Page 119 of Bittersweet & Strange

Dad looks at him instead.

His gaze moves slowly past my shoulder and settles on Rhys. He studies him for several seconds, then looks back at me, his fingers tightening around mine with what little strength he has left.

“Take care of him.”

“No.”

My father looks at me.

“You hear me?” My voice breaks completely. “Don’t start saying goodbye to me. I don’t want to hear it.”

My chest hurts so badly I can barely breathe. I sound like a child again, convinced that wanting something badly enough should be enough to make my father give it to me.

“Please.”

His eyes fill.

That breaks something in me nothing else has, because I have seen my father exhausted, sick, frightened, and hungry. I have watched him pretend he wasn’t any of those things because he thought hiding them would somehow protect me.

I have never seen my father cry.

His chest rises and falls.

I wait for it to happen again, staring so intently that I stop breathing too.

Nothing happens.

I tighten my hand around his.

“Come on.”

His fingers don’t move.

“Dad?”

I shake his hand gently at first, then harder when he still doesn’t respond. It remains limp between mine.

Everything around me disappears until there is only his motionless hand in mine and the terrible stillness of his chest. I can’t hear the villagers anymore. I can’t hear Lucien. I can’t even hear Rhys beside me.

“No.”

I lean over him, searching his face for some tiny movement I might have missed.

“Dad.”

Nothing.

I squeeze his hand again. “Dad, wake up.”

Somewhere behind me, someone begins crying. I don’t know who it is, and I don’t turn around to find out because I’m still waiting for my father to open his eyes.

“Boone.”

Rhys’s hand rests gently against my lower back.

I shoulder him away without looking at him and tighten my grip on my father’s hand, still waiting for his fingers to move, for his chest to rise, for anything that will prove everyone around me is wrong.

Rhys reaches for me again, more carefully this time. When I try to pull away, he catches my wrists and slowly pries my fingers from my father’s until Dad’s hand slips lifelessly from mine.