Rafe Page 4

  Tacker went ballistic and took Nilsson down to the ice, kneeing him in his head so severely he knocked him out cold. Tacker was suspended for several games, but in everyone’s opinion, the ass-whipping was justified. I would have loved to have gotten a piece of him. I’m sure every player on our team would have.

  “How is Tacker doing?” Lucas asks. Everyone in the league knows he’s had demons to deal with.

  “His stats say it all,” I point out, and all the men standing around nod. Tacker is back at the top of his game, leading the league in points and dominating everyone on the ice.

  Of course, I don’t tell my new teammates how that most likely has everything to do with the way Tacker’s heart healed in the time since he found love with Nora. They’d all think I was a pussy for saying something like that, but it’s true. He’s a new man since she came into his life, and I’ll credit Dominik Carlson with that, as well. He pushed Tacker her way for some much-needed therapy, and what do you know...they fell in love.

  The romantic in me can recognize that, even though seeing Calliope yesterday reminded me that I probably don’t know shit about true love. Not the way Tacker and Nora do. It was brutal being back in Calliope’s presence on top of having to deal with my dad. A double whammy of sorts, reminders of the losses I’ve suffered and the ones that are yet to come.

  It’s easy to put that all aside, though, as more people come up to introduce themselves, and I start to feel a tinge of excitement regarding the possibilities with this team. Veteran players that have helped to lead the Cold Fury to two Cup championships in the last two years. Men like Hawke Therrian, Roman Sykora, Van Turner, Reed Olson, and Marek Fabritis. I forgot just how stock-heavy this team was with star players. While only a few days ago, I thought it would be the Vengeance that would sweep everyone on the way to the championship, I now fully realize that I didn’t take a step down when I switched teams. It was truly a lateral move, and the Cold Fury has just as much power as the Vengeance.

  Despite the upheaval in my life and the pain I’ll be facing, there is a bright spot on my horizon. I’m still very much in the mix for something good while playing for this team.

  Chapter 4

  Calliope

  My phone rings and I consider ignoring it. I have my arms almost elbow-deep in dishwater, cleaning a stubborn pan. If it were any other ringtone, I likely would.

  But it’s Brenda calling. It could be something as simple as a chat, but chances are, it’s something more important. With Jim having advanced cancer and an expected decline over the coming days, I can’t afford to ignore Brenda’s call.

  Nor do I want to. The woman was my second mother growing up. I spent as much time in her house as mine, and there was a time I thought we’d be related by marriage, too. That clearly didn’t happen, but when Rafe broke up with me, it didn’t chill my relationship with his parents at all. If anything, it made it stronger. For the longest time after Rafe left to play professional hockey, I leaned on them because I missed him so badly. Throughout the years, our bond has continued to grow and develop, even as I moved on with my life. Despite the passage of time, Brenda is still like my second mom. She’s also one of my mom’s closest friends, and I love her dearly.

  So of course I’ll answer the phone. I quickly dry my arms and hands and nab the cell by the fourth ring, just before my voicemail picks up. “Brenda...hey...what’s up?”

  “It’s Jim,” she says, and there’s no disguising the worry in her voice. “He’s having a hard time breathing, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “What do you mean by hard time breathing?” I ask her, placing a palm on my kitchen counter.

  “It’s labored. There’s a wheezing sound. And he’s sort of lethargic.”

  “He probably needs to go to the hospital,” I suggest.

  While I don’t mention the medical specifics, Jim is at the precipice of where his body will start betraying him. With the cancer having spread to his lungs, this is an expected symptom. But his other organs will also begin shutting down as they fight the unwinnable battle against the cancer. He’ll need medical intervention to help make him more comfortable.

  “He won’t go, Calliope.” She sighs, and I can just envision her pinching the bridge of her nose. It’s what she does when she’s frustrated. “And Rafe isn’t here. If he were, maybe he could talk some sense into his dad.”

  “Tell you what,” I say as I move through my apartment to the foyer, where I grab my purse and keys. “Let me come over and take a look at him. If he needs the hospital, we can call an ambulance. How does that sound?”

  “Okay, yes,” she breathes out in relief. “I’d appreciate it so much. I hate to bother you with—”

  “It’s never a bother, Brenda,” I cut her off sharply. “Never. You call me, no matter what.”

  My heart almost breaks when all I hear through the line is a tiny hiccup of a sob.

  “I’m on my way,” I assure her.

  I live nearby in an apartment complex just a few miles down the road. I chose the location because not only is it convenient for the hospital I work in, but it’s also near my parents, who I’m incredibly close to. I eat dinner with them several times a week, and before Jim got sick, he and Brenda would sometimes join us.

  I arrive at the Simmonses’ house in less than five minutes. Brenda meets me at the front door and murmurs, “He’s probably going to be angry I called you.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” I assure her as I follow her up to the main level of the house. We turn left and move to the end of the hallway where their master bedroom is located.

  The blinds are closed, and the interior is dim. Brenda moves around the bed to where Jim is lying on the far side and turns on the bedside lamp that has been draped with a fringy shawl to keep the light subdued.

  She touches his shoulder and gives a gentle shake. “Jim... Calliope’s here. She wants to check on you.”

  Jim’s eyes flutter open, and he takes in a breath. I can hear the wheeze from across the room. He narrows his gaze on his wife a moment before his head turns my way. “I’m fine,” he mutters and then looks back to Brenda. “You didn’t need to bother her.”

  “Let me just take a look at you, Jim,” I say as I move around the bed. Brenda steps out of my way, and I lean over, placing a hand on his forehead to see if he’s running a fever.

  In this moment, I’m only a family friend taking a look to render a non-medical opinion. I can’t operate as a nurse, as his condition is outside my field of expertise. While I don’t mind helping the family with decisions and talking things through, I can’t give any type of expert opinion on his condition. Brenda probably doesn’t really understand that, and I might need to clarify it at some point.

  “He doesn’t seem to be running a fever,” I murmur and then drop my hand to his shoulder. “How hard is it to breathe, Jim?”

  As if to prove nothing’s wrong, he sucks in a big gulp of air and lets it out. “I’m fine. See.”

  I know he thinks he just performed a monumental feat for me, but even I can see that his lungs aren’t filling to capacity. It’s not a good sign. But now that I’ve seen him, I also don’t think he needs immediate medical intervention. His color looks good, and he sounds pretty strong, actually.

  Jim pushes himself up to lean against the headboard and wipes at his eyes as if to clear the sleep from them. “Listen...yes, I’m feeling a bit tired today. Doc said that would happen. But I’m just trying to rest up for the game tonight.”

  “Game?” I ask, turning my gaze to Brenda.

  She gives a small shake of her head. “Technically, it’s Rafe’s first game with the Cold Fury. He’s actually been at the arena this morning for his first team practice and getting to know the guys. He should be home any moment to hang out for a bit before he heads back for the game.”

  “And I want to watch the game on TV, so I’m just trying to get some rest,” Jim gripes. “And I can’t do that when the two of you are hovering over me.
Now, I’m tired and want to nap a bit more.”

  “Fine,” Brenda exclaims, holding up her hands in defeat. “Rest. I’ll wake you up for lunch in a bit, okay?”

  “Okay,” he mutters and then gives her an apologetic smile. “And sorry I’m a grump.”

  “I’ve lived with your grumpy butt for almost thirty years,” she replies affectionately. “I’m used to it.”

  Brenda and I leave the room, and she shuts the door behind us. “Want a cup of tea?”

  “Sure,” I reply, not really having anything else to do today except clean my kitchen. I’d actually planned to hang out at my place and read a book or watch some TV. I’m pretty low-maintenance on my days off and enjoy chilling more than anything.

  I sit at the table while Brenda puts the kettle on. She’s the one who got me into drinking tea years ago when I was still in high school. It always made me feel so adult and part of her family to sit at the table and sip as we talked. Of course, back then, we talked a lot about Rafe because he was the center of both our worlds.

  “Is this it?” Brenda asks as she comes to join me at the table while the water heats.

  The question may seem vague, but I get what she’s asking. She wants to know if we’re at the beginning of the end.

  Before I can answer, the front door opens, and Rafe calls out in an exaggerated Cuban accent a la Ricky Ricardo, “L-u-u-u-c-y... I’m home.”

  I can’t help but smile, and my gaze meets Brenda’s. Rafe always used to do that when he came home from school in the afternoons.

  “In the kitchen, honey,” Brenda calls back to him.

  We can hear Rafe bounding up the stairs, and as he comes into view, his eyes immediately lock on mine. Of course he knew I was here, my Pathfinder is in the driveway.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, letting the gear bag he’s holding drop to the floor. His gaze flits from me to his mom.

  She smiles at him, wan and fatigued. “Your dad’s having a bad day. I asked Calliope to come by and check on him.”

  Rafe’s eyes snap to me, locking on hard. “And?”

  “He’s having a hard time breathing—”

  “Why?” he demands, his brows furrowing deeply. “I mean...I don’t understand a goddamn thing about any of this.”

  “The cancer has spread to his lungs and his liver—”

  “No,” Rafe barks at me, looking wildly between his mother and me. “I don’t understand how this happened. How did it get this bad, this fast?”

  There’s a world of recrimination in that statement, and he immediately flushes, a guilty expression on his face.

  “Sorry,” he mutters and spins on his heel, walking right out of the kitchen and trotting down the stairs.

  Brenda starts to rise from the table to go after him, but I beat her to it, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Let me. I think he needs a rational explanation, and I can give that to him without too much emotion.”

  Because really...we’re nothing to each other, so I’m perfect for the job.

  Brenda nods, and I follow Rafe out of the house, expecting to find him in his mom’s car. I assume his vehicle might be coming via freight carrier from Arizona at some point, or hell...maybe he’s just going to buy a new one now that he’s relocated. It’s not like he can’t afford it.

  Instead, I find Rafe sitting on the top step of the porch, arms crossed over his knees and staring out at the street. He glances up at me and says, “I wasn’t blaming anyone.”

  “I know that,” I reply softly and take a seat beside him. “And I think that maybe you really don’t have all the information you need to understand what’s going on. So what can I do to clear things up?”

  His expression morphs into relief. “Just explain the disease to me. How come he’s so bad off? How come there’s no hope?”

  “Pancreatic cancer is very aggressive,” I tell him bluntly. “There’s no telling exactly how long your dad was having symptoms before they were even noticeable to your mom. But eventually, they got to the point where they couldn’t be ignored. I know there was some back pain, which was at first discounted as aging. Then he lost his appetite, which caused him to lose weight. We thought that might be a bit of depression because he had to cut back on his work from the back pain. Your mom tried to get him to go to the doctor, but you know your dad...he didn’t even go get a physical each year. He hated going to the doctor.”

  “What made him finally go?” he asks me. “These are all details that were kept from me, I’m assuming because my mom didn’t want to worry me or because my dad and I just didn’t have a close enough relationship for him to confide.“

  “His skin started turning yellow, so I think that ultimately scared him enough to go get checked out.”

  “And by then, it was too late?” he guesses.

  “It had already spread to his liver and lungs,” I explain to him. I went with Brenda and Jim—at their request—to meet with the oncologist. “He was offered chemo, but it wasn’t going to buy him much time, and he didn’t want to deal with the side effects.”

  Rafe lets out a gust of frustrated breath. I believe all family members struggle with the choice to undergo chemo or not. Knowing it couldn’t fix Jim’s problem but merely buy him precious moments, the trade-off was the side effects for him.

  “Your dad really considered the options,” I tell Rafe, who twists his neck to finally give me his attention. “He weighed the pros and the cons and, ultimately, he decided not to do the chemo.”

  “I was never involved in that conversation,” he replies bitterly, thus revealing the source of his discontent: the fact that his opinion didn’t matter.

  I reach out and touch my hand to his arm. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Your mom tried to talk him into the chemo. It’s what she wanted, but not what he wanted.”

  Rafe stares at me for a long moment, clearly at war with his emotions. Finally, his expression smooths into one of acceptance, and he nods.

  It’s neither awkward nor unsettling that we simply stare at each other, neither of us needing to say anything. I wait to see if he has more questions, but the sound of tires rasping on cement nabs our attention, and we turn to see a black Corvette pulling into my parents’ driveway.

  My spine stiffens as the car comes to a stop, and the driver’s door opens. “Shit,” I mutter.

  Rafe stands, and I do the same as I see my ex-boyfriend unfurl his big body from the little sports car. I always thought he looked ridiculous crammed into that sardine can.

  “Who’s that?” Rafe asks, his tone guarded, and his stance vigilant.

  “My ex,” I mutter and move down the steps, intent on getting him right back in his car and on his way. “I’ll be right back.”

  He shuts the door as I walk toward him, his gaze flicking from me to Rafe, where he still stands on the porch.

  “Who’s that?” Grant demands, pointing an angry finger over my shoulder at Rafe.

  “A friend,” I tell him curtly, offering no more explanation because it’s none of his business. We broke up over two weeks ago, but Grant just doesn’t seem to get it.

  “We need to talk,” he says, shooting one last look in Rafe’s direction before bringing his attention to me. “I thought maybe we could run out, grab a beer or something.”

  “No, Grant.” I sigh with extreme frustration. “We can’t do that because we are over. Now you need to leave.”

  I get a smarmy, disbelieving smile in return. “I think if you just listen to me—”

  “She said you need to leave,” Rafe says from very close behind me, and I cringe. Grant is a complete hot-head, and this could totally escalate. I turn slowly, intent on making Rafe leave, but he refuses to look at me. Instead, he glares daggers at Grant.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Grant bellows, taking a threatening step toward Rafe.

  I give a very brief glance at Rafe, whose face contorts with anger, before I spin on Grant and slam my hands to his chest. I give him a solid push back, and he only moves be
cause I catch him off guard.

  Furious, I snarl at him. “You need to leave now, or I’m calling the police. You are not wanted here, nor do you have any right to be here.”

  Thankfully, Rafe remains silent, and I’m grateful because just one word from him could whip up Grant’s temper. But, apparently, my threat to call the police has some effect because Grant glares at me before spinning on his foot and muttering, “Don’t know why I put up with you, crazy bitch...”

  His words were loud enough for Rafe to hear. While we may have been broken up for the past eight years, I know the man well, and I know how he was raised. He’ll never stand for a man calling a woman a bitch.

  I spin quickly toward Rafe, and just as I did with Grant, I slam my hands to his chest and warn him, “Don’t even think about it.”

  Rafe leans into me, his eyes hot on Grant, but he heeds my warning. I glance over my shoulder, and I’m relieved to see Grant getting into his car. He cranks it, revs the engine until it whines in a vulgar display of male ego, and then he peels out of the driveway, proving that he’s a child and that it was a good thing I broke up with him.

  “What a fucktard, Calliope,” Rafe mutters with condescension, and I whip my gaze back to him. “Seriously...what did you see in him?”

  I give Rafe a hard push he’s not expecting. He takes two steps back and gives me an astonished look.

  “You’re as big an asshole as he is,” I growl at him. “And it’s none of your business what I may or may not have seen in him.”

  “Why are you angry at me?” he asks, completely oblivious. “I had your back, you know.”

  “Because it’s not your place to have my back anymore,” I retort, pointing an angry finger at him. “You lost that right eight years ago when you dumped me without an explanation.”

  Instantly, Rafe’s eyes fill with regret, and the sympathetic look he gives me causes my anger to boil over. “I’m so sorry—”

  “Don’t,” I exclaim, holding one palm out to him. “Don’t you dare try and apologize to me now. You lost that right, too. And, besides...it’s too late.”