Chapter 28
28
MAVERICK
I can't breathe. The walls are closing in. Cadence's pale face flashes before my eyes, morphing into my mother's gaunt features. My heart races, pounding against my ribcage like it's trying to escape.
A firm grip on my arm yanks me out of Cadence's room. Nan's weathered face comes into focus, her eyes sharp with concern.
"Breathe, boy. What's got you so spooked?"
"It's so stupid. It's nothing. She'll be fine, right? Right?"
Nan's expression softens. She guides me to the couch, her hand a steady pressure on my back. "Cadence is strong, Maverick. It's likely just a nasty cold."
I nod, not trusting my voice. Nan continues, her tone gentle but firm. "She's got you looking out for her. And plenty of help on speed dial."
The knot in my chest loosens slightly. Nan's right. We have resources, doctors on speed dial. This isn't the same. My mom wasn't actually sick. Not like Cadence. But the last time I got to see her face, lying on that hospital bed, flashes through my mind.
"Right now," Nan says, "what's eating at her most is worry for those dogs. You want to help? Make sure her rescue babies are taken care of."
Of course. The rescue. Cadence would drag herself there over hot coals if that's what it took to take care of them. I stand, purpose flooding through me.
"I'll handle the rescue. Everything. She doesn't have to worry a bit."
She pats my cheek, a glimmer of approval in her eyes. "That's the ticket, son. Now go on. Get to it."
I pull out my phone, already dialing as I head for the door. Time to rally the troops and make sure Cadence doesn't have a thing to think about except getting better. Nick picks up on the second ring.
"Hey, man. I need you at the rescue ASAP. Cadence is sick, and the dogs need feeding."
"On my way," Nick says without hesitation.
I make similar calls to Bree, Janey, and Abby. Within an hour, we're all at LOL Rescue, divvying up tasks.
As I'm refilling water bowls, Janey sidles up next to me. "It's so nice of you to take this on. I'm sure Cadence would have worried herself sick." She blushes and shakes her head. "That didn't come out right. She is sick. But the worry would have made everything worse." She scans the chart on the big white board on the wall. "How does she do all this alone?"
"She works all fucking hours. That's how. She needs to hire help. It's too much for one person."
"Agreed," Janey says, "but there must be a reason she hasn't done that yet. I'm sure as a non-profit she has to be careful with money."
I pause, considering. "Brash could make another donation. Enough to cover a full-time salary plus two part-timers."
Janey's eyebrows shoot up. "That's generous, but... Maverick, don't you think Cadence might be upset about you stepping in like this?"
I shake my head, brushing off her concern. "She needs the help, Janey. We can't let her run herself into the ground."
"I get it, but?—"
"No buts," I interrupt. "We're doing this. I'll handle Cadence if she has any issues with it."
Janey sighs but nods. "Alright. I'll start drafting up the paperwork for the donation and job postings."
As Janey walks away, I can't shake the nagging feeling that maybe she's right. But seeing Cadence so worn down, so sick... I push the doubt aside. This is the right move. She needs help and she's going to damn well get it.
With everyone helping, the evening chores are done pretty quickly. When I make it back to the apartment, I find Nan in the armchair near the windows, a table lamp giving her enough light to read by.
"How is she?" I ask, collapsing onto the couch nearby.
Nan shakes her head. "Still sleeping. Hasn't stirred a bit."
I nod, rubbing my face with my hands. The silence stretches between us, thick with worry.
"Nan," I begin, hesitating. "Can I ask you something? About your cancer treatment?"
She sets her book aside, giving me her full attention. "Of course, dear. What do you want to know?"
"How did you handle it? The whole process, I mean."
Nan's eyes soften, a small smile playing at her lips. "It wasn't easy, that's for sure. But Cadence... she was my rock. That girl pulled me through every step of the way."
I lean forward, hanging on her every word. "She's something special, isn't she?"
"More than you know," Nan agrees. Her smile fades, replaced by a look of concern. "I worry about leaving her alone, you know. I know it'll happen one day, but neither of us wants to hurry that along."
I reach out, patting her hand. "No, you fucking well better not. I'll be pissed."
Nan laughs, her eyes glistening. "Well then, I wouldn't want to piss you off." She makes a little growl of frustration. "I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with her, hold her like I used to when she was little. But she worries so much. I’m healthy you know. Right as rain. But I stay away for her, even if it’s the last thing I want."
I swallow hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. Nan's eyes meet mine, filled with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
"How are you holding up?"
"Me? I'm fine. Nothing to worry about."
"Did someone you know get sick? Really sick I mean?"
Flashes of red, screaming, flashing lights. I shake my head, willing the memories to leave, but they're close to the surface today. They're sticky.
"No. Not like you're thinking. It's dumb. It wasn't sickness. But she did end up at the hospital and…." How do I explain that everything is muddled up together? That anyone getting sick is as scary as the possibility of losing someone to violence. It doesn't make sense to me, so I don't even try to explain it to Nan.
"I'm so sorry, honey," Nan says, taking my hand, seeming not to need any explanation. Then she stands and pulls me to her. She's small, and thin, but there's still strength in her as she wraps her arms around my shoulders and hugs me tightly.
I melt into Nan's embrace, a flood of emotions washing over me. It's been so long since I've been held like this, with such soft care and warmth. The last time was... God, I can barely remember. My mother's arms around me, her familiar scent, her soft voice whispering that everything would be okay.
But it wasn't.
Tears sting my eyes as I let myself be vulnerable for the first time in years. Nan's hug is different from my mother's, but it carries the same unconditional love. I feel like a child again, seeking comfort in the arms of someone who truly cares.
Memories flash through my mind - foster mothers trying to offer comfort, their awkward pats on the back or hesitant hugs. But I couldn't accept it then. It felt like a betrayal to my mother's memory, as if allowing someone else to comfort me meant I was replacing her. So I'd stiffen, pull away, build walls around my heart.
Nan's simple hug blows through those walls with the force of a grenade. I bury my face in her shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. She doesn't say anything, just holds me tighter, her hand gently rubbing my back. It's a simple gesture, but it breaks something loose inside me.
"I miss her," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I miss her so much."
Nan nods, her cheek pressed against the top of my head. "I know, honey. I know."
We stand there, in the dim light of the living room, as years of pent-up grief pour out of me. Nan doesn't try to shush me or tell me it's okay. She just holds me, rocking ever so slightly.
I wipe my face, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief. Nan pats my cheek gently, her touch comforting, her face all warmth and softness. I didn't really expect to see anything different, but I was braced for it, just in case.
"Have some soup, then see if you can get Cady to eat some. It's chicken noodle," she says, gesturing towards the kitchen.
I nod, grateful for some direction. Anything to get rid of that lost, floaty feeling. The warm aroma of the soup fills my nostrils as I make my way to the stove. I ladle a generous portion into a bowl and practically inhale it, not realizing how hungry I am. "This is the best soup I've ever had in my entire life," I tell her, ladling another scoop into my bowl. She just smiles gently and shakes her head. I tell her that at every meal, because even though she might not believe it, it’s the truth.
Once I've finished, I pour some soup into a mug for Cadence then head to her room, my heart racing with worry. She's still asleep, her cheeks flushed and skin hot to the touch. I haven't had to take care of many sick people, but I do remember one thing my mom would do. I set the mug down on the nightstand and go to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth with cool water.
Returning to her bedside, I gently dab her forehead and cheeks with the damp cloth, brushing tendrils of hair to the side.
"People get sick all the time," I mutter under my breath, attempting to reason with my anxiety. "You didn't fall apart like this when your brothers were sick."
But even as I think it, I know it's different. My brothers are dramatic when they're ill, whining about every symptom and demanding constant attention. It's easy not to worry when they're driving me up the wall with their drama.
Cadence, though... she's the opposite. She pushes herself too hard, always putting others first. I worry she won't take care of herself, that she'll try to power through and make things worse.
I continue to bathe her face, watching for any sign of improvement. My mind races with worst-case scenarios, but I force myself to focus on the present. She needs me to be strong, to take care of her the way she takes care of everyone else.
"Come on, Cady," I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "You've got to get better. I can't lose you too."
I'm a melodramatic fuck. Sue me.