I ignore her wounded tone and focus on her words. She doesn't even appreciate it, so why did he just shove it at her?
"I've already got one. This one and mine are the only two left," I say absently, fighting hard not to say anything else for fear of what might come out of my mouth.
"Please keep it," she says in a near whimper, obviously sensing my anger.
"If he wants you to have it, then you should keep it. It's his wine to do with as he pleases."
I slam the trunk and walk away, needing to get us home so I can call Dad. There's only one reason Granddad would part with that wine. I don't understand why he gave it to a girl he knew for less than an hour, but that's the least of my concerns.
I don't say anything all the way back, and Raya stares out the window, keeping her hands balled up in her lap. The silence is almost suffocating, but my mind weighs too much to force it to think of casual conversation. Speed limit signs frown at me as I break all their rules, desperate to get home.
The second we pull into the garage, I leap out of the car and make it almost all the way to the door as Raya goes to pull the wine from the trunk. My phone is in my hand before I head to the outside patio, needing privacy for the call.
"Just got off the phone with your grandfather. I suspected I'd hear from you," Dad says, seeing no need in a simple hello.
"Did he tell you he gave Raya the '93 Merlot?" I ask, taking a deep, calming breath.
"He did. Says Raya is the girl you're going to marry. It apparently took him all of five seconds to see it. I'm surprised it took him that long."
Psychos. I'm surrounded by crazy people.
"He gave her the '93 Merlot," I say slowly, hoping this time it clicks and he agrees how crazy it all is.
Instead, my father is silent. Never is he silent.
"He's not doing good, is he?" I ask, sitting down as his silence carries on.
Dad clears his throat as though emotion has knotted up and is battling against him. My own dread starts to manifest as a sick feeling crawls over me, wrapping me up with the same cling as a tacky spider web.
"His doctor called while you were there. The cancer is spreading instead of dying. Could be another year, maybe two. Or it could be six months. If he goes to his treatments the way he's supposed to, his odds improve."
The first tear falls from my eye when my worst fears are confirmed. Before I know it, I've jumped up and flipped the patio table with one hand. Ignoring the rest of the tears that fall, I try to catch my breath, doubling over as a wave of sickness washes over me.
"He gave her the wine before he got the call. I think he knew it was coming," Dad adds quietly.
My hands tremble as I sag back down to my chair, ending the call so my father can't hear me weep.
Chapter Thirteen
She hasn't come out of her room since we got back, and I really can't blame her. I took out all my anger on her. I'm such an idiot.
Over the past few hours, I've destroyed some of my patio furniture, cried for the first time since I was a kid, and stared at photos that remind me how short life is. Glaring at my door like it's a brick wall isn't helping me right now. I want Raya.
It's hard to admit when you're an ass, but Raya didn't deserve the way I treated her. Now that I've had a minute to calm down, I feel worse. She should punch me. At least twice.
When I make it to her door, I take a breath, praying this goes better than I think it will.
She doesn't answer when I knock, so I push through, frowning when I see her curled up as small as she can get, looking fragile and so damn sweet. Maybe she deserves to hit me three times.
I make my way over to her, dreading the fact that she's more than likely going to push me away. Summoning up my courage, I decide to go with a strong offense, and start kissing her neck.
A small moan rewards me, so my lips come up and move to be on her cheek. "I'm sorry," I say softly, feeling her stir. "Come to bed with me."
She barely opens her tired eyes and glances at the clock. I'm not sure if she groans or if that's a muttered curse, but she turns away from me.
"Just go to bed. We'll talk in the morning," she mumbles, her voice rasp.
I smile when I don't hear any real anger in her tone. Irritation? Yes. I can deal with her being irritated. But things won't be okay in this room. We won't move past anything if I let her stay in here. Right now is my only chance to get her out of here and put her back in my room—the room that has become ours.