Chapter 19 – King
Chapter
Nineteen
KING
You fucking disgust me! I hate you. You’re a freak. An abomination against God. I should have smothered you at birth. The words of Emmeline and Kyngston Worthington III ring in my ears for the whole ride home. It’s like they’re trapped inside my bike helmet and I can’t get them out.
And then I hear Mason screaming at me to get out. I recall the hurt expression on his face. The fear in his eyes. Was he scared of me? I would never hurt him.
Except I did.
Now it’s my own words playing over and over.
The ones I said to Mason after my father caught us together.
Didn’t you hear me when I told you that you fucking disgust me?
Did you think any of this was real? This was a joke to see exactly how far you’d go, so that I can tell everyone about what a pathetic, needy, sick little shit you really are.
I hate you. You’re a fucking freak! You think any of this is real?
I’m not gay. Never have been. Never will be.
I blamed him for corrupting me. Me—the one who was older and bigger and stronger.
The person who should have protected him.
Instead, I fed him to the wolves. I made him feel as small and worthless as I’d been made to feel my whole life.
And I never went back and told him it was all a lie.
A lie told by a scared little boy who still craved the love and approval of his parents.
I left as soon as I could a few days later, and I let him go on believing I meant every word.
When I stop at a light, I open my visor and scrub the tears from my eyes so I can see properly.
By the time I get to Marble Hill, I’ve cleared my head enough that I can face Amanda and my grandfather without them worrying something has happened. The last thing I want to do is burden either of them.
My heart sinks at the sight of Dr. Lichtenstein’s car parked outside the apartment, and I turn off my bike engine and race inside.
Amanda is crying on the sofa.
Now I can’t breathe.
She looks up. “King! I left you a voicemail. I had to call the doctor an hour ago. I called your parents too, but they said they d-didn’t want to c-come.” She sobs loudly.
I pull out my phone and see her voicemail from a little over an hour ago, the time it took me to get here in New York traffic. I’m scared to ask … “Is he dead?”
She shakes her head, and I almost drop to the floor with relief. At that moment, Dr. Lichtenstein walks out of Grampa’s room, a solemn look on his face.
“Doc? Is he okay?” I plead. His breathing was a little more labored than normal this morning, but he was here. He was alive. He laughed at a stupid joke I told him.
“He’s comfortable, but he’s not conscious. He doesn’t have long left, Mr. Blackthorn. If there is anyone who would like to say their final goodbyes, then I would suggest you call them immediately.”
Pain twists my insides into a knot. This is it then. “Thanks, Doc.”
He offers me a faint smile and rests a comforting hand on my arm. “He sure is a fighter. I’m going to miss him.”
All I can do is nod my thanks before he leaves.
Amanda sniffs, scrubbing at her cheeks with the sleeve of her cardigan. “I really wish I could stay but … I look after my nephew on Thursday nights for my sister … and she can’t …” A sob steals the rest of her sentence.
I pull her into a hug, probably needing the human contact more than she does. “It’s okay. You’ve done more than anyone could have expected. He truly loved spending time with you. Thank you for everything.”
She glances at the open doorway to his room. “Can I go say goodbye?”
“Of course.”
I watch her walk into the room and remain outside while she sits with him, speaking quietly. After a few minutes, she gives him a kiss on the forehead and walks out, her cheeks soaked with tears.
She grips my hand tightly. “He’s not in any pain, you know. That’s important, I think.”
I nod my agreement. “It absolutely is.”
She plasters a sad smile on her face. “Hey, he beat out those doctors though, huh? Four weeks, they said.”
“He sure did. Stubborn old goat.” We both laugh, but it’s hollow and sad. Something to replace the dreadful silence of his impending death.
“Will you call me … if … you know. So I know?”
“Of course I will,” I promise.
“Would you like me to try your parents again? Maybe if I explain—”
“No, it’s okay. Really,” I tell her. Not only would it be a waste of her time, but I don’t want them here anyway. Just because I would permit their presence doesn’t mean I welcome it. They would only taint his final hours with their hostility and disapproval.
“You’re sure there’s no one I can call to come sit with you?”
Immediately, and for reasons I can’t fathom, my thoughts turn to Mason. I dismiss them as quickly as they arrived. “No. There’s no one else.” Those words hang solemnly in the air. Nobody but me and Grampa.
She glances at the clock. “I really have to leave.” She hurries to his bed, gives him one last kiss on the cheek, and whispers something to him that I don’t hear.
And then she’s gone, and it really is just me and him. The way I spent the best parts of my childhood. Even if they were far too infrequent, all of my favorite memories are of him. His cigar smoke and his rattling cackle. His frailty and his strength. He taught me all I know about being a man.
I sit beside him and rest my forehead on his knuckles and talk about all the things I should have talked about when there was time.
I tell him about Mason, how we met, how I fucked it up, and how much I wish I could make up for it now.
I tell Grampa how much I love him and how much I’m going to miss him and how the world will be a little duller without him in it.
I tell him I’m sorry for all the time I spent away, and I’m saddened beyond belief that he won’t sit up and scold me for it.
When he passes, it’s quiet and peaceful. I expected something more. A final gasp of breath. A squeeze of my hand to let me know he was on his way. But he left this life the way he lived it, gently and without a fuss.
I call Amanda in a haze of confusion and console her when she sobs down the phone.
I call my parents, and our conversation is brief and detached.
Once he’s been taken away, I remove his sheets from the bed, dislodging the scent of cough drops and lavender that is so much him that it makes me stumble.
But I don’t fall. I carefully fold the linens and place them in the laundry room, ready to be washed tomorrow.
Or perhaps I’ll never wash them, and they’ll be a constant reminder of his presence here.
I wander around the apartment in a daze—a place that only felt like home when he was in it. Thunder cracks and lighting splits the sky in two before rain begins to hammer against the windowpane. It’s as though even the heavens know he’s gone.
“Bye, Grampa,” I whisper.