“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 because 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.”
Rafe’s mouth shuts, but he still regards me with regret written all over his face. I can’t stand it.
I move past him and make my way back into Brenda and Jim’s house. I’m going to have my cup of tea like I would on any other occasion while visiting. Then I’m going to ignore this man who still manages to provoke me and stretch all my emotions to the extreme.
Chapter 5
Rafe
I step out onto the ice, joining my team for pre-game warmup to the screams of fans and blaring rock music. I returned home to Raleigh a week ago, and much has happened since. I’ve assimilated well with the Cold Fury, and I’m getting ready to play in my third game for my new team. It’s the fifth game of this playoff round, and I’m confident that we can seal the deal tonight.
Each round of the Cup playoffs is seven games, and the first team to win four takes the round. The Cold Fury earned home-ice advantage, so the first two games—which we won—were in Raleigh. The next two games were in Toronto, my first to play with the team, and we split those, losing a heartbreaker in overtime the night before last. Tonight, we’re back on home ice, and we’re up three games to one. We’re determined and fired up for victory. Sometimes, you could just feel it in your bones.
I’m on a little bit of a high tonight. Got a call from one of my former teammates, Aaron Wylde, this afternoon. He called to check in on me. I’ve received dozens of calls, texts, and emails from many of my Vengeance teammates, but Wylde has reached out the most. He went through something similar off the ice, so more than anyone else, he understands the myriad emotions I’m feeling. I’m really grateful for his concern, and he’s been a great source of valuable advice on how to process everything.