Where the Waves Whisper

Chapter Forty-Eight

My eyes flutter open, but I squeeze them shut when the bright sun nearly blinds me. I groan into my pillow. My head is pounding – like someone is drilling into my brain with a jackhammer. My mouth is dry. I'd kill for a glass of water. I slept through the night, but I'm exhausted, and when I peel myself off the pillow and sit up, I grow lightheaded, and the room begins to spin.

I'm alone, but the sheet and comforter are pulled back and the pillow next to mine is dented in the center, like someone had been laying on it. I vaguely remember seeing Delaney next to me in the middle of the night, but that can't be right. I had to have been dreaming, because why would she be in bed with me after the way I acted yesterday. If I were her, I wouldn't be within five feet of this house. Within five feet of me.

I don't remember much from last night, if anything at all. I remember grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet when I got home from my parents' and drinking straight from the bottle. I remember yelling at someone. My right hand is caked in dry blood – the cuts from my fight with Will reopened after barely just healing – and I pull a hiss between my teeth when I stretch my fingers, opening and closing my hand. I didn't hit anyone last night, at least I don't think I did, so why the fuck was I bleeding?

Of all the things I don't remember, I can't forget the one thing I wish I could – that my father's cancer is back. In three to six months, he'll be gone. Dead – buried in a cemetery somewhere – and I'll never see him, or hug him, or talk to him ever again. Hercules will lose one of his favorite people, and I won't be able to explain to him what happened. He won't be at my wedding, and we won't share a celebratory glass of scotch before the ceremony. He's not going to watch Cole's children grow up, and he'll never meet mine. He'll just be gone, and we'll all go on with our lives – without him.

I remember the fear that coursed through my body when my father said those four words – "The cancer is back." It was like an electrical charge, surging through my veins and nearly setting my skin on fire. I stood from my chair before he finished telling us what the doctors said. I couldn't bear to hear the diagnosis. I already knew what he was going to say.

Terminal.

I remember seeing Delaney as I was getting in my truck. She knew something was wrong and kept asking if I was okay, but instead of being honest, I broke up with her. I pushed her away when I should have just told her the truth. She's been so supportive since the moment she found out my father was sick. Always asking how he's doing and how he's feeling. Indulging him with the things she knows he likes – jigsaw puzzles and the coconut cream chocolates from South Grove Candy Shoppe – and she checks in with my mother daily, asking if there is anything she can do for her, like drive my father to his appointments or pick up any groceries she may need.

She's been the support system we've all needed, and for me, the comforting stillness I crave when the world gets too loud.

"Hey," Delaney says, as she walks into my bedroom.