Chapter Sixteen
Dot
I’m trying to teach the dogs to play fetch, and it’s not going well.
When I throw the little plush toy that looks like a raccoon butt, Bo is content to watch it arc through the air across the room from the comfort of her bed.
Skinbad will happily chase it, barking his head off all the while, but when it lands, the barking continues.
Sometimes he’ll go so far as to drop his chest to the floor and wag his own butt high in the air.
God forbid he touches it with his mouth, though.
“Fetch, boy!” I urge.
Skinbad grabs the toy, shakes it a few times, then gives up and wanders back to me to see what I’ll do next.
“Okay, let’s try the little squeaky ball.” I pull out a small fuzzy ball that looks like a miniature Death Star. Skinbad eyes it dubiously but seems unimpressed. I squeak it twice to see if the sound is appealing.
Despite Skinbad’s opinion on the matter, Bo immediately cocks her head to one side. I whip the ball across the room.
Bo rockets off. She’s so nimble that, when the ball bounces off the stack of boxes waiting in the corner with all the unsorted books Camden bought for me, she’s able to catch it mid-flight.
She chomps it a few times, then prances off with her prize and takes it into her crate for what quickly becomes a very annoying squeak session.
Skinbad whines and drops into another play bow, but Bo happily squeaks away.
“Okay, we’ve found Bo’s favorite.” I dig through the box of dog toys we’ve acquired over the years in the hopes of finding something that will hold Skinbad’s interest. There’s a miniature plush Einstein that looks more or less untouched by previous pups. I hold it up as an offering.
Skinbad pounces. He snatches the toy, takes it to his crate, and sets about tearing Einstein’s hair out of his head.
“Great,” I deadpan. “We have a winner. Don’t eat that, okay?”
My phone rings. I reach for it without looking at the ID, since I’m now concerned that Einstein is a choking hazard. “Hi, what’s up?” I expect to hear my father’s voice, or maybe Cam’s.
“Miss Shaw?” a woman asks. “I’m calling from the hospital regarding your father.”
My hand clutches around my phone. My vision blurs. Oh, no. No, I can’t go through this again. Through a tight throat, I croak, “Is he…? Did he…?”
The woman’s voice softens. “He’s doing great, hon. I’m calling because he can come home. We’ll help you arrange for a nurse and PT to come check in on him, and he’ll require regular appointments, but he’s reached the point in his recovery where we think he’ll be more comfortable at home.”
“Oh.” I close my eyes and sink back into the couch cushions. This is quicker than they originally thought, so I’m not as prepared as I’d like. “That’s fantastic. It’ll be good to have him back.”
“Do you have an accessible space set up for him? We recommend setting up a hospital bed, and he may need to use a wheelchair for a while.”
I frown. I didn’t think about that. I have the guest room all set up for him, but there’s no way he’ll be able to get a wheelchair through that space. “Is a hospital bed better than a regular bed?” I vaguely remember one of the doctors mentioning this, but it didn’t sink in at the time.
“It’ll make it easier for him to come and go, and to adjust so that he doesn’t hurt himself or get bed sores. If he rolls out of bed in his sleep, or falls while he’s trying to get in or out of bed, he could hurt himself again.”
“Right. We don’t want that. I’ll arrange that.”
We go over a few other details, and she tells me who I can rent a bed from.
I call right away and arrange for a rental as well as a delivery.
No big deal, except that I don’t currently have a place to set everything up.
I suppose I could put it in the living room, but it’s too easy to picture Dad tripping over one of the dogs, or Bo jumping up on his burns, or him falling as he tries to navigate down the hall to the bathroom.
Because I know how quickly things can collapse.
How fast a good thing can slip through tired fingers.
The guest room has an en suite bathroom, and the door can be closed for privacy.
I feel guilty relying on Camden so much, but I can’t do everything myself at the last minute.
I text him to see if he’s free today, and let him know the good news about Dad’s discharge.
It’s a short text, but even that takes energy I don’t have.
Ever since the call, my brain’s been bouncing between logistics, grief, and a sense of doom I can’t quite explain.
The discharge papers already hit my email, and after scanning the information, I still don’t know what half of it means.
There’s a detailed instruction list, but my neurodivergent brain keeps defaulting to everything, all at once.
I don’t want to fail him. Not like I failed her.
Be there in half an hour, he texts back.
I clutch my phone to my chest. I’m worried that I’m becoming too reliant on him, but I really do need his help.
A death-squeak shocks me back into the present. Bo has mangled the Death Star beyond all recognition. I get up to retrieve the cracked rubber ball, now thoroughly divested of fuzz, and a soggy, slobber-covered, newly bald Einstein.
“You’re menaces. Both of you.” I give the dogs my most intimidating scowl.
Bo yawns and lays her head on her paws. Skinbad wags his tail. At least they don’t try to deny it.
* * *
When Camden said he was coming, I didn’t realize he’d be bringing the whole team with him.
“What do you need us to do?” Tristan asks.
Skinbad is barking his brains out from one corner, while Bo weaves between our guests to nudge each of them with her damp nose like the consummate hostess.
I cover the ear closest to Skinbad and point to the downstairs hallway.
“I need help clearing out the guest room. We’re putting in a different bed, and the setup needs to accommodate a wheelchair. ”
Lenyx whistles. “Ooh, yeah, that’ll make things tricky. Any idea where you want us to move everything?”
“It can go in his office for now,” I say over Skinbad’s siren song. “Nobody will be using it for a while.”
“Shoes off,” Camden reminds the guys.
There’s a mild kerfuffle as shoes are kicked off, and the guys troop off down the hallway. Camden hangs back to slip an arm around my waist. “How are you feeling about all this?”
“Um.” I play with a lock of my hair, twirling it too fast. “Nervous, but good. I mean, executive function is good. Emotionally? Kind of glitching.”
“He’ll be fine,” Camden says.
I shake my head. “You can’t promise that. Mom was fine, until she wasn’t. I could crash on the drive home, and then what?”
He rubs my back in slow, looping circles. “I could drive, if you want. I know that doesn’t solve the problem, but if it would help—”
“I’m good,” I blurt. Wasn’t I just telling myself that I depend on him too much? “I want a chance to talk to him. See how he’s doing about Mom and everything.”
Camden nods. What I don’t say is that things are about to change for me in a big way.
It was great to have Camden around while I was here alone, but I’m going to be taking care of Dad now, and I can’t afford to be distracted.
Plus, Dad will be here, and I’m not going to bang my…
to bang Camden in the house where my ailing father is grieving the love of his life.
“Dot?” somebody calls. “Where do you want this dresser?”
“Gotta go,” I tell Camden. “The rental bed will be here any minute.”
There are way too many giant guys for this space, but Camden has a plan. I direct Viktor, Lenyx, Bowen, Adler, Owen, and Tristan; Camden taps Knight for a shopping trip; the rest of the guys, some of whom I only know by sight, are given the task of “general cleanup.”
“Way to leave the work to us, Beck,” Viktor grumbles.
Camden winks and aims finger-guns at him. “You were the one worried about your waistline. Think of this as a dynamic workout.”
“And let me guess. Shopping is a dynamic workout, too?” Viktor crosses his arms over his chest.
“Shopping requires planning. I have an idea of what Dot needs.”
Viktor’s eyes dart toward me for a moment, then to Knight. “And you need an assistant…?”
Knight shrugs. “I’m the only one with an Executive Costco membership.”
Bowen gives a theatrical cough. “Hey, Viktor, you’re blocking the doorway. As team captain, shouldn’t you be helping out more?”
“Insubordination!” Viktor bawls.
A scuffle ensues. Camden winks at me as he and Knight make their great escape. Great. He brought these clowns, and now they’re my problem.
Once the guys settle down a little, though, things go pretty smoothly.
I wonder if Camden took Knight along for another reason.
He and Viktor always end up clowning around and one-upping each other.
There’s plenty of teasing and taunting between the rest of them, but it’s not enough to distract from the task at hand.
By the time Camden and Knight return with supplies, the bedroom has been rearranged, all the bathrooms have been cleaned, the backyard has been poop-scooped, and Adler is going to town on the washer and dryer.
“You don’t need to do that,” I tell him.
“Dryer lint can cause fires,” he informs me with a grim shake of his head. “You can’t be too careful.”
He’s so calm, kind, and helpful, sometimes I forget he’s the son of Latham Newberry.
“Hey, guys!” Knight calls from the front door. “Food’s here! Can we get a little help?”
It takes five of them to carry everything in. Camden didn’t just get things for me and Dad; he brought four pizzas, chips, and an ungodly number of Costco hot dogs. He even brought paper plates and paper cups for easy cleanup.
“Anything else you need us to do?” Knight asks, while the rest of the guys go to town on the hot dogs.
I look around, then shake my head. “I don’t think there’s anything else you can do. This is amazing.”
“We’ll clean up our trash before we go,” Camden promises. “I’ll make sure it gets taken out before we leave.”
This is what love looks like. Not the loud kind, not the movie kind. It’s a Costco hot dog and a mountain of paper towels and a room full of guys who will answer his call because he asked them to. It’s planning for everything I forgot. Picking up all my dropped threads.
“Thanks.” I place one hand on the case of Ensure he bought. In addition to a ton of fresh food, he thought to pick up things like this. Paper towels, bath tissue, detergent, and dog food rest on the kitchen island.
I don’t deserve him.
As soon as the words cross my mind, they strike me as gospel.
I don’t deserve this man. I don’t deserve to be happy at all, not with Mom gone.
A tornado of emotions slams into me. My nose itches, and tears burn my eyes.
I was such a bad daughter. So ungrateful.
I can’t fuck things up with Dad, or I’ll risk losing him, too.
My throat closes. The room feels too small.
Too loud. Too bright. It’s all pressing in—Camden’s kindness, the dogs, the laughter from the other room, the goddamn case of Ensure.
It all makes my skin itch. My hands are trembling.
My throat feels wired shut. I want to scream, to collapse, to vanish.
I’m the girl who holds everyone’s broken pieces and takes their screams so they don’t drown. I never get to break.
I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve him. Not when my mom’s gone and I wasn’t there enough, not when Dad’s hurting and I’m stumbling around trying to catch up.
I can do a lot of things okay, but I can’t sustain anything. Not when it matters.
I’m not the girl people fall in love with.
I’m the girl who keeps everything running while it all falls apart.
I’m the one who handles it, who smiles and gets shit done and forgets to feel anything until it’s way too late.
And now it’s all raining down at once—Mom, Dad, the dogs, the bed, the grief, Camden.
My chest aches so bad I could scream. What if I can’t do it?
What if I lose everything all over again?
“Hey.” Camden steps closer to rub my arm. “Dot, breathe. You’ve got this. We can get through anything together.”
I sniffle. “Right. You have absolutely gone above and beyond since my mother died. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
He lowers his voice so that even though we’re in a room full of people, I’m the only one who hears him say, “I’d do anything for you. You know that. After all, I—”
A squeal cuts through the room. Skinbad, who calmed down after nearly an hour of frenzied barking, starts up again.
“Shit,” Lenyx says, “I’m sorry. I unlocked the dog door, but I think that was the wrong choice.”
I’m grateful for the distraction. Camden’s proximity, usually so welcome, has me feeling cornered all of a sudden. “Aw, did Bo get stuck again? Let me get her.” I bolt away from Camden to rescue my dog, leaving whatever panic-inducing words he was about to utter left unsaid.