“Josh…” Ella’s hand lands on his arm. “You can’t just stop everything you have going at the moment to look after Chaz. I know you want to—”
“Shut up!” he blurts. “You weren’t there, okay? She was. She saved me! When you and dad turned your backs on me, she saved me! She practically raised Tommy, and me, because I had nothing. I was nothing. Nothing but a scared shitless little kid and she saved me. And now I need to do the same! Why don’t you get that?!”
Dad stomps toward us, but I raise my hand to stop him. Then I hold up my finger at Dr. Richards, asking him to wait. He nods once, and that’s when I stand quickly and grab Josh’s arm, forcing him to his feet. I place my hands on his back and push him to the door. The second we’re out of the room, he inhales deeply, his gaze on the ceiling and his fists in his hair. His eyes drop to mine, his lips trembling as he holds one hand over his heart, the other reaching for me. As soon as I’m in his arms, he breaks. “There’s this build up in my chest, Becs. This ache so strong it’s blurring my vision.” He sniffs once. “Or maybe it’s the guilt. Or the anger. I have no idea.”
“It’s okay,” I try to whisper, but nothing comes out. Nothing. Not that it matters. I doubt he would’ve heard it over the heaviness of his breaths. His chest rises and falls as he struggles with the news, and once he’s calm and his eyes are dry, he takes one more inhale through his nose. “Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand. Josh clears his throat a foot inside the room. “Just tell me what I need to do. Please.”
—Joshua—
Dr. Richards makes an appointment for us at his office the next day, saying it’s a lot more “tranquil” than the hospital. I know he directed the comment at me. I don’t care. I don’t need tranquil, I need solutions. Answers. He tells us Chaz is undergoing more tests, more prods, more pokes, and that she won’t be back in the room until later that night.
The others leave. I don’t.
I wait until she’s returned and spend the entire night watching her sleep, and while I do, I wonder how it’s possible that God can do this to a woman who’s spent the majority of her life worshipping the words of the Bible.
With reluctance, I leave her mid-morning, my body aching from fatigue, and go home with just enough time to shower and change before the meeting at Dr. Richards’s office.
Becca stands from her seated position on the porch steps when I pull into the driveway. Chaz’s car is gone, meaning her dad probably is, too. And I try my hardest not to let his actions be the cause of my anger, because there’s so much more happening right now that deserves my hurt than him.
“Did you spend all night with Grams?” Becca’s phone asks as she falls into step beside me.
I head for my apartment and try not to look at her. “Yep.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Nope.”
She pulls on my arm, forcing me to face her, then looks down at her phone and types away. “Are you mad at me?”
“I don’t know, Becs,” I say through a heavy exhale. I glance at her eyes—a mixture of sad and hope. “I don’t know what I am right now.” I shake my head. “Why does your dad hate me so much?”
Her frown is instant. Her thumbs, however, hesitate. “He’s just protective.”
“Of me?”
She shrugs.
I take a moment to carefully select my words. “There has to be a reason why he feels the need to shelter you from me. The only thing he has to go by is whatever you’ve told him. So I guess that proves how you feel about me. Maybe the other night was a mistake. I should’ve never asked you to stay with me.” Her mouth opens, no words come out, and I’m reminded again of why and how she is the way she is. “It’s okay, Becs. Seriously. We got caught up in the moment and it’s cool. I’m not mad.”
She inhales deeply, her chest rising slowly and falling quickly. Then she uses two fingers and points to her eyes. I don’t really understand why, but I keep my gaze on hers as it lowers so she can type on her phone. “Please don’t shut me out. Don’t push me away.” She glances up at me, making sure I’m still watching her eyes—eyes I was drawn to from the moment I saw her. Then she taps her phone, her thoughts echoed through the digitized voice, “Not again, Josh.”
My knees weaken at her words, words unintentionally destroying every thought process, every ounce of sense I’d spent the entire night trying to find, and before I get a chance to respond, she adds, “I understand that Grams is important to you. But she’s important to me, too. She’s my grandmother. And everyone’s treating me like they’ve forgotten that. It’s bad enough that she has.”
“I know,” I say quickly. I pull her into me, her hands trapped between us as she continues to write.
“And then there’s this whole thing between you and Dad, and I don’t know who to be near, who to comfort…”
“I’m sorry.”
She returns my hug now, her tear-soaked eyes meeting mine. My lips meet hers, only for a second before the honking of a horn pulls us apart. Becca’s arms drop, her gaze shifting between the car and me.
“Go with him, Becs. You need each other right now. You’re her family.”
* * *
Martin and Becca are waiting outside the office for me, along with the last person I thought would be here. Mom shuffles on her feet, her hands clasped in front of her and her discomfort evident. I feel like a kid—a kid who’s disappointed his mother—which is exactly what I am. And all of a sudden, my heart’s heavy, caused by the weight of my guilt. “I’m sorry, Ma.”
“It’s okay, Joshua. You’re going through a lot.”
“It doesn’t excuse the way I spoke to you, though. Nothing does.”
She smiles, but it’s sad. “You know I love Chazarae, right?”
“I know. I was just being dumb.”
She inhales deeply, before she rushes out, “Josh. Out there, in the skate world—”
“Stop. I don’t want to think about it.” Especially with Becca and Martin right fucking here.
“Just let me finish.” She steps forward. “Out there, you’re on your own. The pressure’s on you and you alone to succeed, and you do an amazing job of that. There’s not a single person out there who can say you struggle to do things on your own… but this doesn’t have to be one of those moments. You have Becca, Martin, and you have your mamma.”
I can’t help but smile. “And I need my mamma.”
She cups my cheek and pouts at me. “And I’m always going to be here, sweetheart.”
* * *
Dr. Richards’s office is small, or maybe it’s Martin’s behemoth frame. Add to that the giant elephant in the room and there’s barely enough oxygen to cover us all. Becca and my mother sit on the chairs opposite the doctor. Martin paces. I stand by the closed door doing everything I can to focus on the reason we’re here and nothing else.
“I spoke to Chazarae again after discussing her situation with you all yesterday,” Dr. Richards says, his eyes scanning the room, making sure he’s giving everyone the same level of attention. “In her case, time is a big issue, so I asked her again about who she wanted as her power of attorney. I mentioned that Martin was here, and so was Becca, and she understood, to a degree. But she still chose you, Joshua.”
“Shut up!” he blurts. “You weren’t there, okay? She was. She saved me! When you and dad turned your backs on me, she saved me! She practically raised Tommy, and me, because I had nothing. I was nothing. Nothing but a scared shitless little kid and she saved me. And now I need to do the same! Why don’t you get that?!”
Dad stomps toward us, but I raise my hand to stop him. Then I hold up my finger at Dr. Richards, asking him to wait. He nods once, and that’s when I stand quickly and grab Josh’s arm, forcing him to his feet. I place my hands on his back and push him to the door. The second we’re out of the room, he inhales deeply, his gaze on the ceiling and his fists in his hair. His eyes drop to mine, his lips trembling as he holds one hand over his heart, the other reaching for me. As soon as I’m in his arms, he breaks. “There’s this build up in my chest, Becs. This ache so strong it’s blurring my vision.” He sniffs once. “Or maybe it’s the guilt. Or the anger. I have no idea.”
“It’s okay,” I try to whisper, but nothing comes out. Nothing. Not that it matters. I doubt he would’ve heard it over the heaviness of his breaths. His chest rises and falls as he struggles with the news, and once he’s calm and his eyes are dry, he takes one more inhale through his nose. “Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand. Josh clears his throat a foot inside the room. “Just tell me what I need to do. Please.”
—Joshua—
Dr. Richards makes an appointment for us at his office the next day, saying it’s a lot more “tranquil” than the hospital. I know he directed the comment at me. I don’t care. I don’t need tranquil, I need solutions. Answers. He tells us Chaz is undergoing more tests, more prods, more pokes, and that she won’t be back in the room until later that night.
The others leave. I don’t.
I wait until she’s returned and spend the entire night watching her sleep, and while I do, I wonder how it’s possible that God can do this to a woman who’s spent the majority of her life worshipping the words of the Bible.
With reluctance, I leave her mid-morning, my body aching from fatigue, and go home with just enough time to shower and change before the meeting at Dr. Richards’s office.
Becca stands from her seated position on the porch steps when I pull into the driveway. Chaz’s car is gone, meaning her dad probably is, too. And I try my hardest not to let his actions be the cause of my anger, because there’s so much more happening right now that deserves my hurt than him.
“Did you spend all night with Grams?” Becca’s phone asks as she falls into step beside me.
I head for my apartment and try not to look at her. “Yep.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Nope.”
She pulls on my arm, forcing me to face her, then looks down at her phone and types away. “Are you mad at me?”
“I don’t know, Becs,” I say through a heavy exhale. I glance at her eyes—a mixture of sad and hope. “I don’t know what I am right now.” I shake my head. “Why does your dad hate me so much?”
Her frown is instant. Her thumbs, however, hesitate. “He’s just protective.”
“Of me?”
She shrugs.
I take a moment to carefully select my words. “There has to be a reason why he feels the need to shelter you from me. The only thing he has to go by is whatever you’ve told him. So I guess that proves how you feel about me. Maybe the other night was a mistake. I should’ve never asked you to stay with me.” Her mouth opens, no words come out, and I’m reminded again of why and how she is the way she is. “It’s okay, Becs. Seriously. We got caught up in the moment and it’s cool. I’m not mad.”
She inhales deeply, her chest rising slowly and falling quickly. Then she uses two fingers and points to her eyes. I don’t really understand why, but I keep my gaze on hers as it lowers so she can type on her phone. “Please don’t shut me out. Don’t push me away.” She glances up at me, making sure I’m still watching her eyes—eyes I was drawn to from the moment I saw her. Then she taps her phone, her thoughts echoed through the digitized voice, “Not again, Josh.”
My knees weaken at her words, words unintentionally destroying every thought process, every ounce of sense I’d spent the entire night trying to find, and before I get a chance to respond, she adds, “I understand that Grams is important to you. But she’s important to me, too. She’s my grandmother. And everyone’s treating me like they’ve forgotten that. It’s bad enough that she has.”
“I know,” I say quickly. I pull her into me, her hands trapped between us as she continues to write.
“And then there’s this whole thing between you and Dad, and I don’t know who to be near, who to comfort…”
“I’m sorry.”
She returns my hug now, her tear-soaked eyes meeting mine. My lips meet hers, only for a second before the honking of a horn pulls us apart. Becca’s arms drop, her gaze shifting between the car and me.
“Go with him, Becs. You need each other right now. You’re her family.”
* * *
Martin and Becca are waiting outside the office for me, along with the last person I thought would be here. Mom shuffles on her feet, her hands clasped in front of her and her discomfort evident. I feel like a kid—a kid who’s disappointed his mother—which is exactly what I am. And all of a sudden, my heart’s heavy, caused by the weight of my guilt. “I’m sorry, Ma.”
“It’s okay, Joshua. You’re going through a lot.”
“It doesn’t excuse the way I spoke to you, though. Nothing does.”
She smiles, but it’s sad. “You know I love Chazarae, right?”
“I know. I was just being dumb.”
She inhales deeply, before she rushes out, “Josh. Out there, in the skate world—”
“Stop. I don’t want to think about it.” Especially with Becca and Martin right fucking here.
“Just let me finish.” She steps forward. “Out there, you’re on your own. The pressure’s on you and you alone to succeed, and you do an amazing job of that. There’s not a single person out there who can say you struggle to do things on your own… but this doesn’t have to be one of those moments. You have Becca, Martin, and you have your mamma.”
I can’t help but smile. “And I need my mamma.”
She cups my cheek and pouts at me. “And I’m always going to be here, sweetheart.”
* * *
Dr. Richards’s office is small, or maybe it’s Martin’s behemoth frame. Add to that the giant elephant in the room and there’s barely enough oxygen to cover us all. Becca and my mother sit on the chairs opposite the doctor. Martin paces. I stand by the closed door doing everything I can to focus on the reason we’re here and nothing else.
“I spoke to Chazarae again after discussing her situation with you all yesterday,” Dr. Richards says, his eyes scanning the room, making sure he’s giving everyone the same level of attention. “In her case, time is a big issue, so I asked her again about who she wanted as her power of attorney. I mentioned that Martin was here, and so was Becca, and she understood, to a degree. But she still chose you, Joshua.”
