Chapter 2
Maddie
The cursor blinks at me from the half-finished report on my laptop screen. It taunts me, a pulsing reminder that I’ve typed only two sentences in the last hour. Not overly productive, especially since I’ve reread those two sentences about ten times.
Here’s where I am… the driven dedication to my job lost. Hell, I can’t even remember the higher purpose that drove me to be a social worker because none of that is important anymore.
There was a day, before Gray got sick, that it never felt like work.
The long hours, the endless reports, the heartbreak of working with kids who had no one.
Social work isn’t glamorous, and it sure as hell doesn’t pay much, but it mattered to me.
Helping kids in foster care, working with parents trying to reunify with their children, and connecting struggling families with resources to keep them afloat. It fed my soul.
Some days it’s writing assessments for the courts or sitting in on home visits to make sure a child is safe. Other days it’s guiding parents through parenting classes, arranging counseling, or hunting down funding for food, clothing and rent assistance.
Every time I helped a family find resources or eased a child’s fear, it felt like proof that my past hadn’t broken me completely.
That the cycle of abandonment I lived through would not repeat itself on my watch.
Now, I can barely string together the words on a report.
My heart feels dead, a precursor of protection to stave off the coming grief that I’m afraid might destroy me.
That will most assuredly change my inner being because losing the most important person in your life can’t be good for anything other than destruction.
And I hate that I’m so weak. The families I work with deserve someone fully present, someone committed.
The children I help deserve someone who puts their needs above everyone else’s, and right now all I can think about is curling up in a corner and shutting out the entire world.
My higher purpose feels like it’s slipping away, just like Gray.
In some ways, it’s been a long two months following Gray’s diagnosis.
In other ways, time is flying too fast because, as the doctors predicted, the aggressive cancer will kill him sooner rather than later, and I want more time with my best friend.
I never hesitated to step in to care for him and Grayce.
I convinced my supervisor to let me work part time from home, but even paperwork feels impossible when every nerve in my body is tuned to the next sound from down the hall.
The alarm on my phone buzzes, sharp and insistent, but it doesn’t startle me. My inner clock had already sensed it was time to give Gray his morphine. I have it set to go off every four hours, just as the hospice nurse instructed me to do.
“Keep him ahead of the pain,” she advised. “Even if he says he doesn’t need it, give it to him anyway.”
I close the laptop and push back from the table, stretching my stiff legs.
It’s time to step into my role as caretaker.
Whether Gray’s awake or not, whether he asks or not, I won’t let the pain catch up to him.
Even if it means gently slipping the drops under his tongue without him ever being the wiser.
I do this knowing he’ll sleep so deeply, my days of having beautiful conversations with him are over. I’ve already lost most of him.
I pass Grayce’s room on the way to Gray’s.
The door is cracked, so I peek in. She’s curled up in her crib, one tiny hand flung above her head, her lips moving like she’s dreaming.
Soft, wispy curls of dark hair halo her angelic face, and if her eyes were open, I’d be staring into her father.
At least I’ll have that to hold on to forever, because Grayce will become mine the moment Gray dies.
It’s something he feels strongly about, and all those arrangements have already been made.
My throat tightens. Grayce is eleven months old, on the verge of taking her first steps into toddlerhood, and she’ll never remember how incredible her dad was. She’ll never remember how much he loved her.
Gray wasn’t perfect, by any means. Lord knows he didn’t plan on becoming a single father after a one-night stand turned into a baby.
But when Grayce’s mom died in childbirth, he stepped up without complaint.
He figured it out—bottles and daycare drop-offs and working extra hours to cover bills.
I watched him juggle parenthood with spreadsheets and client meetings, watched him fall asleep at his desk with her tucked against his chest.
And through it all, he never once resented her. Never once questioned that she was worth every sacrifice. He adored her and I’ll make sure she knows that every day of her life.
I pull the door shut quietly and keep going, past the framed photos lining the hall—Gray with his arm around Atlas in their teens, Gray giving his daughter a bath, Gray and me with our arms thrown around each other at college graduation.
He was my constant. Foster care chewed me up, my own parents failed me and the world seemed determined to let me down, but once he came into my life, Gray was always there.
That’s what terrifies me now. Who do I become when he’s gone? Who will have my back when I’m feeling the weight of the world pressing down on me?
In his room, the drawn blinds mute the light. I don’t know why I’ve done that. It’s not like it would make it difficult for him to sleep and opening them would certainly make things a bit cheerier in here.
But fuck if I want to feel cheerful.
I turn on a bedside lamp and busy myself with the ritual of preparing his medication.
I’ve learned to do it almost without thinking—measure out the morphine drops, grab a tissue to hold under his lower lip to catch dribble, check the timing again that I’m at the four-hour mark, double-check the dosage. The rhythm keeps me from falling apart.
“Gray,” I murmur, more for me than him, as I set things on the nightstand.
“It’s time for your happy meds.” I shoot him a quick glance but don’t linger.
His sunken cheekbones look ghastly. I instead continue with my monologue because even though I doubt he can hear me, on the off chance he does, I want him to know he’s not alone.
“Oh, don’t you give me that look,” I chide teasingly. “I know you hate having me fuss over you, but we’re not arguing about this today. For once in our friendship, I have the upper hand and I’m going to milk it for all it’s worth.”
My voice wobbles. He hasn’t been able to argue with me for days now, and what I wouldn’t give for him to open his eyes, sit up in that bed, and say, “Mads… quit being so morose. Get your shit together. It’ll be fine.”
I move closer to the bed, the little dropper filled with precious pain relief trembling in my hand. But something makes me stop.
The air feels… different.
I stare at Gray with the eyes of a hawk. God, I can’t tell if he’s breathing. It’s been so shallow for days, but I’ve trained myself not to panic. A tidal wave of apprehension hits me so hard, I go dizzy.
I set the dropper down and lean closer, eyes lasered onto his chest, willing it to move only a fraction of an inch. My hand shakes violently as I place it over his sternum.
Nothing.
I count to ten, because surely that’s enough time for his shallow respirations to catch up with the body’s need for oxygen, right? I run through everything the hospice nurse told me about when the end would come.
Gray’s jaw is slackened, mouth parted slightly, lips dried but covered in the balm I applied earlier. I move my hand near his face, holding my fingers close to see if I can feel even the faintest whisper of air.
Nothing.
For a moment, I can’t think. There’s a stillness in this room so complete, it feels like the entire world has paused right along with me.
“Gray?” I whisper. A question. Have you passed?
My eyes roam over him critically. It’s not the lack of chest movement or the paler than normal hue of his skin. It’s more about his jawline—that opened mouth parted as if to exhale his last breath. He looks… at peace.
I don’t check for a pulse. I don’t need to.
He’s gone.
A sob rips free of my chest before I can stop it, and then another, until I’m doubled over, clutching at the blankets. My body shakes with it, grief pouring out of me in great, shuddering waves.
I thought I’d be somewhat prepared for this, but I’m not. My best friend in the world is gone. My anchor. The only person in my life who never let me down. Gone.
I don’t know how long I stay like that. It could be seconds, maybe minutes. But eventually, the sound of my own sobs is too much. I force myself upright, wiping at my face with shaky hands, and step out of the room.
Grayce is still napping in her crib and my chest splinters all over again for this tiny creature who just lost the best dad in the world.
I reach down and scoop her into my arms, pulling her gently against me.
She stirs only slightly, her head turning to the side against my shoulder, still heavy with sleep.
I press my nose into her fine hair and inhale. The scent of baby shampoo seeps into me, soothing the jagged corners of my grief.
“It’s just us now, kiddo,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the words. “But I promise you… I’m going to give you the best life. Everything your father wanted for you, everything he asked of me. I’ll never let you down the way my parents let me down. You’ll always know you’re loved.”
Tears slip free again and I press my lips to her soft temple, then another kiss to the top of her head. I cling to her for one more moment like she’s the only thing tethering me to the earth before laying her back in the crib. She inhales, then lets out a sigh, completely oblivious.
I wipe the last of the wetness from my face and pull in a deep, steadying breath.
There are two calls I need to make.
The first will be to the hospice nurse. She’ll come out and do what my heart already knows—verify that he’s gone. Then she’ll call the funeral home, just as Gray planned, because of course he planned it all out.
And the second call will be to Atlas. Besides me, the only family Gray has.
I need to break the news that his best friend is dead. I will hold space in that moment with him as he understands what I already know—we’re worse off now because Gray Donovan is no longer in our lives.