What the hell do I do?
“Your foster mom doesn’t sound like a good person. Good people don’t hurt other people. I’m sorry you had to go through that. If I would have known about you, you wouldn’t have ever had to worry about being hurt, Dillon.”
“Yes, so,” he argues. “Cancer hurts. All the needles they stick me with. I don’t like it.”
This time, I choke. A small sob breaks free. “It does hurt, doesn’t it? I wish I could change it. I wish it was me instead of you. I really do.” No kid should have to battle cancer. He can’t die. He has to live. I want to watch him grow up and get married, and have kids of his own. I want to see him survive this because if he doesn’t, how the hell will I survive the rest of my life knowing I outlived my kid?
No parents wants that.
“Bed is made,” Finley says. “How about you get in the shower and get cleaned up? Your dad will bring you a fresh pair of pajamas. Then, I’ll bring you some warm chocolate chip cookies and milk!”
And just like that, Dillon is off my lap, smiling, and running to the bathroom. The shower turns on, and I don’t move from the chair. I need a minute.
Even if I do smell like piss.
Finley opens the dresser drawers until she finds the pajamas. She takes out Spiderman pants and a matching shirt along with fresh underwear. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly and tilt my head against the headrest. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what kid needs, Finley. And he’s dying.” I rub a hand over my mouth, and my eyes burn.
“You don’t know that.” She places the pajamas in my lap and squats to the floor. She lays her hands on my knees and squeezes. “You don’t know that he is dying. He’s fighting, and until the doctor says otherwise, he is very much alive. There’s a difference, okay? And as for what kids need, just love him, Grayson. That’s all they need. Seriously, love. It’s the answer for kids. As long as you love them, they will be happy living with you in a damn shoebox. Now, I have cookies to go make.” She stands and leans in for a kiss, but stops midway when she gets a whiff of how bad I smell and pulls away. “Maybe you should shower next.”
“You aren’t going to kiss me through smelly clothes? And I thought we could make it through anything,” I joke. I stand and step forward.
She holds out her hands and backs away. “Don’t you dare.”
“I want a kiss or I’ll wrap you in these smelly clothes.”
She stands on her tiptoes and gives me a quick peck before dashing of through the door. Finley turns around and sticks her tongue out at me and runs away toward the kitchen where she’s about to make chocolate chip cookies for Dillon.
She has a heart of gold.
My mind creeps back to when she lied to me about her age, but I don’t care about that anymore. I can’t focus on the past, not when she’s eighteen now, and my priorities are different.
I better go check on Dillon.
My eyes are heavy with exhaustion, and I knock on the door. “Dillon?” I call his name through the door, and I suddenly smell the heavenly scent of chocolate chip cookies. The hiss of the shower drowns out my voice, so I doubt he can hear me. “I’m coming in. I have your clothes, buddy,” I warn him just in case if he’s dancing naked or something. “Okay, I warned you.” I open the door, and the mirror is fogged. “It’s hot in here,” I say. “You burning your skin off? I’m just kidding. I love a hot shower too. Must be more like your old man than I thought.” I place his pajamas on the counter and turn toward. “Dillon? Can you hear me?”
All I hear is the water hitting the shower stall and the gurgle of the drain. “Dillon? It isn’t funny. Answer me right now, this instant.” My heart lodges in my throat, and the steam clings to my skin. The humidity makes it difficult to breathe, but I’m not sure if that’s from the heat or the panic. “Dillon! Answer me,” I yell and yank the black shower curtain back. “Dillon!” I scream when I see him unconscious on the shower floor.
I fall to my knees and reach for the shower knobs to turn them off. “Dillon?” I shake him, but he doesn’t move. That’s when I see the blood trickling from his head and circling down the drain. “Oh my god, Dillon. Help! Someone help me! Finley! Jaxon! Fucking someone. Call 911!” I gather my son in my arms and grab a towel along the way as I take him to my bed. I dry him off and check for a pulse on his neck with my two fingers. “Come on, come on,” I mutter and hang my head in relief when I feel the thump telling me he’s alive.
“What is it?”
“What’s wrong?”
“What going on?”
“Dillon!” Finley drops the milk and cookies she has in her hands, and they crash on the floor. Milk goes everywhere, and the cookies fly across the floor.
Jaxon, Heaven, Owen, Maggie, Zeke, everyone is crowding the door.
“Oh, no,” Maggie gasps.
“I’ve called 911 already. They are on their way,” Heaven says.
I start to dress Dillon, so he isn’t fucking naked when the paramedics come to get him. I’m shaking. I can’t get the buttons of his shirt to snap. “Dillon, wake up. Come on, buddy. You’re scaring the hell out of me.” I don’t know if he slipped and knocked himself out, or if it’s his cancer. I have too many thoughts going on in my head right now to think straight. He’s fine. He’s fighting. It isn’t his cancer. He’s going to be okay.
“What happened?” Finley and Maggie asks at the same time, flanking either side of me.
“I don’t know. He wasn’t answering me when I went to check on him in the bathroom, and I found him like this. His head was bleeding. Maggie, do you think it’s his cancer?”
“I can’t lie to you. It could be. It’s normal for patients to weaken over time.”
“He isn’t dying!” I shout at her, and Maggie jumps back.
“We don’t know anything.” Finley presses her hand to my chest, and it sends a reminder to my brain to breathe. “He’s going to be okay.”
“What if he isn’t?” I look toward my friends, and Quinn is cupping her belly, crying. Her babies are safe.
What about mine? He isn’t a baby, but he’s still a little boy. My baby boy. “What if he isn’t okay?”
The sirens outside have Jaxon running down the hall to let the paramedics in, and I pick Dillon up in my arms. He’s limp. I’m fucking terrified. I don’t care that everyone sees me panicking and freaking out. I don’t know how to have a clear and calm mind right now. I can’t stop the fucking tears. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to be. We were supposed to paint and decorate his room. He was going to be happy. He was going to love his room.
I hurry down the hall. Thinking about what-ifs can’t help him. Only the doctors can. When I get to the living room, the paramedics roll in with a gurney. “He has Leukemia. I think he slipped and fell in the shower. He has a head wound. I’m… I’m his dad. What’s wrong with him?” I ask, as if they know. They’re just the people who keep him alive long enough to get him to the doctor.