I scramble...the screen door closing all the way. I wrench it open, finding that Rafe left the interior door open. There’s nothing wrong with me barging into the Simmonses’ home...I’ve been doing it for well over two decades, and no one expects me to knock.
I step into a small foyer from which a half staircase leads up to the living area, and a half staircase leads down to the basement level. I choose up, knowing that’s where Rafe will find Jim in his cozy recliner, watching sports. It’s where the recliner will eventually be replaced by a hospital bed once he loses mobility. I was there when Brenda sat down and talked with a hospice representative not long ago.
I trot up the steps—five in all—and round the banister that opens into a small living room.
I see Brenda first, pulling away from a hug with Rafe. He holds on to her just a bit longer than he might ordinarily, then releases her with a wan smile. She touches her fingertips to his cheek and steps away.
A lump forms in my throat as Rafe turns toward his dad. Jim struggles out of his recliner, his body becoming noticeably weaker every day. Brenda takes a step his way, intent on helping him up as she often does, I’m sure, but Rafe places a restraining hand on her shoulder. A silent plea to let his dad do it himself because he wouldn’t want to look weak to his son.
Rafe’s never been very close to his dad. Hasn’t had to care for him the last few weeks as he started rapidly declining without even understanding why at first. But right now...in this moment...Rafe understands him better than any of us. As a man might understand another’s need to be as strong as possible, despite the circumstances.
Jim scoots to the edge of the recliner, plants his slippered feet on the carpet, and pushes himself out of the chair. His clothes hang loosely on him, his lack of appetite for months raising all kinds of red flags for Brenda. Try as she might, she just couldn’t get him to go see a doctor.
“Son,” Jim says, his voice sounding strong. It’s all for show because that’s not usually how he sounds these days. Rafe will figure that out soon enough.
“Hey, Dad,” Rafe replies softly, and in two big strides, he’s bridged the gap between them. Both men open their arms, and then Rafe gently enfolds his dad in an embrace. They hug tightly and long, Rafe’s face bending down to press into his dad’s shoulder.
My eyes get misty as I realize I’ve never seen them hug before.
In my entire lifetime of knowing Rafe and his family, discovering that this is the first time I’ve ever seen the men embrace is a stark realization.
How did I not notice that before?
Was it because my eyes were so starry and dazzled by Rafe’s brilliance that I didn’t notice something as simple as a lack of physical connection between father and son?
I feel a bit more of my anger toward Rafe drain away, only to be immediately replaced by sympathy for what he must be feeling now.
That big clock now ticking down to an awful, painful conclusion that no one is ever ready for.
I imagine there might be a lot of regret on both sides, and I really hope they can make the most of their remaining time together.
Rafe is the first one to pull back, but he still holds on to his dad’s shoulders, studying Jim’s face. His lips quirk up, and he teases, “Your hair’s getting grayer.”
Jim tips his head back and gives a hoarse, frail laugh of delight.
I take that as my cue to leave. I’m not needed here right now. And besides, in addition to all of the heavy emotions swirling around in the house, I’m dealing with my own conflicts about Rafe’s return.Chapter 3RafeThe Cold Fury management offices are more traditional than the Vengeance’s. Where the Vengeance executive suite is all airy with light colors and chrome, the Cold Fury décor is dark-paneled walls, thick, plush carpeting, and ambient lighting from wall sconces.
None of that matters to me, though. I’m just happy and grateful to be on this team. It’s a miracle of sorts that I even made it here. The move was made after the trade deadline, which meant I wasn’t eligible to play in the playoffs. As such, Dominik Carlson and Gray Brannon came up with a risky plan and maneuver to release me down to our minor league team on waivers. The same was done with my counterpart here at Cold Fury, Kane Bellan. Then, when the waiver time expired, both coaches snapped us up to join opposite teams. I’m sure other teams wanted us, but I expect that some palms were greased or something to make the switch happen as it did.