Chapter 18
The gentle morning heat is the first thing I feel.
A light tap on the side of my face. Next comes the awareness that my entire torso, my arms, and the left side of my face are buzzing with a soothing sensation.
It's what I imagine a hundred tiny butterfly wings fluttering against my skin in a synchronized dance would feel like.
Then it dawns on me that this pillow is an odd combination of hard and comfortable.
It moves too; has a heartbeat that goes Ba-boom!
Faster than I thought it possible for me to wake up, I sit up so quickly that a sharp pain shoots down my neck, but it fizzles away after a two-second massage.
Sky is lying on his back with his arms pillowed beneath his head.
He's got that smug shit-eating grin, blue eyes twinkling with mischief while they never leave me.
All of his attention is focused on gauging my reactions, watching every little move I make as do my best to appear nonchalant and rip myself away from him.
He's lounging on the blanket somehow managing to look that good and put together this early in the morning. I can't help but feel self-conscious, embarrassed because of my current predicament making my wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
I slept on Sky Daniels.
"Slept well?" he teases, propping himself on his elbows. He does a full-body scan of me, going slower than is necessary. "I sure did."
He is without shame!
Scrunching my face in disapproval of his flirtatious teasing at this ungodly hour of the morning, I scramble to my feet and start brushing the sand off my clothes. Anything to avoid direct eye contact while my face wouldn't stop heating up hotter than an oven that just burnt up three cakes.
"Why didn't you wake me?"
Sky pulls himself to a sit, one long leg lazily outstretched before him, and the other bent at the knee. He rest one arm over the bent knee, and the other hand ruffles his hair before coming to rest palm down on the blanket.
How? How can someone be so calm and cool minutes after they've woken up? His hair is still unkempt despite the attempt at neatening the unruly dark strands, yet he manages to look ten times more presentable than I feel.
"You needed the rest."
Again, his full attention is on me as if I'm the most interesting, complicated problem he can't crack. But I notice something about him, too. Under the cool exterior, I could tell he's tired as hell. Those dark spots beneath his eyes are a dead giveaway.
"Looks like you could do with some more. Did you sleep at all last night?"
Sky cracks a grin, and I know right away, he's going to delight in teasing me. "Hard to do when I'm being used as a body pillow."
Okay, I walked right into that one.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I avert my gaze in hopes that he wouldn't notice my face reddening from embarrassment.
I'm not used to being teased like this. People usually avoid me because of the crowd I hang out with so speaking with someone who doesn't hesitate to say what's on his mind is something new.
And refreshing. This is why I like him. Despite all of his cockiness and teasing, he has this ability to make me comfortable. His confidence, on the other hand, is something else. He just doesn't care what people think and does whatever he wants.
I wish I could be like that.
"I'm not apologizing for that. You could have woken me up or pushed me around."
Sky chuckles, that mischievous twinkle gleaming brighter.
"I don't know. I didn't mind the cuddling.
I wonder if that's something you prefer when you sleep?
" He pauses dramatically as if he suddenly has some extraordinary epiphany.
He looks me up and down with a thoughtful frown. "I mean, I can definitely see it."
"See what?"
He gets to his feet, brushing off the sand from his clothes, plucking the blanket from the white sand. All the while, he says nothing, practically putting me on edge from the continued teasing I know is to come. When the blanket is half folded, he glances at me.
He can be so dramatic sometimes.
"You probably sleep with a body pillow. Or hell, maybe you have stuffed teddy bears you cuddle. I can picture it." And to my severe embarrassment, he makes a cooing sound at the end of that sentence.
"Shut up."
Sky laughs, tossing his head back as if I've told him the greatest joke. Naturally, I smile too, fighting away a blush while he finishes folding the blanket. His expression softens as he turns to me, closing the distance between us in easy steps.
Why does he look at me that way?
He tilts his head, gaze flickering over my face and he reaches up. Instinctively, I freeze. Not because I'm afraid of him anymore but because I'm afraid of how I would react and what I'll give away.
"Good morning, Conner," he says softly, flicking sand out of my hair.
I roll my eyes at that if only distract from the way his touch lingers longer than necessary and the brush of his palm against the shell of my ear feels almost too deliberate.
"Good morning, Daniels." For extra measure, I stick my tongue out at him to which he copies my actions.
"Want me to drive you home and I'll see you at school?"
It's like a bucket of ice-cold water has been thrown on top of me.
A nice, harsh slap to the face reminding me that I can ignore reality for only a short time.
All the light in these moments with him disappears down a dark tunnel.
Yesterday evening comes rushing back and the devastating news I managed to suppress in Sky's presence grips me tight.
Dread fills me.
I don't want this to end.
Couldn't he stay here with me for a while longer? Couldn't he help me maintain this illusion for another hour, another day before I have to go back to being...me?
I hope he doesn't see the abrupt change in my attitude as I step away, keeping some distance between us. I try to keep my voice steady and ensure that it gives nothing away, surprised that I pull through a response without my voice cracking like it did last night.
"I'm thinking I'll skip today."
Sky's eyes go wide as though he's heard something he can't believe. "Don't you have a final today?"
"Two, actually." I shrug, pretending to be as nonchalant as possible. "But I don't mind repeating it for summer, so, I guess you'll see me more often."
The boy in front of me walks closer and tilts his head again, looking me up and down with interest, squinting his eyes, trying to figure me out.
No, that would be terrible if he does. I can't take the risk or the chance of him learning about that or the other thing. It wouldn't be fair to him.
"What secret are you keeping from me? Does it have to do with what we spoke about last night?"
His probing stare and closeness makes it feel like he can see right through my obvious bullshit while trying his hardest to figure out what's got me bothered. I shake my head and turn away, walking around him to fetch my sneakers and slip my feet in.
"No. I just don't feel like being at school, around so many people."
"Then what do you want to do?"
"You're that interested?" I muse, raising an eyebrow. "You sound like you want to join me."
He shrugs, wearing a boyishly charming smile, hands folded behind his back but still holding onto the blanket. Without meaning to, my gaze traces the outline of his sharp shoulders and biceps.
"So?" he prods.
"I just want to go home." And mope. Maybe lie in bed and cry a little, finally letting out the tears I've been holding in since yesterday evening. Tears I don't want anyone else to see, and particularly, not him. He wouldn't judge me for them, but he doesn't need to be worrying about me.
There's no point in it.
Last night when he found me, though I couldn't really see his face in all the darkness, the feeling I got from him was chaotic.
His paranoia, I didn't know he was capable of such.
When he came at me like a man on a mission and held me, yelled and scolded me for worrying him, and when he took my hands and pressed them to his face as if wanting me to feel how exhausted he was, it confirmed something I subconsciously realized in the weeks we started speaking.
Sky Daniels cares about me a lot.
Maybe not in the way I've come to care for him in such a short space of time, but it's strong enough that it hurts imagining his reaction if he were to learn about what I don't want any more people to know.
He doesn't need that burden, and perhaps it would be better if he never knows.
Truth be told, I'm not completely sure why I'm denying the facts.
I knew the day would come when I would receive news that no loving parent wants to hear about their child.
I accepted that a long time ago – my parents choosing to be optimistic – when I knew that it was only a matter of time before it became a losing battle.
Nothing could help me at this point but then again, it isn't lost on me the reason I suddenly want to continue living.
The realization dawned on me last night when he was the first and only person I wanted to see, and when he was the first person who came to mind when I got the news.
That simple fact makes me want to scream.
The injustice and cruelty of life manifested into a physical pain that crippled me, made me want to shout and curse the foulest of curses, to lie on the ground and curl up into a tight ball and cry until no more tears could be spent from my dried-up tear ducts.
Throughout my life, there weren't many things I wanted that I couldn't have. Most times, they were small, trivial, nonsensical things.
But this? No. This is a different, profound type of pain that's terrifying because there is no way that the human heart could hurt so much without literally breaking.
It's the first time in my life that I truly want something but because it wouldn't be fair, I can't have it.
Everything else pales in comparison to the importance of this one thing.
But life is cruel, and I will never be able to fulfill the desire that threatens to rip my heart in half whenever I'm around him.
It's the 'what if' question I'll never have answered.
"Jace?" Sky's voice pulls me back.
Shit! He's already called my name twice and I've yet to respond. Way to go playing the nonchalant part.
That same look of worry I don't want to see on his face now stares back as I try pretending I'm not lost in thought ruing over injustices.
"Sorry. What were you saying?"
Sky's concern gives way to annoyance and somehow, I know it's not because I didn't hear his question. It's because I'm trying to distract him from what's really going through my head. He makes a quiet sound of disapproval.
"Never mind that, now. I'm skipping the day, too."
"Don't you have a final?"
Now he just looks straight up annoyed that I dare ask such a question. Yet he still answers, keeping a level tone that stays soft whenever he speaks to me.
"It's one of the classes I'm failing. It makes no difference whether or not I show up and it's obvious I'm needed elsewhere." The unwavering stare boring deep into my eyes, the meaning of those words isn't lost to me.
It's next to me that he wants to be.
I have never hated life this way. It hasn't been the best, but this right here, is bullshit of epic proportions!
"You're really willing to spend the day with me?"
"Ever had a gut feeling you couldn't ignore?"
"Sometimes."
"For whatever reason, I get the feeling that I shouldn't leave you alone, today. So, I hope you're not fed up with me already because we still have a whole lot of sunlight left." His words bring a smile to my face while my heart continues cracking on the inside.
Why? Why do this? Why send him to me, now?
But this is a small mercy. From now on, I'm going to spend as much time with him as possible. Consequences be damned and Brent, Katy, and Blake, can go eat shit for all I care. They would never understand. They could never understand.
"Come on," he calls, moving toward the brush and onto the pathway, "I'll drop you home first."
The ride back to my house is quiet. We settle into a comfortable silence that doesn't stretch for a long time since I live about a ten-minute walking distance from the coast. There'd been no need for me to use the car last night.
After that devastating news, I needed an evening stroll through the neighborhood to clear my head.
I went farther than intended, to the boardwalk and down to the pier, across the shoreline and then I wound up at the spot where Sky found me.
I needed to make sense of my new reality.
Sky pulls into the driveway of my house when I point it out. He keeps the doors locked.
"Are you sure you're alright? Nothing you want to share?" He leans in, elbow resting on the compartment by the handbrake. "You haven't been yourself since yesterday at school."
Wringing my hands together, I give him a reassuring smile I don't feel, hoping it appears convincing enough. "I'm fine, really."
He clicks his tongue. "That's what everyone says when they're not fine."
"Worried about me?" I tease, hoping to lighten the mood.
Sky raises a thick eyebrow, and I can't bring myself to understand how I never noticed it before.
He's devastatingly gorgeous. Raven black hair, thick dark brows slashed over piercing blue eyes. Sharp facial features, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist.
It's no wonder so many people line up to get a shred of his attention. I think I understand now why that girl, Lianna, was so awful to me.
"If you don't like it, stop giving me reasons." He reaches over and grips my chin in a strong hold. It's so sudden, the physical contact, that it feels like part of my soul jumps out and flatlines. He tilts my head toward him. "Try to get some rest. You've got bags under your eyes."
"I'll try," I promise, if only to satisfy him so that he stops touching me and driving me crazy. He has no idea what he does to me. How my heart beats faster whenever he's around, or how the things he does makes me feel like I'll explode.
Other than my parents, no one else has really been this kind.
"I'll come by around lunch."
"You don't need to do all of that."
His smile is easy. "I want to."
The front door of the house opens and my mother steps out, hovering in the doorway, a hand on her hip. That's the lifesaver I need because there is no way I can hide how hot my face feels.
"I need to go," I say, mindlessly, just because I need to do it – to say something. "My mom's probably pissed."
"Take it easy," he encourages. "Whatever you're going through, I'm sure she'll understand."
If only he knew.
Sky reverses and pops the horn, leaving me to deal with two very worried parents.
Mom pulls me inside the second I'm within arm's reach, hugs me hard like her life depends on in.
She sits me down on the sofa and unloads, her eyes misty the entire time she rants about how worried she was, interrogating me on why I switched off my phone and didn't think to text or call to let them know I was safe.
"Mom, I swear, I just needed to clear my head."
"I know," she fires. "But sweetie, you can't just disappear on us. What if something happened and we couldn't get to you in time?"
I lower my head. My mother is protective of me, always has been. And I know that her ranting comes not from worry but from fear.
"I'm sorry. I –"
"You don't have to apologize," Dad speaks up, coming forward to put his hands on Mom's shoulders, a gesture to calm her down because her eyes are brimming with unshed tears and there's a tremble in her hands.
He whispers to her that she needs to calm down because at the end of it all, I made it back to them alright.
"Who dropped you home?" he asks.
"Sky."
"Daniels?" Dad questions for clarification and I nod, noting the strange, wordless communication that passes between my parents.
It's the kind of look parents have when they know something or are theorizing about something, but they either don't wish to share it, or they don't think they should.
I brush it off, though, paying little mind to it.
"Where were you last night?" he continues and by the curious look on his face, he's really asking if Sky had been with me the entire time.
"I went for a walk. Down to the boardwalk and pier, and then I took a walk along the beach. Sky met me there when I texted him and asked him to."
"So, you spent the night at the beach, then," Mom surmises. She glances to Dad but her features even out. It carries hints of her worry but unlike before, this one feels different.
I already know what's coming when she sits down and takes my hand in hers. Her fingers brush over my knuckles, and she turns my hand palm up, lightly touching my fingertips the same way she would all those times I was in the hospital as a child.
"Sweetie, we're so sorry." Her voice wavers and cracks as she runs her fingers through my hair. Her hand trembles but I can tell she's doing her best to keep it together, to not show how distressed she is over the situation.
Because if she panics, so will I. She's trying to be the perfect image of strength just as she's been my entire life.
Dad is silent, and God alone knows what the hell is rolling around in his mind.
No good father, doctor or not, wants to be in his shoes. And now, both of them are faced with a reality we knew would one day come.
Offering my mother a reassuring smile, I pull her into a hug, letting her rest her head on my shoulder and wrap her arms around my torso. She succumbs to her tears freely, the sound of her sobs causing my eyes to mist.
"There isn't anything to be sorry about, Mom. There isn't anything else we can do." Hugging her tightly, I sneak a glance at Dad. He's staring at the floor, a stern expression etched onto his face, and he looks like he'll go storming off at any second.
A light chuckle slips out and Dad blinks, turning to look at me.
"Why are you guys acting like this?" Mom's hug tightens. Dad's jaw clenches harder. "We knew this was going to happen. It was only a matter of when –"
Mom is suddenly on her feet, hastily apologizing before marching out of the living room and down the corridor where the bedrooms are. There's a heavy pause of silence before the door to her and Dad's room slams shut.
The silence that breathes in the wake of Mom's departure is heavy. Full of tension because neither of us know what to say. In fact, we don't know if we should disturb that silence.
It's broken a heartbeat later by Mom's muffled, inconsolable cries breaching the quiet through the walls.
"You shouldn't have said that kiddo."
Another bout of silence lapses between us.
Her cries are awful. Absolutely gut-wrenching and it takes everything in me not to go to her, to apologize profusely for upsetting her.
They fill the silence, weighing down on me, filling me with guilt I know I shouldn't feel because she'll just tell me that none of this is my fault.
As the seconds tick by, it doesn't seem to be stopping. It just gets worse.
Louder. More heart wrenching. Full of sorrow and a type of grief that hasn't hit yet but is expected. I can picture my mother curled up, pressing a pillow to her face to muffle her cries because she doesn't want me to hear it.
But I can. And it's killing me to know I'm the cause of it and there isn't anything I can do.
"Shouldn't we go comfort her?" I ask, worried that Mom may work herself into a frenzy and pass out. Dad shakes his head.
"She needs time alone. It's a lot harder for your mom."
"But not you?"
Dad's smile is bittersweet. "I made a bitter peace with it a long time ago. It wasn't easy." Dad turns. "Wait here. There's something I'd like to show you."
He leaves the living room and disappears to another part of the house, leaving me to suffocate under Mom's muffled crying coming from just down the corridor.
I don't think I've ever heard her cry this much and it causes a devastating kind of unease in my chest – the revelation that nothing would ever be the same.
Dad comes back with a photo album in hand. "These are from before and after you were born." He hands it over, flipping the cover. He doesn't speak while I go through the entire thing, turning page after page, carefully studying every photograph.
A lot of it is before I was born, pictures of my parents smiling, and then...there's a sudden shift in my mother's face.
"What do you notice?"
My mother is generally a bubbly, good-natured person. She's always smiling and there isn't a time I can recall where I hadn't seen one on her face. The pictures in the photo album depict two very different women.
"She isn't smiling in any of the photos where she's pregnant." Dad nods in acknowledgement of my words.
"Before you were born, there were two other babies.
The first miscarried at six months, and the second was still born.
Losing the second child took its toll on your mother and she gave up.
She considered aborting when she found out she was pregnant again.
The only reason she didn't go through with it is because I wanted a child and unlike before, I had a feeling it would turn out differently. "
My mind goes blank.
How am I supposed to digest that bit of information? They've never mentioned those other pregnancies. I can't help wondering what my life would be like if those pregnancies were successful. I would have siblings. Maybe a brother? A sister?
But the part that hurts is that Mom thought about aborting me.
Did Mom really believe, once, that it would've been better had I not existed? She might've been onto something.
We've been fighting the fight for years – my whole life. So many times, I've looked at my parents, studied them when they thought I wasn't paying attention and thought about how much easier their lives would be if they weren't always so worried about keeping me alive.
"You were our miracle baby." Dad's eyes mist over, and his hand trembles as wipes away a stray tear rolling down his cheek. "Your mother carried you to a full term. In the delivery room when she heard your cries – loud, clear – your mother wept. After everything, those cries felt like victory."
More tears trickle down his cheeks. He wipes those away too, struggling to pull himself together and continue his story.
"When you were diagnosed at seven months old, I thought she'd have a relapse.
" He shakes his head, sniffling softly. He's pulling himself together, voice stronger than it was a moment ago.
"But your mother showed a side of herself I didn't know existed.
I had never seen her so determined and willing to fight.
She would do anything she could for you.
She just never believed the day would come when all of her efforts would become futile. "
Dad pauses again to wipe his face, the sight of his falling tears stirring something inside. I realize with a heartbreaking start that it's the first time I've seen my father cry.
Parents have a way of appearing infallible. Until one day, you grow up and realize that they're not. They paint a picture of strength, of invincibility to protect you. But at the end of it, they're human too.
"Your mother didn't want to give herself hope by having you. But when she finally got you, she was determined to never let you go. This is why she needs to be by herself. She needs time to come to terms with it."
Flipping through the album once more, I stop at a photo of me and my mother.
In it, I'm no more than a few months old, wrapped in a baby blue blanket, with a tiny red beanie on my head.
My left arm protrudes out of the blanket; tiny fingers wrapped around one of Mom's as she kisses my forehead.
Beneath the photo is a date scribbled onto the album page in Dad's handwriting: 12/05/2001.
Slipping the photo out of its place, I flip it over just in case there's any writing on the back.
"That was taken the morning we got your diagnosis."
My fingers dance over the image of Mom's face. Though she's not looking at the camera, focused on that tiny version of me, there's something profoundly tender about it. At a glance, she's the embodiment of unconditional maternal love.
"There's no time left."
Setting the album aside, I go to find my mother, taking the photo with me. She's sitting on their bed in a daze, staring off into blank space. Tears continue flowing down her cheeks without missing a beat.
"Mom?"
She doesn't respond, a piece of tissue clutched in her hand. The box has been abandoned. The tears seemingly never-ending, she probably found it useless to wipe them away.
I almost don't recognize her. Her cheeks are flushed and damp with tears, her eyes reddened as is her nose. The culmination of everything she's been careful to hide for however long, the news after last evening's hospital visit, my little disappearance, it all seemed to age her ten years.
Mom looks exhausted. Broken and so fragile that it hurts to see her like this when she's always been the visage of strength.
I hold the photo out to her and her gaze comes into focus. The tears push forth again as she clutches the picture, covering her mouth to muffle her cries.
Kneeling at her feet, she tilts her head at me. Her jaw trembles, lips quivering when she reaches for me. She twirls a few strands of my hair around her finger and touches the side of my face, brushing her thumb over my eyebrows and nose.
"My miracle baby."
I clasp her hand between mine. "Mom, I don't have a lot of time left. This isn't how I want us to spend these last few months. Please. Don't let my final days be spent wiping yours and Dad's tears," I plead, hoping she can see my desperation. "Do this one thing for me. For us."
She turns away, struggling to rein in her emotions, to put back on a mask of bravery. She wipes her face, taking deep breaths to calm down.
"Of course." Her voice trembles horribly.
"I can't imagine what you're going through, but please don't cry for me."
Mom wipes away the remnants of any tears and sniffles, clearing her throat. "It's not right for a mother to outlive her child. And it's not right for a father to outlive his son."
I rest my chin on her lap, keeping hold of her hand because at this point, I'm using her as an anchor, so I don't break down. "I know. But it's over. And you have nothing to regret because you and Dad gave me the best life I could ever ask for."
She sets the photo down, her crying ceased.
Her voice is steady when she says, "Bringing you into this world is the best thing I have ever done.
Watching you grow up, watching you win again and again fills me with such pride and joy.
If this is your last wish, then it's my job to ensure your last months with us are the best. I can't promise I won't cry, but I'll try for you. "
Mom kisses my forehead and taps my shoulder, gesturing for me to get off the floor and take the seat beside her. She pulls me into a hug.
Dad finds us minutes later and sits next to me, wrapping his arms around the both of us as Mom succumbs to a fit of quiet tears.
I don't know how long the three of us sit there in silence. There's no need for words because this new reality is finally sinking in. We feel it creeping in, coming home to roost.
The inevitable is here and a tough future lies ahead.