Asher
Iwoke up in the morning after spending the day in the hospital, picking out a dog with Lennon and dropping her off at her apartment feeling equally elated and spent.
My mind spiralled almost immediately, replaying the questions Lennon had fired at me.
Not that she didn’t deserve to know—but part of me felt embarrassed admitting that I’d moved back home after getting sick.
Like I was a set of broken parts shipped back to the original factory for repair.
Even Lennon, someone who didn’t think too highly of herself or the life she lived day to day, had a fucking apartment. Fuck. I’d never been more embarrassed.
I checked my phone impulsively. No missed text messages. A small part of me felt disappointed that Lennon hadn’t texted at all, but that disappointment quickly faded when I peered up at the time glowing in the corner of the screen.
Ugh. Why was I awake at this god-awful hour?
It had been years since I’d woken up at this hour.
Back when I was fit. Back when I played hockey.
Back when I wasn’t sick. The day I collapsed on the ice had been a crucial moment—one I hadn’t even realized would change me forever.
Sometimes I still wondered if I’d actually scored that goal.
Everyone insisted I had, but a part of me wondered if they were sparing me the shame of it all.
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts aside, and decided to get up and make myself a smoothie.
I searched the floor for a pair of track shorts and grabbed the only ones I could find. Sliding them over my quads, the elastic snapped loosely around my waist, threatening to droop even lower.
When I left my room, the house was surprisingly quiet.
I eased my way down the stairs toward the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise.
The floors were brisk against the pads of my feet as I crept toward the blender in the kitchen, pulling out the smaller blender cup to make a single-serve smoothie.
As I gathered the ingredients, a shadow flickered in my peripheral vision, making my heart jump straight into my throat. I whipped my head around and caught sight of Wyatt, my pulse fluttering in its chest cavity.
“Jesus, Wyatt,” I stammered. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to,” he said. “Just got in from a run with Dad. He went straight to work to shower and get ready for the day. I was just about to leave, but I’m glad I caught you.” His tone shifted, making me curious.
“Oh yeah?” I asked casually. “What’s up?”
Wyatt moved toward me, pulling out one of the island bar stools and leaning his weight against the counter. He looked like the embodiment of we need to talk, and I was suddenly dreading what was to come.
He took a deep inhale, then let it out slowly. “You’ve been distant.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. And he wasn’t wrong. He didn’t even live here anymore, yet he still knew I’d built a wall between myself and everyone else. Family. Friends. Everyone. I didn’t know how to explain what it felt like without sounding like I was whining.
I nodded. “Yeah. I have been.” There was no use in denying it, but I wasn’t ready to dive in just yet. Judging by the look on his face, he’d already rehearsed this conversation anyway.
His expression turned pensive—thoughtful, even. “I know a lot has gone down with you moving back in, hockey, Dad’s indiscretions, and this surprise half-sibling who’s moving in…” He stopped, seemingly searching for the right words.
“You don’t have to tiptoe around the whole dying thing, you know,” I said, attempting to break the ice.
Wyatt chucked sheepishly. “I’m not trying to, Ash,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “There’s just something shitty about bringing up the fact that your brother is dying—something that I haven’t truly come to terms with.”
The air filled with unspoken words. “You don’t have to come to terms with it until I’m dead,” I finally said.
When he looked up at me, he understood. He had been treating me like I was already dying, all the while forgetting that I was still very much alive.
His eyes softened, the same eyes our father had given us, and he smiled.
“You’re right. I think we’re all just so fixated on the disease that we’re forgetting you’re just trying to live.
” He shook his head. “And then Dad hits you with the whole ‘you have a sister’ bullshit. Wow. No wonder you’re putting up walls. ”
Chuckling, I dipped my head to the side. “Well, yeah. That’s a whole other problem I haven’t even really addressed, if I’m being honest.”
“You should get to know her—Mila, that is,” he said, treading lightly.
“Yeah, I know. I’m not hostile toward her—just Dad. I couldn’t believe he did that to Mom, you know? She’d been a fucking rock our entire lives, and what, he just thought he could do better?”
I felt anger rise as I pondered the situation as a whole in my head all over again.
“I know, I know. But that was forever ago. He made mistakes, and he’s made up for them along the way, otherwise Mom would’ve kicked him to the curb.
” He paused before adding, ever the voice of reason, “Speaking of which, you had a pretty big outburst at dinner about having a girlfriend, and I don’t even hear about it? ”
I turned toward the blender and started mixing the ingredients, needing something in my stomach to carry on this conversation with him. Fuck. How was I supposed to tell him about Lennon—that she wasn’t really my girlfriend, but a girl I was helplessly falling for unexpectedly?
“Um, it’s complicated,” I blurted out without thinking.
“Complicated? Already?” The smirk on his face was unavoidable.
I smiled to myself and let out a huffed chuckle. “That’s not even the half of it, man.”
“She must be a wildfire to have you all muddled. I don’t remember the last time I saw that look on your face over a girl—if ever.”
Lennon did have me twisted in knots. How could I tell her how I felt without making her take off running?
She was so complicated—so fragile, yet resilient and strong all at the very same time.
Fuck, she was the strongest woman I knew.
She gripped death by the balls and said just wait, I’ll be seeing you soon, without regard for the consequences.
I couldn’t tell whether that part about her impressed me or crushed me into a pulp.
“She’s something, Wyatt. I’ve never met anyone like her before.” I knew I’d said it out loud, but it felt like it was designed for only my ears.
“Well, I’d love to meet her…” Wyatt trailed off, something else catching his attention.
I followed his gaze and saw Mila, appearing to want to join us, as she stood there at the bottom of the staircase.
“I don’t mean to interrupt you guys,” she said, cowering slightly.
We shook our heads in unison. “You’re not. Want some breakfast? Ash here is cooking,” Wyatt offered. I rolled my eyes subtly.
She shook her head, politely declining. “No, no, I’m okay. I just wanted to introduce myself since you both were here. I’m Mila. I guess your half-sister.” Her mouth twisted as if testing out the sound of that on her tongue.
She was a bold sixteen-year-old, with courage to approach two strangers in their family home to introduce herself at six in the morning. I respected that.
“I, uh, didn’t really have much family. My mom was an only child, and both her parents had passed away. So I feel kind of, like, displaced? I’m not sure if that’s the right word. And I never knew my dad—well, your dad. Our dad.”
She seemed frazzled, trying to piece together what was left of her life. She shook her head, as if she could physically get a better grasp on the conversation by doing so.
“My life just feels lost. I feel lost, and now I’m living in your home with a dad I never knew who I have mixed fucking feelings about, with a dead mom and two new brothers that I’m trying to explain myself to.”
A tear pebbled in the corner of her eye as she lifted her head and stared at the ceiling, willing her problems away. I sighed heavily. I could see it. I could see how lost she felt.
Before I knew what I was doing, I blurted out, “I’m dying from this crazy heart cancer tumour thing that ended my hockey career and thus forced me to move back under the roof of my overwhelming parents.”
Mila looked up at me, confusion brewing across her features.
“I became a surgeon to impress my friends and family, yet I still can’t find a wife to settle down with. God forbid my brother here possesses all the skills to get the ladies, while I’m an average-at-best surgeon with absolutely no game.”
We stood there in a loose triangle, all of us confused about what had just happened between the three of us.
“I think I’m going to need a stiffer drink to start the day if this is where it’s headed,” I said.
Mila shook her head. “I’m not old enough to drink.”
“One shot won’t kill us. Fuck it—let’s call it a bonding shot,” I said as I walked toward the cupboard where the scotch was hidden in the corner.
After pouring three reasonable shots, I grabbed mine, watching the weary expression on my brother’s face.
He knew drinking had been taken off the table for me, but also knew arguing would only reinforce how differently everyone had been treating me.
I could see that he wanted to make the effort here. He reached for his glass.
Watching the back-and-forth play out on Mila’s face, I decided to grab the remaining shot and hand it to her.
“Am I going to get into trouble?” she asked quietly.
We shook our heads, Wyatt saying, “We’ll take the fall for this one if you do.”
For the first time in a very long time, the world seemed to be on the right side of its axis. I held my shot up and the three of us reviewed one another’s faces for a brief moment before clinking the small glasses, tipping our heads back, and consuming the burning liquid in one swift movement.
Mila coughed, a sour look washing across her features. The burn coated the entirety of my stomach, warm and oddly comforting. Wyatt began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, still recovering.
“You know how I said an ‘average at best’ surgeon?” he muttered. “Well, that’s kind of an understatement. I’m on review for making a critical error in my last operation. So I’m actually less than average. I might get fucking fired.”
Wyatt wasn’t even making eye contact at this point.
I could sense the tears welling behind his eyes.
He was trying not to make this a big deal, knowing full well I was dying and nothing could trump that.
But this wasn’t a competition. He just wanted to be my brother again.
Part of me worried he wouldn’t come clean about anything in life anymore, for fear of whining to someone already knocking on death’s door.
Mila cleared her throat after composing herself from the burn of the shot.
“Since we’re still sharing, I don’t think I’ll ever like your dad. Our dad. Whatever. Fuck that guy.”
I burst into a fit of laughter, Wyatt following shortly after.
So there the three of us were—broken individuals trying to piece together what was left of this so-called perfect family. And for the first time in a very long time, it began to feel like something real. Something I’d been searching for since my life had begun to fall apart all those years ago.