A Brand New Ending (Page 63)

It was different this time. He knew better what he wanted, how to manage things, and had rediscovered who he was. All he needed to do was convince Ophelia they wouldn’t be separated for long.

This time, he’d come back for her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The next evening, Ophelia was prepping dinner when the phone rang. She hit the speaker button with her elbow, her hands covered in flour. “Hello?”

“Ophelia? It’s Patrick. I need help.”

“Hi, Patrick. Are you okay?”

“It’s not me.” His voice caught in a strange way. “It’s Charlie. I think he’s sick. I have to get him to the vet.”

She didn’t question why he was calling her, just stumbled to the sink, turned on the faucet, and rinsed off the powder. “I’m on my way. I’ll call Sarah and tell her it’s an emergency.”

“Okay.”

She grabbed her coat and raced to her room, where Kyle had settled in to make room for the snowboarders. He had been working nonstop and was probably deep into the zone, so she knocked a few times before saying through the door, “Babe, I have to run out for a while. Be back soon.”

The door flung open. He blinked as if emerging from a dark cave. “Want some company? I need a break.”

She hesitated. He’d finally gone to see Patrick, and though the visit had gone relatively well, he hadn’t told her he wanted to see him again. “I’m going to your dad’s. Charlie’s sick, and he needs help getting him to the vet.” A flicker of emotion crossed his face, squeezing her heart. She reached out and touched his cheek. “I think you should come with me.”

He stared at her for a few moments, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

“Let’s go.”

They didn’t speak on the drive over. Patrick was waiting outside for them, with Charlie hooked to a leash. When she neared the dog, she could see from his glassy eyes and slumped head that he was out of it.

Kyle got out of the car, nodding at his father but not speaking. Patrick stared at his son, obviously shocked by his presence, but didn’t seem to know what to say, either. Kyle picked up the dog and settled him in the back seat of her car. Patrick climbed in next to the dog.

“It could be the flu,” she said to Patrick, pulling onto the highway. “I’ve heard animals can get it, too.”

“He hasn’t been eating. Not even the chicken or the gravy bone he likes. He’s just been laying there, and his breathing sounds funny. That’s not good for his age.”

“Let’s not panic until the vet sees him. You can be old as dirt and still tough as nails.”

A half laugh echoed from the back. Kyle stared out the window silently, his face set in a hard line.

Within ten minutes, they arrived at the vet and got Charlie checked in. Kyle waited outside the office while she stood next to Patrick as the doctor examined the dog. After a thorough exam, Sarah turned to both of them, her brown eyes kind. “I think it may just be a virus, but with his age, I can’t rule some other things out. I’d like to keep him overnight and do some blood work.”

Patrick stared at her. “You talking about cancer?”

“Possibly. He’s definitely dehydrated, so I’d like to get some fluids in him, run some tests, and take it from there. I’ll take good care of him. Is that all right?”

Patrick nodded. “Sure. Will I know tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’ll rush the tests to the lab. I should have them by noon.”

“And you’ll call me?”

“Yes, as soon as I know. Do you want to say goodbye before I take him in the back?”

Patrick flinched. She watched as the older man gently laid his hands on the dog and whispered something in his ear. Then he walked out of the office without turning back.

Ophelia followed him out. “Patrick, he has all the symptoms of a virus or a cold. Don’t panic yet.”

“I’m good. Can you take me home now?”

Kyle glanced back and forth between them as if trying to figure out what might have happened in the exam room. She nodded. They checked out at the counter, then got back in the car and drove home.

The silence was terrible—full of pain and memories that seemed to pulse and throb in the tight interior of the car. Biting her lip, Ophelia tried to come up with something to say, anything to break the tension, but soon she was back in Patrick’s driveway.

Kyle turned to glare at his father, his words coming like a gunshot. “I guess you’re gonna open up a bottle and get drunk now, right? ’Cause that’s how you handle what life throws at you. Or maybe the dog being sick is somehow my fault, too?”

She pressed a fist to her lips to strangle her gasp. She cringed, ready for the explosion.

Patrick looked his son right back in the eye. “I would’ve. Lived my whole life by that philosophy, but I’ve been fighting for my humanity for the past year, and I’m not ready to give that up.”

Ophelia cut in, her voice shaking with fierceness. “And you don’t have to. You’ve learned a different way to deal with pain now.”

“Yes, I work on that every damn day.” He paused, letting the words penetrate. “But I’m a poison. I seem to ruin or kill all the good things in my life. I’m not even worth the love of a dog, but if all I got was a few weeks with Charlie because of Ophelia, I’ll be grateful. Good night, son. Thanks for coming with me.”

He climbed out of the car and walked into the house.

Kyle stared at the cardboard box for a long time. The edges were yellow and crumbled. A large water stain took up half of one side. Written in black marker were the words FOR KYLE.

He didn’t recognize the man he’d seen the past two days. He’d only known the harsh version of his dad and rarely spotted any tenderness beneath the abrasion. But his father’s expression when he’d looked at the dog stirred something inside him. Patrick looked like he cared about the dog. And yesterday, his father had apologized for his crappy actions. He’d looked Kyle straight in the eye without giving him some bullshit excuse about what he’d done.

I’m a poison . . .

God, why did those words cause pain in his chest?

He would’ve laughed them off and accused Patrick of being dramatic to get attention, but it hadn’t been uttered like that. It had been uttered like total truth and deep regret.

Slowly, he lifted the cover off the box and lay it on the bed. A musty scent drifted up toward his nostrils. He stared at the three photo albums bound in maroon fake leather. With a trembling hand, he picked one up and cracked open the cover.

Pictures of his mother filled the pages. Pictures of his father. Pictures of them together.

He flipped through the precious treasures, studying their wedding day and their happy, smiling faces. Saw them kissing and eating cake and dancing with guests. Saw them on a beach, his mother in a bikini, splashing in the waves. Saw them at parties all dressed up in fine suits and dresses.

As he turned the pages, he watched their life unfold together. His mother pregnant. Glowing, hand on her belly, grinning at the camera. The nursery. His father kissing her belly. The beautiful, intimate way they gazed at one another.

Before he was born.

He spent a long time poring over the pictures his father had told him were burned. His view blurred, and he fisted his eyes to clear them. The past was finally given to him to cherish and savor and ponder.