Fuck.
What a moron.
I open the door and walk back in, having no choice but to look at them as they have clear line of vision from the kitchen. They haven’t budged an inch, but merely stare at me in surprise.
“Spazzed out for a moment,” I say with a sheepish grin as I nod toward the mudroom off the kitchen that leads into the garage. “Forgot my car was in there. Guess I’m just overly excited about the new job.”
Willow moves first by standing from her chair, and I’m terrified she knows I overheard them. I feel like I’m walking the plank as I head toward the kitchen, but she merely hurries over to give me a hard hug.
“Just in case you can’t get out in time before I leave for the airport,” she tells me, squeezing extra tight. “Promise we’ll text every day, okay?”
“Promise,” I whisper as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut so I don’t cry.
We break apart, and I shoot a glance at Dax, who is still sitting at the table with a slight smile on his face, as if my silly escapade out the front door amused him.
Or maybe it’s trying to cover the awkwardness of me having heard what he said. Maybe he knows I heard him say he pretty much detests the situation we’re in.
Stop it, Regan.
Stop dramatizing. Dax is merely talking about his frustrations. He doesn’t detest you. He cares for you. Well, for most of you. He hates the part that’s sick—
“I’ve got to get going,” I blurt out, mainly to stop my rampant thoughts before I crumble into a million pieces.
“Bye,” Willow chirps before she snags one more hug, her eyes a little moist.
“Bye, babe,” Dax says. This time, his smile is warm and fond, and he actually looks like he’ll miss me for the next few hours.
I try to memorize his face right now, as it almost dulls the pain of what I just listened to. He actually looks like he might love me right this moment, but I know my doubts will creep back up the minute I walk out of here.CHAPTER 30DaxI watch Regan leave, a funny feeling welling inside of me. Willow sits back down at the kitchen table.
“Did she seem all right to you?” I ask, staring at the closed door to the garage. I can hear the door lifting and then Regan’s car start.
“For God’s sake, Dax,” Willow snaps. “She’s good. Stop worrying.”
“No,” I say with a firm shake of my head as I give her my regard. “I mean… did she seem weird?”
“Weird how?” she inquires.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it.”
“I think you’re just overwhelmed, and you need to get things sorted out. So let’s get that shit done so I can leave for Kosovo and not worry about you two numb nuts flaking out on each other.”
“Then please figure out how to reduce my anxiety and stress about Regan,” I demand with a healthy level of sarcasm. “I mean… what the fuck do I do about away games? I can’t be here with her all the time to watch her.”
“Neither could Lance,” Willow points out. “He lived in New York while she lived in California after she was diagnosed. He figured out a way to live with the fear and anxiety.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?” I snap. “The fucker never shared Regan’s illness with me. Kept that all to himself and died with whatever pearls of wisdom he might have had for his best friend.”
“Bitter much?” Good thing she’s a girl, or else I’d be tempted to knock that smirk off her face. Downside to growing up with smart-ass sisters.
“I’m not bitter,” I insist. “But it does make me wonder how he did it.”
Willow’s tone gentles. “He did it one day at a time. He figured it out through trial and error, I’m sure. He got more confident as he learned about her disease, and I’m sure even more confident once she started the new drug therapy. One thing I can tell you, it was not an overnight process. You’re just in the beginning stages of this, Dax. If you really care for Regan and want her to be a part of your life, you’re going to need to be prepared because it’s going to be hard.”
I just stare at my sister, because right now, I might be overwhelmed with respect for her. That might be the soundest advice I’d ever received in my entire life, and I’ve been handed some good stuff over the years from my parents and friends.
“Dax,” Willow says as she reaches out and grabs my hand for a squeeze. “You have a choice to make. Either you grab what might be only thirty minutes of wonderful and hang on tight for the ride, or you slug through a lifetime of nothing special.”