Page 12 of When Sky Breaks

My breathing fumbles when I snag on August’s sweatshirt in the drawer, the soft material bringing more tears.

Before I go overboard with my emotions, I grow impulsive and stuff it in my bag along with the unopened packages from Trek. He sees them and quirks a brow, but all he’s getting from me is the silent treatment. I’m not ready to go down the rabbit hole with him.

Not yet.

“When is his appointment with the oncologist?”

“Tuesday.”

“And it’s really cancer?” I fight back more tears.

He rubs his temple, the blue in his eyes dimming a fraction as he nods.

My nurse hat is at war with my daughter hat, but I put one foot in front of the other and try not to focus on all the tiny medical details.

Just get home first.

* * *

The hug I give Phoebe is fierce, if not a little rough, as I drag her close enough to breathe in her rose shampoo. “Phoebs. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She leans back and brushes away the stray hairs that fell from my ponytail with all the packing. “He wasn’t supposed to be there. It was supposed to be a lunch thing. But if you knew Trek was forcing his way into our plans, you would’ve done what you do best where it concerns him. Run.”

“I was looking forward to another Cosmo, you know,” I mutter, some of my irritation deflating.

She laughs. “We’ll go back, I promise.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I sigh. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Feel free to sublet my room if you want. Work already knows I’m applying for a leave of absence for at least six months. Maybe longer.”

“And invite a potential serial killer into our apartment? Hell no. It’s yours until you don’t need it. Now go home. Take care of your dad and fix things with Trek.”

“I object, and I plead the fifth.”

“Doesn’t work outside the courtroom, babe,” she quips, her dark eyes glittering despite the somber circumstances.

“You’re spoiling my fun.”

“Hah, it’s called tough love.”

“Absolute bullshit,” I grumble, hiking my bag over my shoulder.

“When has love ever made sense? But I won’t lie. Losing the apartment doc will kind of suck.” She pouts.

“Nurse, Phoebs. Big difference.”

“Not to me. I’ll tell Graham you said goodbye and text you later. Give Foster a hug for me. Tell him I still have that fire extinguisher he gifted me at graduation.”

We laugh and hug again, this time—tight—because we want to.

Trek loads my bags in the trunk as I stare down at my phone. There are several missed calls from Johnny. I haven’t reached out to him yet, not because I don’t want to, but because I spent most of the evening and this morning in tears over Foster.

So I shouldn’t be surprised when he arrives in front of the apartment in his Range Rover.

Trek leans against my car with his arms folded and watches as Johnny gets out, lifting his sunglasses to his head. He’s clad head to toe in athletic gear, likely on his way to the hospital gym before his shift starts.

“You never called,” Johnny says, planting himself in front of me, his head cocked, concern furrowing his brows. He sees me carrying my purse. “Did I catch you at a bad time or…?”

I sigh and latch onto his arm, steering him down the sidewalk out of Trek’s listening radius.

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