Page 48 of Famous Last Words
“She was first diagnosed when I was twelve. I used to look after her when the chemo was really tough. So periods and gross stuff are nothing to me,” he jokes. “Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”
“What about your dad?” My heart breaks at the thought of a twelve-year-old boy having to take care of his mom in ways no child should have to.
Robbie scoffs. “He was an addict who used to beat on my mom. He took off when I was eight. Haven’t heard from him since.Probably dead. He must be, considering he hasn’t crawled out of some gutter to ask me for money.”
I puff air from my cheeks, but I say nothing.
“Mom went into remission, and she was good for a long time. But then when I was seventeen, she had a recurrence. She didn’t tell me because I was away at Belmont at the time, and she knew how important hockey was, so she kept it to herself because she didn’t want me to lose focus.”
I think back to Robbie Mason when we were at Belmont Prep together. He was such an arrogant jerk. At least that’s what I thought at the time. And for many years after. But now, with the added benefit of hindsight, I’m starting to see that Robbie was just a kid who’d been through way too much at his age, was trying to fit in, trying to make it, with the weight of the world secretly resting upon his shoulders.
“Mom beat it again the second time. But then it came back just last year. And it’s… everywhere. And it makes me so fucking angry.” He exhales heavily. “She spent all her time and all her money on me when I was growing up becauseIwanted to play hockey, andIhad to have the newest skates and the best gear, even though sometimes at night I’d eat dinner and she wouldn’t. She’d tell me it was because she wasn’t hungry, or she’d had a big lunch, but I knew the truth. And I chose to ignore it and eat my dinner like a spoiled fucking brat.” He scoffs again, only this time it’s self-deprecating.
“Robbie, you were just a kid,” I interject, trying to reassure him.
“I promised myself that as soon as I made it big, as soon as I got some money, I’d take care of her. But then hockey took over and now it’s too late.”
“I’m so sorry, Robbie,” I say sincerely, my heart breaking for him.
“It all happened so fast this time. Once the chemo stopped working, the doctors basically told us there’s not a lot they can do. I looked into trials and programs all over the world, but Ma said she didn’t want to do any of that. Said she’s been through so much, and now it’s just about keeping her comfortable.”
Thank God it’s dark because the last thing I want is for Robbie to see the tears brimming in my eyes, threatening to spill over.I clear my throat. “Is she, um, still in Boston?”
“Yeah, she’s still there. Still in the shitty house I grew up in because she refused to let me buy her a new one. She’s always been like that, my ma. She’s the most selfless person I know.” I can hear the fondness in his tone, and my heart swells. “I’ve arranged for a nurse to live with her, to keep her safe and comfortable. And I try to get there as much as I can to see her. I’d love for her to come here to New York, stay with me for a while, but travel is hard for her, and I know she’s comfortable at home.”
An obvious heaviness settles between us, and it’s at that moment I realize just how close we are. I can feel Robbie’s breath fan against my cheek, feel his warmth, feel his sadness.
“Thanks for coming here tonight to check on me,” I say after a moment.
“Are you still in pain?” he asks, his voice dangerously low and right there.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “But I’ll be okay, I’m?—”
“Lie back,” he interjects.
“Huh?”
“Roll onto your back.”
Confused, I slowly roll over so that I’m facing the ceiling again, but just as I’m about to ask what the heck he’s doing, Robbie shifts even closer, one of his muscular thighs coming to rest over mine. His hand trails tentatively down my hoodie from just underneath my breasts, over my stomach before dipping underneath and stopping at my bare skin. When his fingers toy with the waistband of my sweatpants, I can’t help but suck in a tremulous breath.What is happening?
“It’s okay,” he whispers so close I’m sure I can feel a brush of his lips against my ear. “I got you.”
Again… What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening?
I’m about to remind him that it’s really not a great time for him to delve any further south, but he stops, and his palm rests flat against my lower belly before his strong fingers start to move with the perfect amount of pressure, massaging away the painful ache beneath the surface. It’s so good, I almost moan, but I manage to keep my sounds in, sighing instead, and allowing my head to sink deeper into my pillows.
“Is this okay?” Robbie asks, his voice barely a whisper.
“Mmm... yeah.” I stifle another moan, feeling my body become lax beneath the totally non-sexual ministrations of his fingers.
This is something I’ve never experienced before, and I can’t say I hate it.
“Go to sleep, Keller,” he whispers again, those lips and the stubble lining his jaw brushing against my skin.
I make a sound. At least, I think I make a sound. And I’m pretty sure whatever sound it was, was met with a low chuckle. But my eyelids are too heavy, and before I know it, I’m swallowed up by a cloud of bliss.
When I wake in the morning, to the sound of the city alive outside, I’m still in pain, but it’s a dull pain, misty with the morning-after fog of one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in as long as I can remember.
