In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(73)

I will do this so my mother and sisters don’t have to.

When the notary arrives, my father signs the document quickly and dismisses me accordingly so he can rest. I watch him close his eyes, and as frail as he is, he still manages to smile in his sleep—a certain smugness to it all that his plan in fact did work, and in the end, he got his way.

Christina leaves soon after, and Murphy and I both force my mom to retreat upstairs to what used to be my room, to sleep—something that we’ve learned she hasn’t done in about two days.

With order semi-restored, I fall into the only comfortable chair in the house. It’s a padded rocker my mom has had since I was an infant. I have always gravitated to that chair, and I think it’s because it’s the one she rocked me to sleep in as a child.

“Are you okay?” Murphy asks, sitting on the couch across from me. My eyes hold themselves open and fight against exhaustion as I look at the beautiful girl looking back at me.

“Not even close,” I answer honestly.

She smiles, but we both know I’m not joking.

“How was John about you missing today?” she asks.

I shrug and chuckle at the mess I’ve made of my own dream in the span of a single day.

“I didn’t tell him.”

Her eyes grow wider, and she swallows.

“It won’t matter,” I reassure her. “I’m on the hook for six more Fridays at his club. He doesn’t want to lose that. I’ll show up tomorrow and let his assistant know I had a family emergency.”

She nods quietly, but looks down at her twisting hands.

“Don’t worry about me, Murphy. I’ll be just fine,” I lie.

Her eyes come up to mine, and I can tell she knows I am.

We sit in silence for several minutes, and I let my thoughts drown in my present. I have a day, maybe less, left of freedom. And then I know hell will truly begin.

It’s harder than you think, Casey. You were right, Houston. And you have no idea.





Chapter 14





Murphy


While Casey’s dad isn’t getting better, for the moment, he’s also not getting worse. That’s the thing with pancreatic cancer—it can be so rapid, and so slow all at once. It had spread to his liver and kidneys by the time they caught it, the day he left work early for what he thought would be a simple physical exam from his doctor. But he had been ignoring signs long before that.

Casey became guardian of his father’s decisions, and while he says he can handle it, I’ve noticed how it’s all changing him. He’s gotten nurses involved again, and help for his mom so she’s not the only one trying to keep the house in order. But the need to make real decisions hasn’t come yet. It’s always looming.

Casey and I have fallen into a new pattern. He calls me in the morning while I’m on my way into school and he’s on his way to his parents’ house. I usually check in with him again during my lunch when he’s driving into the studio. They let him shift his hours to come in later, which means he’s also there well into the evening.

Sometimes, he’ll call me while he’s logging sound files, and I can hear bits and pieces in the background. He always plays his favorites for me, and our taste is almost always in sync. We talk about little things—like why I always dye my hair purple, and how he wishes I’d try pink. We flirt, but cautiously and sweetly. It’s chaste courting, and I love every minute of it. We talk about things like our favorite movies—he likes horror, and I’m more of a jaded rom/com fan—and we share stories from growing up and high school. When he asked what song I was trying to play for the talent show, I told him it would have been Willie Nelson, and he sighed in regret that he never got to hear it all the way through.

I look forward to every call, and I’ve started watching for his name to appear on my phone minutes before I know it’s going to come. That’s what I’m doing now, because it’s almost seven, and it’s Friday. Casey is deejaying at Max’s tonight, and he made no promise to call, but somehow I still think he will.

I know it.

I’ve been putting Sam off for days, and my girlfriend guilt has started to get the best of me, so I agreed to meet her downtown for dinner tonight after work. There’s a Thunder game, and it took a while to park. The wait for her favorite restaurant is at least an hour and a half, so we’ve spent the last forty minutes sitting at the bar swapping stories that have nothing to do with anything that’s really rolling around in my chest and head.

Eventually, Sam calls me on my bullshit.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” she says, pulling the spear from her martini and working the olive into her mouth. “You aren’t really here. You haven’t been with me in days. I can tell when I’m spilling my guts about Cam.”

“I’m here, Sam. I just think that guy is a loser and you need to not mess around with people in relationships,” I pipe in. While I may have tuned out for some of our conversations this week, I’m always fired up and aware for that one. She’s still pining after the cheater, and I’m done pretending the fact that their names rhyme isn’t stupid—and that he’s not an ass-faced jerk-hole.

“Fine, you’re invested sometimes,” she says with an eye roll.

I’m regretting coming out tonight even more, and it’s almost seven. I could be at home in pajamas listening to Casey get his equipment ready and run sound checks. My friend waves a hand in front of me, and I sigh, leaning forward and drinking my Diet Coke through a straw without the use of my hands. I set my gaze back on her and take the rest of my lashings.