25. Luke

TWENTY-FIVE

LUKE

Two Days Later

I arrive at the hospital at six in the afternoon after three endless hours of tape watching with the whole team. Well, all the guys who're training in the off season here. There are some who go to special coaches or just have to take more time off to be sure injuries have healed.

Since I've memorized the way, after doing the exact same thing the last two days, I go directly to Gordon's room and find him alone. Which hasn't happened before.

Normally Bennett or his parents are here with him, but he's asleep, which is good, since he had trouble sleeping yesterday with all the hospital activity. I bet whoever had their shift here went to get something to eat. So I sit silently by his side and thank all the gods and stars for the success of his surgery, for the miracle that someone compatible was an organ donor .

Bennett and his parents have been a godsend, taking care of both Robbie and Gordon. It's thanks to them that I've been able to be present at practice, to reassure the team that I'm still all in with them even though I won't be acting as the face of the franchise anymore. Gab and I agreed Rashan should do it, since he's charming as all hell and happy enough with the attention.

His football IQ is also extremely high, so he's a good person to talk to after games to understand whatever the result may be.

"How was practice today, son?" Gordon's raspy voice rings out. He doesn't even open his eyes, but he does smile when I take his hand. He wakes up slowly as I tell him about my day, and by the time I get to the endless tape watching he's pushing the buttons on his bed to sit up.

"What have the doctors told you?" I ask, anxious. I don't think I'll stop feeling that way until Gordon is safe and with a clean bill of health at home.

"All they've told me is the kidney took," he says with a small smile. "I'm fine, Lucas. Stop fretting so much."

"I'll fret all I damn well please, old man."

"I just bet I'm gonna look ten years younger by the time I get out of this place," he boasts.

"You already look like you're a decade younger, don't be greedy."

Gordon lets out a chuckle. Not a huge one, because that would hurt, but happy enough.

"You're gonna be okay," I whisper and squeeze his hand. I say it as much for his benefit as my own. Seeing him laugh like this, it makes it real. He's actually going to be okay.

Like the world needs to intervene in that moment, just to remind me that nothing is ever really settled, Gordon's phone rings on the table next to his bed. He wheels it closer with his hand and grabs it.

"Oh, this is my FBI contact," Gordon says, and he brings it up to his ear. He listens for a moment and all the blood drains from his face. "What?" Gordon whispers in astonishment. "No," he says then. And shakes his head as he repeats, "No, no, no." The immediate tears tell me everything I need to know.

Gordon's hand drops to his side and the phone slips from his hand to the mattress as he writhes on the bed and lets out a heartbreaking cry. "Please, God, no."

"Gordon, calm down. Your stitches," I warn but he doesn't listen. It's like he can't hear me.

"Marcy," he cries out. And then it's only sobs.

I reach for his phone with tears gathering in my eyes just from seeing Gordon in so much pain.

"Hello," I croak out at whoever is on the other side of the call.

"I'm sorry," the man says, and he sounds it. Anything I could've come up with to say gets lodged in my throat at his next words. "She didn't suffer, the doctors told me that for sure. It was instantaneous."

Oh, God.

"Is she—" I can't get the words out.

"Yeah, she passed away a few hours ago. Crashed against an eighteen-wheeler."

"O-okay." Is all I can manage. Because what else can I possibly say?

What was the fucking point of everything she did? Why did she have to hurt Gordon again?

Just . . . why?

"We, uh." The FBI agent goes on. "I called to ask if Gordon can come down and identify her? "

"He can't," I say immediately. "He's in the hospital."

"Oh, God, is he okay?" The genuine concern in the man's voice makes me realize he knows and cares for Gordon. That should make me feel better, but it doesn't.

Gordon's on his side now, knees drawn up slightly and both hands covering his face as he sobs into them. But quietly now, and somehow that's even more painful.

"He got a kidney two days ago," I tell him. Because I can't say Gordon's okay. He isn't. Probably never going to be again. "I'll go. Where—" I have to clear my throat. "Where is she?"

"In San Diego. She was driving down to the border. But Gordon's her only immediate family and a Walter Riggs was her emergency contact but he passed away, I guess she never updated it."

Well, that makes sense, I guess. I decide not to comment on the information about my father.

"Gordon can't go there, is there any way they can bring her over here?"

"I don't know. He needs to be able to sign a lot of documents and he can't be in the hospital for that. Let me make some calls, I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," I whisper. With that, I hang up and stand, only to lean over and hug Gordon. He only gets more agitated and a nurse comes in and tells me to step back from him. I do without hesitation and that's when she sees he's crying.

"He just found out his daughter died," I explain. Compassion, bottomless compassion fills her eyes as she looks at Gordon.

"We'll give him something to calm down then so he doesn't hurt himself," she whispers and walks out.

It's only ten minutes later that Gordon's doctor comes in and she administers a syringe into his IV. "I'm so sorry, Gordon," she whispers, and pats his shoulder once she's done.

Two Weeks later

I walk out of the funeral home with Gordon taking every step with more strength than the previous one. I have a box in my hands that contains everything that's left of Marcy. There's no good enough reason in the world why he'd had to see his daughter's lifeless body, in my opinion, but I couldn't identify her or handle all of this for him.

Rebecca came by yesterday to give us the news that Robbie would stay with us permanently. There will still be visits, but more sporadic, until the final adoption hearing where it will all be final once and for all.

We're all the family Robbie has now, so in a pretty awful way, it's made things easier.

We've become used to Bennett and his parents helping out and generally going above and beyond for us. The process of bringing Marcy to Vegas and even all the funeral home things were handled by them as much as they could be. Gordon still had to do a lot, sign papers once he got out of the hospital and could go to the morgue where they brought Marcy.

The man hasn't been able to get the peace he deserves. The peace I wish I could've given him. He's only smiled when he's been hanging out with the kids and otherwise is quiet all day. I can't begin to imagine what it must be like for him, what he must be feeling.

Sure, his relationship with Marcy had been estranged for years and years, but that doesn't erase the fact that he loved her .

Nothing ever could, I think.

I park in front of the front door of our home and Gordon climbs down without waiting a second longer. I let out a long breath as I watch him walk to the front door.

Then I get out myself and open the back door to get the box out of the bigger box I put it in. I close the door and start walking on autopilot. Right before the stairs I look down and just stare at it while I think about the last few weeks.

It's been hard. I haven't been able to talk about it with anyone, not even Bennett though he's been so fucking supportive and gentle with me.

But I haven't been talking to anyone about anything. Nothing beyond the practicalities of getting Marcy here and making sure Gordon didn't leave the hospital until he was fully healed. He has an appointment tomorrow, for some scans and some blood work, as he will have forever.

He's going to be taking immunosuppressive medicines which stop his body from rejecting the organ for the rest of his life, and this new kidney will never be out of the woods, not really.

But he doesn't care about his own health anymore. Not the way he suddenly did after Bennett's parents talked to him.

I wish I could help him somehow, but I'm out of my depth. I'm not perfect.

Neither was she , a voice deep within me tells me.

I loved her once.

She was the first person I ever confided in about the reality of living with my father. In some way, I even love her now for having brought Robbie into the world.

But the rest . . . yeah.

I focus my gaze on the box in my hands again.

I want to throw it to the ground .

I want to curse at her.

I want to ask her why she couldn't just love the cutest boy in the entire fucking universe. Why she couldn't accept the huge love Gordon had for her.

I want to demand that she come back and make this right.

Instead, I straighten and walk to the front door that Gordon left open for me, and that's when I see, and I remember. I can't believe I ever forgot, really.

In the flower beds my gardener put around the driveway, there's one patch that has daisies. Marcy loved daisies. I used to bring them to her from time to time. I used to collect them from the Jareds' backyard. Is it weird that I didn't realize I had them at my house until now?

I contemplate if that even matters at this point, while I walk into the house and directly out to the patio table where I set it down and sit.

Robbie's now an orphan. Technically. Again, does that matter? He has me, he has Gordon. He also has Bennett and Lizzie, Sylvia and Rory.

Someday, I'll have to explain to Robbie everything that happened, I think, as I feel the warm breeze ruffle my hair softly. Someday he'll have to decide if he hates her or not.

I wish I could spare him from that.

Because hating someone as much as I hate her at this moment can't be good for anyone. Once more I look down at the box, and picture it breaking into a million pieces. Would that make me feel better?

Probably. For a minute or two, but none of this is about me. This is about... My eyes shift to focus on the flowers that live happily in my backyard, and once more I realize, there are daisies all over the place .

And the image comes to me. I turn quickly, going back out to my SUV and driving off to the nearest arts and crafts store.

I buy sticker paper for my printer—sticky transparent film to make sure everything stays put—and rush back home. This is what sixteen-year-old Luke would've done for Marcy. And I guess it's what Robbie and Gordon deserve—for me to treat Marcy like I did when I loved her.

I spend two hours making sure every single sticker of a daisy I printed is in the perfect place around the box. When I'm done, I cover it in one thin layer of film paper and take care that there are no air bubbles.

"What's this?" Gordon's voice has me jumping out of my skin. I look back to see him leaning against the edge of the sliding door.

"I..." It's only then that it occurs to me I might've fucked up. "Sorry, I can take it off, I just?—"

"Daisies were her favorite," he whispers, and wipes away a tear angrily.

"They were," I say and swallow hard. "Gordon, I don't know what to say to help you. I don't know what to do." I sound desperate and I don't think that's bad in any way. I hope he hears it too, maybe then he'll tell me exactly what he needs from me.

"There's nothing you can do." He sighs and walks over to sit next to me.

"But we can't live like this. You can't live like this forever. I know you feel guilty." He scoffs. "And you shouldn't since nothing is your fault."

"You keep saying that but . . ."

"Gordon, how about we go to therapy?" I throw out the question without really deciding to do so. It's something I've been thinking about since before Marcy died. At first it was only for Robbie, but maybe we all need some good therapy. Bennett always seems somehow lighter after he has an appointment with his own therapist.

"What?"

"We should go to family therapy, or individual therapy, whatever. But Gordon, we need help. I'm... Well, even though I think I've made peace with my past, I still need to work on it to make sure my future doesn't get ruined because of it. And I think there's a possible future where you realize you did the best you could and that you were never the problem with Marcy. I'd like to think that you'll smile again when I tell you about every stupid, insignificant detail about my practices in the future. Just please, let's at least try. Please?"

Gordon stays quiet for a long while, and I let him take the time he needs. I won't push any more for now, and I hope he'll join me, but I realize I need to get help regardless of what he says. "Let's say a few words," I say at last, nodding to the box. "Let's find a place for her in the house where we can see her and remember her and let's say a few words."

Since he refused to have a service or go back to Tal, there wasn't a funeral at all, but I think we do need to have a kind of ceremony to say goodbye.

Gordon nods and follows me inside. We put her on the last column, at eye level in the big bookshelf in the living room that frames the TV and consoles. Since it's closest to the south-facing window, it'll get beautiful light every day.

"I hope you have the peace you couldn't find in this life, Marcy," I say, since it's the only thing I can think of.

Gordon takes his time, and then he takes my hand and squeezes tight. "I will wish for the rest of my life that I'd had the capacity to show you how loved you were Marcy. I always loved and cherished you, and I will keep doing it forever. Rest well, peanut, and Daddy will see you soon." He kisses the tips of his fingers then presses them to the box for a long second.

We hug then and we cry. And that night, when the kids come home along with Bennett and his parents, we actually laugh during dinner at the silly faces Lizzie keeps making at Robbie. His baby belly laugh is the balm that can cure any illness.

In time.

Everything takes time.