The Highland Fling(95)
“Da, I . . . I had no idea. I thought—”
“I know what you thought. And it might have been my fault for never correcting your way of thinking, but goddamn it, I’m still furious about it. And I’ll be furious until the day I die. Careless behavior with no thought for the people who love you.”
“Da.” I reach up and slip my hand in his. He squeezes it tightly and, to my surprise, brings it to his mouth, kissing the back of my knuckles and then holding them close to his cheek.
He lets out a strangled sob, and that’s all it takes. I break down as well, moving as close to him as I can.
“I could have lost both of you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, bringing my forehead to his. I grip the nape of his neck and hold him there, not wanting to let go, not ever wanting to let go. “I’m so sorry, Da.”
“I love you, Rowan.”
I let out a sob, and tears stream down my cheeks. “I love you too, Da.”
“Here, Da.” I place a bowl of soup in front of him and adjust the cardigan across his back, noticing how I can feel every bone in his shoulders. “Do you have everything you need, Maw?”
She nods quietly and sips from her bowl of soup.
Once they’re taken care of, I take a seat as well, and quietly we all tuck in. Together.
The last few hours have been mentally exhausting. We cried for a good hour.
Cried over the loss of time.
The loss of Callum.
The loss of a relationship with my da.
The loss of those little, boring moments that make up a life.
The end is near. It’s thick in the air, chilling and heartbreaking.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “How much time is left?”
Da doesn’t look up at me, and neither does Maw. Instead they keep their eyes on their bowls, but I watch as my da slowly reaches over and takes Maw’s hand in his. Her lip quivers, and a tear falls into her soup bowl.
“It’s not good,” Da says.
“I want to know. Don’t hide it from me. Please don’t hide it from me anymore.”
Da slowly nods and looks me in the eyes. “It’s stage-four chondrosarcoma. There’s nothing they can do at this point. They offered a treatment plan to prolong life expectancy.”
“Then let’s do that,” I say quickly. “What does it entail?”
Da shakes his head. “It’s no way to live, son. I would have to stay here in London, it would cost more than I’m willing to pay, and I would be miserable—for what? A few more months?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice panicky. “Yes, Da, a few more months. Months I haven’t had with you. Months I need with you.”
His weathered eyes connect with mine. “Rowan, I don’t want to be in London. I want to be in Corsekelly, in my home, with the ones I love. And you can’t stay here either. The town needs you. Your maw needs the town for support.”
“But . . . but what about the time we’ve lost? What about—?”
“Whatever time I have left is yours, Rowan.”
“How much time?” I ask, voice wavering, my throat tightening.
He closes his eyes. “A month . . . maybe.”
“A month?” I nearly choke on my words. “How long if you do the treatment?”
“Three, maybe. But it’s not a promise, and I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my days in and out of hospital, being pumped with chemo. I’d rather spend it in the place I love, with the people I love.”
I lean my forehead into my hand and blink back the fresh tears that threaten to fall. How can I possibly lose him? How can I ever forgive myself for letting this feud go on for so long? For never talking to him and letting years of stubbornness and pride fester between us?
“Rowan.” I look up at him. “It’s going to be okay, lad. The life I’ve had has been beautiful. I’m a blessed man, and even though our time is short, I plan on making the most of it.” He reaches for my hand. “Take me back to Corsekelly. Please.”
For the second time today, tears streak down my cheeks as I nod. At this point, there is nothing else I can do besides soak in the moments I have left with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BONNIE
Broken heart: One . . . still.
Times I’ve thrown up from nerves: Three.
Texts and calls that have been returned: None.
Amount of cake eaten to mask my feelings: Let’s just say I’ve had to make a lot of cherry cake this week.
Today is the big day, and I’m not sure if I want to cry, smile, or go throw up again.
Deep breaths.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Everything is going to be okay.
In one two three, out one two three.
Tamping down the threatening nausea, I glance around the coffee shop one last time. One minute to open, and I don’t feel ready—despite burying my head in work the last few days.
I’ve baked, practiced drinks, perfected every last detail when it comes to the shop, and made sure to collect pamphlets from everyone around town so I can promote all the special points of Corsekelly to tourists. Even with all that, I don’t feel ready, and I think I know why: I don’t have my two rocks next to me.