Page 3 of A Shot of Pretty Poison

Her chest falls as she lets out the air in her lungs. “I want to see the sunrise on the beach. And I want to have dinner with my kids. And I want to look forward to the next day and not worry about if I’ll be too nauseous to hold down my lunch.”

There it is.I hold back all of the emotions that flood through me at the sound of her words. If there’s any time that I need to get her to believe I’m okay, it’s now. And she looks scared until I force a warm smile on my face.

“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll sign the paperwork. As of today, you’ll be able to rest without worry.”

There’s relief in her eyes. The kind you see in a young child when they finally get the comfort of their mother. It’s that moment when they know that everything is going to be all right. They’re safe. They’re warm. They’re protected.

And now I have to sign a paper that means all of that will be ending soon for me, for the sake of giving it to her.

“I love you, Hayes,” she says. “I love you so much.”

I stand and kiss her forehead once more. “I love you too, Mom.”

The second I leave her room, I need to grip the railing against the wall for support. When I woke up this morning, I knew this meeting was going to be hard. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where all of this was going. Happy news normally doesn’t require a conference room. But there’s no way to mentally prepare for having to sign a document that officially ends all lifesaving treatment for the woman who raised you.

The woman who loved you even when you didn’t feel lovable.

The woman who helped you pick up the pieces of your broken life. Multiple times.

There’s no way to get through that without it completely ripping you apart.

Dr. Chen keeps a comforting hand on my shoulder as I sign and initial on all the necessary lines. If I’m honest, it feels a lot like giving up, but this isn’t my battle to fight—no matter how much I wish it was. Once I’m done, the notary stamps it and hands me back my license.

“There are different level of care options,” the hospice rep says. “I’ll leave this paperwork with you. I’ve highlighted the one I believe best suits her, but look that over and let me know.”

I shake my head. “No need. Just do whatever is going to make her the most comfortable.”

She and the director share a glance, but it’s him that explains. “Mr. Wilder, each level of care comes at a certain price bracket. And her insurance won’t cover it past thirty days.”

Of course it won’t.“I understand, but my answer remains the same. Her comfort is what’s most important to me right now. Do what you need to do.”

They both nod. The question that conversation raised lingers in the air, but it’s not one I’ll ask. I don’t want to know how much time she has left, or when I’ll have to say goodbye to her. All she wants is to enjoy the time she has, and I’m going to give her that.

“Thank you for all you do for my mother,” I tell everyone in the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work.”

Shaking each of their hands, I feel the vomit creeping up the back of my throat. I leave the room with as much calmness as I can manage, but the minute I’m out of sight, I book it to the bathroom.

If I thought coffee tasted gross in general, there’s no way to explain how repulsive it is when it comes back up. But as I crash onto the floor after emptying my stomach, that’s the least of my worries.

There’s something to be said about those who can carry the burdens of the world on their shoulders. The ones whose knees don’t buckle under the pressure of it all. I try to be that guy—for my mom and for Devin—but sometimes I can’t help but wonder the one thing I never should.

Would it be any easier if she were still here?

If I had her to lean on at night, would the agony be any less intense?

Problem is, I’ll never know. So, I push the thought of her away once more, like the trained professional I am, and I pick myself up off the floor.

Because if I don’t, no one else will.

THE BAR IS STARTINGto pick up, with the summer months approaching. Not that the rest of the year is slow by any means. The laidback environment and the beachy feel that the place has earned us the title of Best Bar in the County last year. Though while I wish that was responsible for our success, it’s not.

Our barmaid, Riley, posted a TikTok of Cam that went viral. Apparently, there’s something attractive about a bartender who can mix a drink and shotgun a beer, all while the saltwater is still in his hair and his wetsuit hangs halfway off his body. Since then, we’ve had people come from all over just to get a glimpse of Cam.

And while you’d think he would eat the attention up, he’s more focused on the business than the flirting—especially after what went down between him and Mali.

But that’s not my story to tell.

As I walk in, Cam is standing behind the bar, getting it ready to open. He glances up at me for a second.

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