Page 114 of Desiring an Angel

“Who is Skylar—”

“She’s the angel Rhett and I have been searching for, and they’re going to live happily ever after.” I found myself smiling at the image in my head of them holding each other.

But I wouldn’t be there.

Pain ripped through my chest, stealing my breath and flatlining my lips.

“Ashton, is there a doctor or nurse we can talk to?” Dad asked, his voice clear as though right beside me while I fought off sobs.

“Hey, Dad,” I choked out, glancing around the too-brightly lit room, expecting to see him. “No doctors or nurse—just like there’s no you. But I’ll have Rhett call you when all the test results come back.”

“Are you okay, honey?” Mom asked, concern evident in her tone.

The darkness crept inward again. “No, but Rhett will have Skylar when I’m gone. I’m just really sad I wasn’t able to give you a grandson, Dad.”

“What? Why?” Dad asked.

I shifted to wake myself fully, wincing as various aches made their way up my nerve endings. Why did dying have to hurt so damn much? And how had Ashton smiled through to the very end?

My throat tightened, but Dad had asked me a question.

“I heard how upset you were when I fell in love with Rhett instead of a girl, but I couldn’t help it,” I explained, my voice sounding…wobbly. “I’ve been searching for years for the right woman to fulfill your legacy, Dad, and I found her—but it’s too late. She’s not pregnant, and I’m dying.” I swallowed a sob because if I started to cry, so would Mom. Then I would really be upset.

“You don’t know that for sure, son,” Dad stated sternly while Mom sniffled. “And I’m sorry for putting my hopes and desires onto you. Sometimes we get overcome with grief and emotions and say things we don’t really mean. Whatever I did to make you think I disliked Rhett or your relationship, I’m sorry. I love him like a second son.”

“You were just so devastated,” I insisted, my childhood memories ingrained, written in my blood and replaying through my mind. “Like the golden boy had perished, leaving behind the sullen twin who couldn’t make anyone happy.” Words poured from me, things I’d shared with my therapist but hadn’t ever confronted my father with. “Add in I liked boys, and boom! I’m a failure.”

“No you’re not, Ashton,” Dad said, his tone firm, same as every time I’d been disciplined as a kid. “Yes, I was wrecked by Archer’s death, but I’ve never wanted anything but for you to live a full life and enjoy every minute you have on this earth. My father put pressure on me to have sons, and I’m so damn sorry I made you feel the same. That was never my intention, son. Ever.”

“My head wants to pop,” I muttered as pain radiated through my temple again, stealing my concentration. “Sorry—I forgive you, Dad. Every anniversary hurts, every birthday…oh, I got your message, Mom.” I spoke like Sky, flitting like a tweety bird from subject to subject, but my brain was just so damn fuzzy. Tired. “Sorry I never called back on Saturday. Rhett threw a birthday party for me, and well…it was a long night.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” Mom said, her voice soothing in my ear even though it sounded like she had tears in her eyes.

“I love you both. I’ll have Rhett call you once we have answers since I’m feeling a little…strange. Maybe drunk? But that’s probably the meds.”

“Do you want us to come out there?” Mom asked. “We can catch a flight tonight and be there tomorrow morning.”

While I would love to have her arms around me when I got the bad news about cancer, I didn’t want her and Dad to have to watch their only remaining son waste away.

They’d done it once. I refused to let them suffer seeing it again.

“I have Rhett and Skylar for now, but when we get answers, I’ll be in touch. Maybe you could spend a couple of weeks here…depending on how long I have.”

“What did the doctors have to say about your symptoms?” Dad asked.

“That it sounds like indigestion, maybe pancreatitis.” I struggled to keep my eyes from closing. “But I remember Archer feeling like this, and by the time his doctors figured it out, it was too late.”

“Because we brushed off his ailments,” Mom whispered.

“What?” I blinked my eyes open again.

“Of the two of you, he was the one who complained about everything—bath water too hot, nightlight too bright.”

“Didn’t he say that his water was too dry one time?” I asked, the memory floating through my brain even though I didn’t remember any of the things Mom had said.

“He did.” It sounded like Mom smiled again. “He made every little boo-boo seem like an amputated limb. When he didn’t like dinner, he said he had a bellyache so he wouldn’t have to finish.”

How had I forgotten what a whiny brat he’d been? Sure, he’d been happy-go-lucky, always positive with me, making me laugh, but I guess I’d only remembered the one side of him.

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