You'll Just Know

Chapter 4-Luke

*A/N- Hey guys! So I've been really into writing this book. Will be writing Amazing Grace soon if any of y'all are wondering. Anyway, hope you like it and thanks for voting, commenting, reading and fanning! ((:

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“Luke, I’m glad you’re home. Dad wanted to talk to you,” my mom said as I stepped through the back door. I nodded at my mother, not meeting her eyes. I didn’t want to see the bags underneath her normally lively green eyes, or see the silver in her red hair. She had lost weight as well, and I really didn’t want to see that.

I hurried through the kitchen and to my parents’ room. My dad was propped up in bed, his attention turned towards the television until he heard my footsteps.

A big smile crossed his tired face, making him look slightly healthier. But I knew it was an illusion. Dad wasn’t getting better, he was only getting worse. “Hey Dad, what’d you need to talk about?”

My dad’s grin faltered for a split second, but he hid it well, and I didn’t want to question it further anyway. “Hey, Lukeyboy,” he replied, his voice hoarse, “Come sit down by your old man, will ya?” I clenched my jaw, as I made my way over to his side and pulled a chair up to the bed. My dad hadn’t called me by that nickname since I was twelve. 

I waited for my dad to speak, noticing how weak he had gotten. My dad was a big man, just like me, and seeing him in the kind of state he was in made me want to throw something or smash a window. My dad had never been weak. He had always been strong and brave. The man I looked up to. And now here he was, in bed, his skin gray and his eyes glassy.

“What’d Coach, say?” he asked me, dodging whatever he had wanted to tell me for the time being.

I sighed, inwardly, not wanting to pretend like my dad was not on his death bed with cancer. But I did anyway. For him. “He says the team’s gone to shit since I left,” I replied, shaking my head and slapping a grin on my face.

My dad chuckled, before doubling over into a fit of coughing. I leaned forward, wanting to do something, but unsure what to do with my hands. Before I could call my mom into the room, he put a hand up, and seized coughing. “I’m alright, son,” he wheezed, laying back in bed and staring at me with determined eyes. 

“Luke,” he began. I could tell this was what he had wanted to talk to me about from the start. “You know I don’t have much longer-”

“Dad, stop-” I began, my eyes beginning to burn. I did not want to talk about this. I wasn’t even sure if I could.

“No, Luke. You’ve got to listen to me. Remember when I used to tell you before every football game, ‘It’s now or never?’” I nodded, pushing back the tears that threatened to form in my eyes. “Well, it’s now or never, son. I don’t know how much longer I’ve got, so I’m gonna tell my son what he’s gotta do-” my dad’s voice cracked, and I stared in disbelief as a tear rolled down his cheek. My dad never cried. I had never seen him cry, except once, when my grandpa died. 

“Dad, you’ve still got time,” I tried to assure him, hating myself for not knowing what to do. 

With surprising quickness, my dad reached out and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me closer to him. His eyes were wide as he growled. “Luke, I always knew there was gonna be a time when I wasn’t going to be here, and you would have to take care of your mother. Well now’s that time. She’s all you’ve got when I leave.” I hated the way he said ‘leave’ like it was his choice. “It’s your turn to be strong. It’s your turn to take care of your mother. She’s gonna need you.”