Page 152 of Leave Me Broken

“It’s not about cost.”

Her shoulders sink. “I-I can switch my school to online. I’ll be here to take care of you if the chemo is too much.”

“Payson.”

“I’m sure someone can step up in church.” She rips a hand through her messy hair that’s fallen from her bun in the midst of her pacing.

It’s physically killing me to watch her breakdown with each suggestion.

“Payson Ray.”

“Lots of people survive cancer. Lung cancer too. I looked up the statistics last night and they say fifty-six percent survive if it’s still in the lungs a-and if not, then it’s like five, but five is not zero, Grandpa.”

Paul pushes to his feet. It takes longer than it used to. Payson continues her argument until he cuts her off for the last time. “Payson Ray Murphy.”

Paul is thinner than I’ve ever seen him. He looks weak and frail, and I know if Payson would really look at him, she would know why he insists on not doing treatment. His kind eyes look tired as he glances at me before he focuses on his granddaughter. My throat tightens more, seeing the love pour from him. It’s very obvious how much he loves his granddaughter. Especially when he pulls her into his body. He might be smaller than her, but right now, it’s so easy to imagine a young Payson—child size—being hugged by her grandpa. All those memories she told me about flash before my eyes.

“It’s not zero, Grandpa.” Her voice cracks, my heart right along with it.

“I love you, Payson Ray.” Paul tightens his grip, and her sobs begin. Everything inside me begs to pull her into my arms but I know she needs this.

After a long while, they pull away. He holds her face between his hands as she sniffles. “I am too old for chemo, sweetheart.”

“I asked—”

“I am not doing treatments. My mind was made up when I found out about the disease.” His voice is firm for the first time ever—leaving no room for arguments. Probably why Payson pushes to her feet and sprints down the hall and outside.

The trailer falls to a sorrowful silence, besides my heart thundering for me to go after her. Paul stops me before I can.

“I’m eighty-seven years old.” He shakes his head and the faintest of smiles ghosts his face. “She’s always believed me to be younger. About ten years ago, she wanted roller skates for Christmas, so we got her a pair. When she opened hers, she asked where mine and her nana’s were so we could go together.” His blue eyes gloss over, but he’s still smiling. I want to smile but it’s impossible right now knowing my girl is out there crying and probably going through every emotion, alone. Things are hard right now; we’re not getting time together and I’m slowly loosing it. Luca is pissed at me, Parker is going through something since Janelle is gone. I’m trying to balance Payson, Parker, and everything else. Things in the universe are off kilt and I can’t fucking stand it. “She did not like the answer we gave her that we were too old.” He chuckles. “A week later, the three of us were at the roller rink, roller skating. And you know what?”

I swallow, attempting to rid the lump from my throat. It doesn’t work and my voice is hoarse. “What?”

“That is one of my most fond memories before my wife’s death. Without Payson’s pushing, I wouldn’t have that.”

“She’s very good at arguing her side.”

He nods. “Yes. But this is one thing I can’t cave on. If the cancer wasn’t killing me, the chemo would. I would be a shell of the man I am. I do not want to go out like that. I truly believe God has a timing for everything. If he wants me to live for another ten years, he will. Treatment or not.”

I’m not sure I believe that, but who am I to argue?

“Should we go check on her?”

Paul leans back in his chair and sighs. “Probably. Payson likes to be alone, but she shouldn’t. Not as much as she’s used to.”

He has no idea. I push to my feet, planning on doing just that but he stops me with a question.

“How are Payson and your son doing?”

I’ll never forgive myself for that idiotic lie. “I’m not sure. I would assume fine. I’ve not heard any different.”

“Hmm. It’s odd that he’s never comes around here.”

I pause. My back is still to him, so I know he can’t see me racking my brain, but he sounds suspicious enough that it has me wondering if just maybe he can. “I think Parker is just trying to adjust. He means no disrespect, sir.” I step back and turn so we are facing each other, him still in his chair. His eyes crinkle and his chin lifts.

“How old did I say I was, Coach?”

“Eighty-seven.” My jaw works overtime to stay loose, but it doesn’t work. I’m a thirty-three-year-old man. Far too old to have my relationship questioned. Unfortunately, the girl I am in a relationship with—is not.

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