Page 87 of When Sky Breaks

Clinging to the doorframe, I make a decision. Whether it’s delirium leftover from the cold medicine or the reckless pounding in my chest, I don’t care. I step into his room and pull back the covers of his bed. Sliding under the cool sheets, I find my soul sighing as if it’s finally home. His pillow smells like him. I hold it close and shut my eyes. Burying my nose into the soft material, I take a deep breath and smile.

Sleep claims me fast and Winter tucks in close at my back, chuffing out a grumpy breath.

Instead of a nightmare, I dream of a future.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

august

Foster groans as he eases into his recliner after enduring another grueling round of chemo yesterday. He doesn’t let you see the pain. He’s proud and tries to hide the grimace on his pale face.

In my early life, I learned to read people, their intentions, their vibes. Being ignored for most of my childhood meant I got good at navigating a room and those in it. Foster is the real deal. A genuine man who wants nothing but the best for his family, even if it means pretending he isn’t two steps from falling over with exhaustion.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Food?” Poor choice of words as his face turns ashen, the purple shadows under his eyes darkening.

“I’m okay. I’ll let you know. For now, how about you just sit down for a bit and talk with me?”

“Wouldn’t you rather lie down?” I attempt again to subdue the big guy.

“No, I’d rather sit and talk to you about my little girl.” He slices his eyes to me.

Oh.

I should’ve known this was coming. He didn’t call me to help just for fun this time. I respect the hell out of Foster, but even his piercing blue eyes worn down by chemo are intimidating.

Lowering myself to the couch, I prepare for the lecture. I deserve whatever he throws at me, but I’ll get him to understand I’ll fight for her, too.

“First off, how you holding up? I didn’t know your dad well, but I know losing a parent is never easy. I get that firsthand.”

The raw pain on Foster’s face stabs my gut. He lost his wife when Trek and I were kids, but the time didn’t diminish his feelings for her. A soft smile of understanding soon replaces it.

He came to my dad’s funeral, and his heavy, comforting arm around my shoulder while my mom shattered burned itself into my mind. For a brief second, I imagined it was my father’s arm.

“I’m doing all right.” I settle onto the couch and clasp my hands together. “My mom still struggles a bit with being alone, but I visit when I can, even though it’s hard. But we’ll be okay.”

Foster watches me, looking for a breach in my platitude. “Time will make the hole of grief smaller. It will never go away completely, but eventually, it won’t hurt as bad.”

Is that how it is with Sky and losing Chase? How Trek feels about his mom dying at such a young age?

“I hope you’re right,” I murmur before taking a quick glance out the window. “Please tell me Trek at least mowed your lawn since he’s been back?”

Foster chuckles lightly. “Yeah, he did. Don’t worry about it. But I appreciate all the help you’ve given me.”

I shrug and ping my eyes around the place. “I didn’t really do much.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you did.”

Since the day I found Foster leaning against a wall in the grocery store, looking worse for wear, I’ve inserted myself into his life. He didn’t know about the cancer yet, but he knew something was up. Tired and weak, these two things were not synonymous with the affable Foster Berry. Everyone loves and admires him and the work he does with the fire department. Me included.

For months, I fixed a few things here and there at the house, offering my meager company until Trek moved back home.

Foster and I still converse, but his son and daughter are here and more than capable of taking care of the minor details of running a home. Plus, I couldn’t handle the awkwardness. But now? I’d be over every day if I was allowed.

I clear my throat and pick at the fabric on the couch that the cat’s claws have nicked. “I wish I could’ve done more.”

Foster leans forward in his recliner and places a heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “Son, look at me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I dart my gaze over.

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