Page 33 of Somewhere Only We Know (Healing in Cincy #4)

How was I just kissing the love of my life hours ago and come home to this? This ugly reality that my parents lied to me when I asked them point blank if I needed to worry.

The ride to the hospital is almost one that you want to forget but you’ll unfortunately remember for the rest of your life. How many turns it takes and the undisclosed number of potholes we unfortunately hit. This ride is one I’ll unfortunately remember.

When we pull up and unload, I follow them into the ER until my dad is admitted to an actual room. He’s still unconscious and that does not do well to ease my fears. It’s then that I need to call my mom. Kissing my dad on the cheek, I step outside and dial her number.

“Nate, you’re home!”

I tamp down my anger and tell her what she needs to know. “Dad and I are at the hospital. He was on the floor when I got home and unconscious.”

“Shit. What hospital?” She asks hurriedly and I hear her packing her things up to leave work.

“VB General.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

My mom hangs up and I stare at my phone. It’s also when I realize someone needs to pick up Kayla, so I call one of the gymnastics moms to see if she can stay with them for a bit.

“Hello?” Mrs. Greenfield answers.

“Hi, Faith. It’s Nate. Um, something came up, but do you mind if Kayla goes home with you all?” I try to come off unaffected, but my throat feels like sandpaper and I’m sure she can tell.

“Sure, honey. Is everything okay?”

I bite down hard on my back teeth, I fear they’ll crack. “No. But I don’t wanna worry her.”

“Okay, honey. She can stay as long as she needs to.” She says softly and the way she says it makes me want to punch a brick wall.

“Thank you.” I hang up and stand out in the breezeway. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for my mom. Waiting for someone or something to wake me up from this godforsaken nightmare I’ve found myself in. How?

“Nate!” I hear called out to my left. Her short hair is styled in a tinkerbell cut and her body is covered head to toe in layers to brace for the winter cold.

Even in the winter, my mom’s umber skin is warm like she spent hours in the sun despite being at the office when I called.

She rushes up to me and it’s clear the strain from this secret dad and her have kept from me has eaten away at her.

“Mom.” I say and stand up to my full height. I level her with a stare that tells her I’m angry and scared shitless. “What is happening?”

“We don’t know,” she tells me and I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Nate, I promise I am not lying to you.”

“But it’s something?” I ask, grasping for some information.

My mom nods. “Yes.”

I look over her head and to the parking lot.

Rows of cars litter the asphalt, the sound of jets taking off from the nearby Naval Station, and the sound of semi-trucks brakes squeaking as they come to a stop at a stoplight is one of familiarity in Virginia Beach.

Only, I’ve never heard them from the hospital.

And it’s now, as I’m standing outside of a hospital, that I hate the sight and sound of all those things that feel like home.

Letting out a breath, I angle my head to the side. “Okay. I’ll take you to his room.”

After my mom checks in and gets a name tag, I take her back up to his room.

I go to the chair by the window and watch as they have a moment.

Dad finally woke up and is hooked up to machines with an IV drip administering something that’s above my knowledge.

They talk in low voices and I see my dad’s eyes flicker to me a few times.

That look does very little to ease my concerns over him.

A knock sounds and in comes the doctor with a nurse following close behind. Every muscle in my body coils as I wait for what he’s about to say .

“Christopher, we compared your tests from your last visit and everything still looks the same.”

My spine straightens as I level a glare at my parents and then swing it to the doctor and then back to my parents.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt while not sorry in the slightest, “did you say ‘last visit’? When was this?”

The doctor has the nerve to look taken aback and he looks to my parents who finally give him a nod. “Nathan, your Dad is sick.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But from what? Because this is the first time I’m hearing about any of this.”

“Nate,” my mom tries to calm me down.

“No! I asked you both last summer if everything was okay. And you lied to my face.” I tuck my hands in fists and feel the bite of pain from my nails.

I will not cry. Crying makes me look weak.

But not knowing what’s wrong with my dad, the man I’ve looked up to my entire life, makes me feel helpless.

“That’s because we don’t know what’s wrong,” the doctor chimes in.

I turn my attention to him. “What do you mean?”

The doctor leans against the wall and directs his attention on me. “While your dad is sick, we’ve run so many tests and have come up with nothing. But my guess would be IPF.”

“What’s–what is that, exactly?”

“It’s more common in older men, but idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis mainly attacks the lungs. Which explains the coughing.”

I slide my eyes to my parents and they’re looking at me with sympathy. “Is there a cure?”

“I’m afraid not. ”

My mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for breath. “Does he have a timeline?”

The doctor looks at my parents and I see them nod again from the corner of my eyes, giving him the okay to tell me. “Right now, with you finding your dad unconscious and him being down for an unknown amount of time, he has a few months. Give or take.”

I gnash my teeth together so hard I fear they may crack in two. A few months? No. He’s supposed to meet Jax and watch me become a father. There is no way my dad is dying. I’m not ready to join that club.

The doctor speaks to my parents, but I don’t hear a word he says so I stare at the floor trying to make sense of this nightmare I find myself living. And when the door closes, I let the silence linger. I know my parents are worried about me. But they don’t need to be.

“I’m staying here,” I say as I keep my eyes on the tile floor.

“What do you mean, you’re staying here?” My mom asks.

“I’m gonna withdraw from Phil U and transfer here.”

“No.” My dad says, albeit weakly.

“What do you mean, no ? You two kept this from me for months, when I asked you if I should be worried. And to find out you now have months? No. I’d rather transfer here to be close.”

“Nathan, what about baseball? It’s your final semester too.”

A cold sweat coats my skin as I think about what I’m giving up.

My chance at the Major League. An internship at the top architecture firms in the country.

All of it slipping away for a chance to stay close to my family.

And Jax. I bury my head in my hands as I know this is going to crush her.

The plans we’ve made, disappearing faster than cotton candy on your tongue.

I won’t put this on her. It’s not fair to put this on her.

It’s not fair to put this on anyone. But I can’t tell her right now.

Honestly, there is no right time to tell her I’m not coming back.

“I’ll figure it out. But there is no way I’m going back to school five hours away. No.”

“Okay. If that’s what you want,” my mom says.

“It is.” I tell them.

A week has gone by since I came home for winter break.

Since I found my dad facedown on the living room floor.

And a week since I’ve ignored every one of Jax’s texts.

Everyday I’ve gone on a run until my legs turned to jell-o in an attempt to build up the courage to tell her I’m not coming back.

But every time I pick up the phone and look at her countless unanswered texts, I close out of the app, promising to myself that the next day will be the day I tell her.

Today is that day. Today needs to be that day.

Me: I’m not coming back to school. I’m sorry.

After the message is delivered, I turn my phone off and decide to run down to the beach.

Doesn’t matter that it’s December. Doesn’t matter that this is my second run of the day.

I just gave up three of the most important things in my life to stay home with my family.

And while I love my family, I’m more hurt and lost that I now have to start over.