Kaleb

As the weeks pass, autumn fades to winter. Snow falls and the damp climate becomes my enemy. I've never liked the cold weather. Ironic, considering I play hockey for a living. But with Christmas around the corner, the weather isn't bothering me as much as it should. Melody's been going through a month of treatment and things are looking good. It doesn't ease the anxiety that's plaguing my mind, but it makes things seem somewhat normal. Normal enough to go through with the wedding, anyway.

Hell, I'm excited about it. Melody and I deserve this taste of happiness. It's part of her list of things she wants to do before dying. We're trying our best to honour that. There are underlying complications—guilt and despair—but I'm working on coping mechanisms.

Ever since my fight with Ella, I've been seeing a therapist. Stooping so low as to insult Ella about her dad's narcissistic behaviour was unacceptable. Those words diminished Ella's experience and her choice to omit his toxicity from her life. I projected my insecurities onto her. My emotions were valid, but they didn't justify my actions. Especially after being together during high school, when her dad was running rampant and insisted he dictate every decision Ella made. I'll apologize to Ella for the rest of my life, despite her forgiving me.

We say shit we regret when we're emotional. It's only natural. What matters is the accountability.

"Pink dresses or lavender dresses?" Ella asks.

Me, Mel, Brenna, Ella, and Shea are sitting in the living room. We have a game later tonight, the last one before the Holidays, but we're relaxing prior to the game by finalizing the details of the wedding instead of the optional practice. After all the shit that went down with Mikael, the franchise has been lenient with Shea and I. They're always asking how I'm doing or if Shea needs any aid in prepping for a kid. It's pathetic. But at least Mikael's gone. He'll never play in the NHL again, especially as more women come forward with their experiences. Anything Mikael said in the locker room about consent was bullshit. After his trial, I hope they lock him up for good.

"Definitely the pink," Shea replies. "Brenna looks hot in pink."

Snorting, Brenna gives Shea a shove. "You're only saying that because you like the colour pink. Remember that sweater I gave you? We almost got into a fistfight when I told you it was time to toss it."

Shea purses his lips. His eyes shift to the side and he stares at some imaginary dot on the floor. "It did not look like an old rag."

"Yes," Brenna says, "it did." She rests a hand on his thigh and gives it a squeeze. "There's nothing wrong with being attached to a personal item. But when it's ratty and full of holes, it's time to go. It served its purpose, right? Besides, it hardly fits you! You've bulked up since high school."

The crease between his brows intensifies. "It was comfortable."

After taking a sip of my water, I frown at Shea. "Time out. Are we talking about the sweater she gave you for Christmas that year?"

He doesn't make eye contact with me when he shrugs.

My eyebrows arch. "Dude. That sweater was ancient a year after you got it. You wore it almost every day." I eye Brenna, a small smirk on my lips. "It's your fault. You made him soft."

Brenna gives me a look. "Shea was the catalyst. He chose the hot-pink golf ball at Scandia."

Shea rubs the back of his neck and sighs. When he speaks, he's looking at Mel. "Melody, the lesson here is that it's always my fault. No matter what. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

The group laughs. Shea even chuckles as he leans back against the couch, his posture relaxed.

It feels like old times, and I don't let the inevitable truth ruin that for me. Despite the tragedy, I'm allowed to embrace the happiness. Having Mel live out her last months with me moping around and being broody wouldn't be fair to her. The undeniable pain will come when you can see the effects of treatment and progression. When she passes away. Right now, Mel is here. The present is our focus. Not the future. Not the past. We have to embrace these brief moments.

"Shea," Mel says. "Some things are your fault, but not everything. Don't let these jerks,"—she gestures to me, Ella, and Brenna — "get to your head. They love to tease."

"Guilty," I nod. My hand finds its way to Mel's, and I lace my fingers with hers, resting our hands on my thigh. Her ring is cool against my skin. It centres me. Reminds me we're focusing on the now. "But you make it so easy, Shea. You love it."

He fights off a smile and refuses to make eye contact with me.

Ella, who is sitting across from me, grabs the bowl of salt and vinegar chips. She stands and gestures to the bowl. "Which flavour next? BBQ or ketchup?"

Ketchup wins in a unanimous vote, and Ella tells us she'll be right back. Along with the bowl, she takes her wine glass.

Watching her exit the living room, I tap my foot against the hardwood and rub my jaw with my free hand. I've been meaning to talk to Ella since she arrived. Now might be my only chance; Shea and I will leave soon. Conversation continues on around me while I stare at Ella. She's opening the bag of chips. When the bag is open, she grabs one chip and pops it in her mouth. Then she pours the bag into the bowl. Leaving the bowl behind, she turns around to grab the pitcher of ice water from the fridge.

I take that as a sign. Releasing Mel's hand, I grab my empty glass and excuse myself from the conversation. My feet stick to the hardwood as I make my way into the kitchen. Although the area is open-concept, we're far enough away for hushed voices to work. Mel, Shea, and Brenna are also too immersed in their conversation to care about Ella and me filling our glasses of water.

"Ella," I say.

She turns around, a full glass of water in her hand. "Yeah?"

I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, towards the hallway. "Can we talk?"

"If you're apologizing to me again, Kaleb, then no. We settled the problem. I accepted your apology."

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath. "There's something else I want to discuss with you."

Ella glances to the side. Mel, Brenna, and Shea are oblivious to the conversation going on behind them. They're flipping through a wedding magazine with Shea at the forefront. He'll never admit it, but he loves planning weddings. Pointing at a photo, he suggests something about tablecloths to Mel, who nods her head excitedly. Then she takes a sip of her glass of water.

"Why do ladies use wine glasses for water?" I wonder aloud.

Ella chuckles. "Because it's fancy." Setting her water down, she wipes her palms on her grey jeans and nods. "Okay. Let's go."

We head down the hallway to the last door on the left. It acts as both an office and a library. I shut the door behind us and gesture for Ella to take a seat. She sits on the edge of the desk, her arms crossed. The black crop top she's wearing shows a sliver of her toned stomach and the belly button piercing she has.

"What's going on, Kaleb?"

I pace the length of the desk, trying to articulate my words. After a long discussion with my therapist, we concluded I need a plan. A plan for when Melody becomes too sick to care for herself. Any of my friends would be great options, but Brenna and Shea have enough to deal with. They're expecting a baby. I know Ella has a busy lifestyle, but she knows how to manage her time. She also lives directly beneath us. Which means she wouldn't have to travel far. She could also start staying in our house—we have plenty of open rooms.

What I'm about to ask Ella is a lot. I have no resentment if she decides it's too much for her.

I stop in front of her, crossing my arms. My stance is rigid. This is not a conversation I wanted to have.

"At one point, Melody will get very sick," I begin. "As much as I want to stay home, I have to work. Aside from some time off, which I want to save for..." I trail off and clear my throat. "We don't need to go that far yet. Anyway, she'll become too sick to take care of herself. I want someone in the house who can take care of her. Who loves her just as much as I do. Because... Because that's the best thing about our group. We love each other like family. Brenna and Shea have enough to deal with. I know this is asking you a lot, Ella..."

There's nothing else I can say. My indirect attitude is tough to eradicate. It's not that I don't accept what's happening. It's just... difficult to discuss. To speak aloud.

Ella's face is filled with mixed emotions, and I watch as she tries to sort her thoughts out. She bites her lip. Rubs her biceps and suppresses a shiver.

"I know it's a lot," I say. My voice is soft. "Don't feel pressured to take on the job. Her parents are coming to the wedding. We could discuss it then. But their jobs are in Montréal. It's fucked up that we're expected to continue life on while watching someone we love suffer. I hate reality. I—"

"Is Melody okay with this?" Ella interrupts.

I nod. "Nothing I'm asking you about is behind Mel's back. Until her parents come out... when things get... worse... We want someone we trust in the house to help Mel and look after the house. We'll pay you, Ella."

Ella wrinkles her nose. "So I'm your guys' nanny?"

Rubbing the back of my neck, I sigh. That's not the label I wanted to put on it, but I guess it describes what I'm asking of her. "If you don't want to, you don't have to. What we're asking is a lot. It'll only be when I'm on the road." I take a deep breath. "But I will not sugar coat this. What Mel will go through could be traumatic. There's a possibility of seizures, her becoming more susceptible to illnesses..."

"I'll do it," Ella says.

Relief floods my veins. "Are you sure?"

Ella stands and pulls me into a tight hug. "Positive. You're right about our group of friends, Kaleb. We've always been like family. Melody is one of my best friends. And so are you. Both of you need support. If I can provide that, then that's what I'll do. You don't need to pay me, though."

"Yes, we do," I argue.

Ella steps back, her hands resting on my shoulders. Her lips pinch to one side. "We'll agree to disagree. For now."

"For now," I chuckle.

Ella will not win this argument when we have it in the future. I'm paying her. When I'm not there and Mel is too weak to perform simple tasks, Ella will step in. It's a lot of responsibility. No way is she allowed to do this for free.

Resting my hand on hers, I stare into her blue eyes. The familiarity of them strikes something in my heart. She's looking at me with the same caring look she always had in high school.

"Thank you, Ella," I whisper. "For everything. I know we're putting a lot of responsibility on you."

Her smile weakens, and she blinks back tears. Just like I'm trying to do. It feels like we're already saying goodbye to Mel. Like we're sealing her fate she never asked for.

Which leaves me asking the same damn question: Why is the world so fucking cruel?