My father has cancer.

Stage four lung cancer, to be exact.

And even though cancer only has two more letters and one more syllable in it than sick does, it’s so incredibly fucking different. It’s permanent, it’s crushing, it’s cold and cruel and hard. And it’s moved into my life like a bug infestation – slowly, silently, and then completely overruling all at once.

I never knew what that meant, to have stage four lung cancer. I’ve heard of it before. I’ve watched shows about it on TV. But, I never really knew what it meant. For the past two weeks, all I’ve done is research online. I know everything about it now.

I know that cancer at this stage is usually widespread when it’s diagnosed, which was the case for my father. Because he’s stubborn, he waited until he was coughing up blood before he finally let my mom drag him to the hospital. They found that not only did it live in his lungs, but the cancer had also spread to other areas of his body. And, as if that’s not fucking enough, he has fluid around his lungs.

I know that they can give him chemotherapy and radiation treatment to help with the pain and possibly keep him alive longer, but my father refused both.

And I know that whether he went through that stuff or not, stage four lung cancer is not something you survive.

And that fact absolutely demolishes me.

I run faster, digging my heels into the concrete each time they hit and pushing off with as much force as I can muster. Every muscle in my body cries out in protest but I grit my teeth and keep moving. Even with my music blasting and my entire being aching, I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked, the way he sounded – the way the room felt, like it knew he was dying even if we all tried to deny it.

Even though it’d only been a few months since the last time I saw him, he looked like he’d aged at least ten years. My once strong, resilient dad was lying in bed with tubes and machines hooked up everywhere, his eyes hollow, his skin graying along with his hair. Because he refused chemo, he still had his hair. And he made sure to point that out to me. I think it was important to him, which makes sense. My dad has always been about appearance, about not letting anyone know if he was hurting.

It doesn’t make sense for him to have lung cancer. He hasn’t smoked since he entered the service at eighteen, but being deployed several times over the years, the doctors assume it was due to exposure to something on a tour. They also said it could be something they’re not thinking of, something random. So basically, the doctors don’t know shit except that he’s dying.

My dad is dying.

My dad is fucking dy-ing.

Push harder. Run faster. Kick. Hit. Push. Breathe. Don’t breathe. Fight.

The reality of that statement crashes into me now just as hard as it did when I went home to see him. I tried to help my mom around the house and told her I didn’t need to go back to school. Fuck school. But my dad insisted I come back. He wants me to live my life and get my education. And even though he told me it was okay if I didn’t want to do the tournament in May, I know he just said it because he thought it was what he needed to say. But the truth is, he wants me to do this more than anything. This was his dream, and then when he couldn’t make it happen, when he gave everything up for our family – he made it mine, whether I wanted it or not. Now it’s not just a dream, but his dying wish, and I want more than anything to win this tournament in his name – for him to see it happen before he passes.

Seeing him that frail, that broken, literally killed me. When he pulled me into his room alone with him and told me how proud he was of me, I broke down. I’ve never cried in front of my father before because it showed weakness. But this time, he cried, too. He’s proud of me, and he loves me. And I want to win this tournament to show him that I love him, too, and that his dreams are important to me. His life is important to me.

Which is why I couldn’t tell Skyler I would drop out.

Just thinking of her makes the hole in my chest ache as it splits me open even more. The look on her face when she found the file, the horror in her eyes when she realized who I am… what I am. A fucking monster. It was too much to bear then and it’s done nothing but double in size since she left.

I’ve seen her a few times at the casinos in town. We’re both practicing, getting ready for the tournament. But every time she sees me, she just leaves without saying a word. Even in class, she waits until at least five minutes past and slides in, taking a seat at the very front and then bolting out again as soon as class ends. She doesn’t even look my way. But I can’t blame her, not even a little bit. She has every right to hate me.

I wish I could make things better, but right now, I can’t. Maybe one day I’ll be able to talk to her about everything, to get her to understand. For now, my dad is what’s most important.

I just hope I can make him proud.

I sprint up the stairs to my apartment door and slam it behind me, falling face first onto my couch. When a soft knock raps on the door I just closed, I groan, my body still on fire from the run. Slowly, I drag myself up, trying not to flinch at the pain from the blisters on my heels. I’m still breathing hard and sweating like a whore in church when I open the door.

It’s Ashlei.

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly. She doesn’t smile or laugh, she just says the words and lets herself in my apartment. I shut the door and turn to follow her in. “So does your apartment,” she surveys, scanning the clutter and mess. I wish I was ashamed.

“What do you want, Ashlei? You already got all of Skyler’s things out of here.”

Her eyes soften a little and she sighs. “I came to check on you. I figured if you were half as bad as Skyler, you’d probably need me to force you into a shower. Which is kind of what it’s looking like right now.” She eyes me once more before shaking her head. “Kade said he never sees you anymore and you won’t talk to anyone. You can’t hole yourself up in here, Kip.”

It’s strange, but hearing that Skyler is upset makes a pain sear through me at the same time as it relieves me. I don’t want her to hurt, but I also can’t deny that I want her to miss me, too. “I can do whatever I need to do to get through this, Ashlei. And this is part of the process.”

She shakes her head again. “I don’t understand, what exactly happened between you two? Skyler won’t talk about it and you’re both acting like you still want to be together so why not just be together?”

I swallow hard. “It’s complicated.”

Ashlei rolls her eyes. “Sounds familiar. Listen, the KKB formal is on Saturday. Come with me.”

I cock a brow. “Are you serious?”

She sighs. “Not like that. I know Skyler wants you there but she’s not going to ask. Maybe if you come with me, you can talk to her and figure this shit out. You’re both making yourselves sick and it’s not healthy.”

I shift, crossing my arms across my chest. “Is she going with anyone?”

“Bear. As friends.”

I nod, chewing on the idea. I know she won’t forgive me for everything I’ve done, and I can’t take myself out of the tournament, but maybe if I could talk to her and explain everything, I could still have her in my life – even if it’s just as a friend, or hell, as someone who doesn’t hate me. I didn’t even try to explain when she was here two weeks ago, when everything blew up the way it did. I owe it to her to explain why I have to do the tournament. And even though I know she won’t completely forgive me and understand, maybe I can at least get her to see why I have to do this.

“It’s Saturday?”

Ashlei nods.

I sigh, running my fingers through my damp hair. This will either work and make everything easier to bear or it’ll blow up in my face and drag me down deeper into this shithole I’ve dug for myself. “Okay.”