Alas, it was Dixie. I sent it straight to voicemail and texted, All good, speak soon.

My dad was standing in the hallway, looking like a piece of dried toast—crumbling at the edges, completely burned out. The minute he saw me, instead of hugging me, or telling me it was good to have me back, or asking me, oh, I don’t know…how the fuck I was doing, he scowled and threw an accusing finger my way.

“You.”

“Me,” I pretended to yawn, getting near him.

Big mistake. Huge. Now he could smell the mouthwash. He wasn’t stupid enough to think I’d gone all dental-hygiene crazy in the span of a weekend.

“Nice touch, son. Showing up here reeking of alcohol when your mother is hospitalized.”

“Thanks, man. And I appreciate you keeping me in the loop as to what the fuck is going on with said mom.” I collapsed onto a blue chair outside her room.

He was right, though. She didn’t have to be healthy to know I looked like shit and smelled not much better.

“Where’s Lev?” I asked.

“At the Rexroths’.”

“Why not Aunt Em?”

“She’s on her way.”

“Look, I’m not that drunk. Can I see Mom?” I rubbed my face tiredly, closing my eyes.

“No,” he clipped, bracing his arm against the wall and looking down at his shoes.

She was asleep, then. I folded my arms, about to find a comfortable angle and call it a night. Mom could sleep for hours on end at the hospital. The shit they plugged into her, paired with the steroids, meant she went through spurts of random energy, followed by crashes and days of sleep.

I closed my eyes, mentally reminding myself to let Vaughn know I needed to bum a ride to school tomorrow morning, when Dad’s loafer kicked my shin. Not gently, either. My eyes cracked open.

“Wake up.” He balled up the collar of my shirt, yanking me to my feet.

Suddenly we were nose to nose. I narrowed my eyes at him. He’d never been physical with me before. My heart started pounding.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“You’re my problem!” he seethed, baring his teeth. “Your attitude is my problem. Your selfishness, to just up and…and…leave for a girl,” he spat the word out, his breath ragged as he flung his big arms in the air, pushing away from me. “You know what my problem is? My problem is your mom is not okay, and here you are, drinking and smoking yourself to death, thinking we don’t know. Thinking we don’t care. When, put simply, I’m trying to extinguish the fires in my life one at a time. My house is on fucking fire, Knight,” Dad boomed, his voice ricocheting off the walls.

The entire hallway shook with his dark tenor. Nurses and patients peeked out of half-ajar doors, bug-eyed, and two male nurses straightened from their slumped positions against the reception booth and headed in our direction.

“Why don’t you just go ahead and say it?” I smiled sardonically, opening my arms. “You wish you hadn’t adopted me. One less bullshit problem to deal with, right? But you knew this was going to happen. She did, too. You knew we’d be here someday, and you still had us.”

Asshole, drunk Knight had struck again. I really hated my intoxicated alter ego. He had no filters whatsoever.

What was I saying? Why was I saying this? Because there was a part of me that believed it to be true. My mother knew she was going to die young. She’d still adopted me. She’d still had Lev. His name meant heart in Hebrew, but it was lungs she needed. It was her lungs that failed her. And our hearts were broken.

“You set me up for this,” I accused. “You gave me a family you knew was temporary.”

“Newsflash, Knight. Life is temporary. Your mom could’ve been perfectly healthy and gotten run over by a truck ten years ago. Just because you take life for granted doesn’t mean it is.”

“Okay, Oprah. Spin this shit to suit yourself.” I laughed bitterly, turning away and starting for the nearest door before we both exploded.

By the way my father’s face had morphed from angry to shocked, I gathered my diplomatic skills were lacking while under the influence. The nurses clapped our shoulders, ushering us down the hallway.

“Emotions are running high, gentlemen. We understand this, but you need to take it outside. Get some fresh air. Calm down. We’ll let you know if there’s any change.”

Any change? What did they mean, change? I let my legs carry me to the balcony off the first floor of the hospital. Dad and I stood outdoors, ignoring the drizzle. He shook his head, staring up at the black sky, letting the rain pour down on his face. He closed his eyes, looking half-dead. He raked his fingers through his hair and a chunk of it was left between his fingers. Jesus.

“You’re an asshole for reducing Luna to being just a girl,” I muttered, fishing for my phone in my pocket.

Dixie again. I killed the call.

Why can’t you die, Dix? Why does it have to be Rosie?

“You’re an asshole for judging your mom for having you and Lev,” Dad retorted, pacing.

I wondered what the fuck was going on, but didn’t want to ask, because I knew he wouldn’t give me a straight answer.

“I’m going to see her.” I tested the water, pretending to make my way to the door. Dad curled his fingers around my bicep, pulling me back.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?” I gauged, assessing him coldly.

I was getting tired of being strong. Being indifferent. Being someone I wasn’t.

He took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut. “Because she’s in a coma.”

Know how sometimes people say their entire world crumbled? I never quite understood what they meant until this moment. The moment where everything in my life shattered, collapsing one brick at a time. I toppled backward, my back hitting the wall, then slid down until my ass hit the damp ground. Dad stood in front of me, his head hung between his shoulders—a lowered, defeated flag. I immediately knew this wasn’t about my drinking or the drugs. Neither Dad nor Mom knew the extent of the trouble I’d gotten myself into this year.

This is about Mom.

“How?” I heard myself asking.

“They put her in a chemically induced coma for her end-stage cystic fibrosis.”

“When?”

“Earlier today.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice escalated into a scream.

“So, what? You’d fly back home thinking about it the entire time? Her hooked up to a ventilator, dying?”

“Dying?” I realized I sounded like a dumbass, but couldn’t help it.

What was I expecting to happen? For her to walk swiftly out of this place? Maybe do cartwheels all the way to the parking lot? It was too late for a lung transplant, too late for experimental treatments, too late, period.

Dad shook his head. It occurred to me that I needed to be there for him like he was there for me. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t even breathe. I shook my head, stood up, and stalked back into the ICU, slapping the glass door, flinging it open. I could hear Dad’s footsteps following me.

I took out my phone, ignoring the five missed calls from Dixie, and texted Luna.