
“Do you want to take a break?” I asked after the fifth sigh.
His hand was curled into a fist, fingers pressed tight to his lips. His complexion looked a little off. “Yeah, maybe.” He sounded tired too.
“I could make you something to eat, if you want.”
He shook his head before I could even finish the sentence, then sat up straighter in his chair. A faint smile pulled at the corners of his lips—unexpected, but real.
I chuckled lightly. “What?”
“You know what would be great?”
“Yeah?”
He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to grin. The look he gave me was almost mischievous. “Do you have weed?”
My laugh echoed through the room. “What did you just ask me?”
“You heard me.” He was laughing too.
“Aren’t parents supposed to keep their kids off drugs? Not request them?”
“If the parent’s going through chemo, the rules bend.”
That sobered me up. “Yeah… I probably have some in my room.”
“Bring it over. Let’s take advantage of your mom being gone.” He waved me off.
I walked down the hall, a heavy feeling settling in my stomach. It wasn’t a strange request—but I hadn’t realized he was feeling sick enough to ask for it.
An hour later, that weight had lifted, replaced by a warm haze as we lay barefoot on the rug in his office, laughing our asses off over whatever he’d just said.
“I swear, every time I got up on that stage, it was like I forgot everything I knew.” He wiped at his eyes, still shaking with laughter. Unlike me, he was great at playing guitar—but apparently terrible at performing.
“Every time?”
“Every fucking time. I got kicked out of more bands than I could count.” He held out his hand, and I handed him the joint. He took a long drag, the tip glowing bright red before turning back to dull gray.
“Is that why you stopped?”
“No. Some things just aren’t your thing. I love music. I love that you play.” He paused, glancing over at me. “But it wasn’t for me. I don’t regret it. That’s not one of the big five.” He took another drag.
“Big five what?”
“Regrets.”
He held the joint out to me, and I took a slow inhale.