Coyotes Ever After (Colorado Coyotes #7)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Mila

“One sip, Colby. For me.”

My husband’s eyes focus on me, his cheek pressed to the cool tile on our bathroom floor. He mumbles a response.

“I’ll puke it up. Just go.”

Chemo is hell. He’s on his third round, and in the four months since his diagnosis, he’s lost thirty pounds and all his hair. The worst part of seeing him curled up on our bathroom floor is that he’s a fighter. He forces down protein shakes to keep his weight up and exercises even when he’s at his worst. So for him to not even think he can tolerate a single sip of water, he has to be more miserable than I can imagine.

I can’t let my love for him make me soft. When he was about to start chemo, he made me promise to stay tough and drag him through it if I had to. Just like he forces down the protein shakes, he needs me to care for his body even when his spirit is crushed.

“You can either take a small sip or I’ll call an ambulance to take you back to the hospital for hydration.”

His response is an aggravated exhale.

“Do you need Ford to help you up?” I ask.

“No.”

He groans and presses a palm to the floor, trying to push himself up. His arm shakes and he doesn’t move. I look away.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

I get up from the edge of the bathtub, where I’m sitting, and walk through our bedroom and out to the hallway. Once there, I take a steadying breath.

When Colby was diagnosed, I made a deal with myself. If the worst happens and I lose him, I’ll give myself some time to break. But until that very moment, I’m made of steel. I don’t cry and I don’t let my mind wander to the what-ifs.

It’s what we do. We fight until there’s no time left on the scoreboard. No matter the score, no matter the odds. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, but I have to be the rock--for Colby and our daughters.

Two years ago, we built our dream home outside of Denver. It has stunning mountain views and is filled with windows. Our builder and designer managed to make an eleven-thousand-square-foot home still feel cozy with lots of fireplaces and warm woods. This is the happy family home I never thought I’d have. I’m so damn grateful for it every single day.

When I reach the family room, I find Ford and Elle on the couch, Irina snuggled between them. The family room is open to the kitchen and I can see Anastasia in there helping our nanny, Madison, make dinner.

It hurts a little to see my older daughter giving Madison an adoring gaze, but I get it. These past four months, I’ve needed to be with Colby a lot. He wants the girls sheltered from seeing him during his worst chemo side effects. Madison was our part-time nanny when he was diagnosed. The girls love her, so we offered her a lot of money to move in with us and become our full-time nanny.

“We’re making chicken soup for Daddy,” Anastasia says proudly.

I smile. “That’s wonderful, love. Just what he needs.”

I glance at Ford and he nods slightly, knowing I need him without me having to say anything.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, getting up.

I lead the way back to the bedroom, relieved to have the help of someone Colby trusts.

Our Coyotes family has been our greatest source of support through Colby’s illness. As soon as Colby shared the news with his tight inner circle of former teammates who still live here, they and their families immediately jumped into action.

Shelby Fox maintains a schedule for the group so someone is here to help on the days after Colby’s chemo when he’s the sickest. Beau, Ford, Dom and Ben hang out here on those days, usually with their wives. They spend time with the girls, playing, baking and cooking. They help Madison with laundry and cleaning. My girls have never had so many bedtime stories read to them. Elle Barrett is reading Harry Potter to Anastasia on the nights she’s here. Any animosity I used to feel toward her is long gone. She’s my family now.

More than anything, the group that helps us keeps the spirit in our home warm and supportive. We never feel alone. They fiercely guard our privacy. I’ll never be able to put into words how much it means.

“He okay?” Ford asks me in a low tone as we walk upstairs.

I sigh softly. “He’s weak and dehydrated. I told him he has to go back to the hospital for fluids if he won’t drink a little water. He can’t get up from the floor, though.”

Ford nods. “How about you? You doing okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking. I hate seeing him like this, but I try to think of it like the sicker he is, the better the chemo is working. It’s not even true, but it’s the mental game I play with myself, you know?”

“Yeah. I know you’re like me—I’d much rather be the one who was sick if it was a choice between me or Elle.”

My lips twitch in the tiniest of smiles because I have that thought many times every day when Colby is sick after chemo.

“I’d give anything to trade places with him,” I murmur.

“You’re exactly where you need to be.” Ford slows as we start to approach the end of the second floor where our bedroom is. “But take care of yourself, too. If you need a day with the girls or a day for just yourself, we’ve got you.”

“I know. Thanks.”

It’s good to know I could take a day for myself, but there’s no way I will. I sometimes take the girls out to do something fun for a few hours, but nothing more. I want to be with my husband.

Something this experience has shown me is that the Coyotes organization can run very well without me. I haven’t been to my office in more than four months, but I review reports and emails on my laptop before bed every night, and everything is smooth.

I’m not indispensable, even as the team owner. All my other businesses are doing as well as ever, too. It’s opened my eyes about where I spend my time and energy.

We have more money than we could ever want or need, and I don’t plan to ever go back to working in my office full time. I enjoy it, but it’s just work. It can’t love me back.

I’m Colby’s one and only wife. My daughters’ one and only mom. I want to spend more time with them and our extended Coyotes family, making memories.

When I walk into the bathroom, Ford right behind me, Colby is in the same position he was when I left him.

“Hey, man,” Ford says. “I heard you’re thirsty.”

“You got any Blantons?” Colby almost smiles as he jokes about his favorite bourbon.

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Ford bends down next to him. “I’ll bring over some Blantons and Tomahawk steaks when you’re up for it. We’ll play poker and I’ll clean you out like I did last time.”

Ford puts an arm around Colby’s back, hooking his hand beneath Colby’s arm so he can haul him up. The strain shows on his face and neck, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“Sorry,” Colby murmurs.

“You’re good,” Ford says.

Colby tries to set his feet on the floor, but he can’t seem to hold up his weight. A helpless moan comes out of him, hitting me like a punch in the gut. I scramble around, trying to get on his other side, but Ford shakes his head.

“I’ve got him.”

“Shit,” Colby mutters. “Puke.”

He barely gets the word out before he throws up all over himself, some of it splashing on Ford.

“So sorry,” Colby says weakly.

“Nah, man. Don’t apologize. It’s me. We’ve been through a lot of shit together. Remember when Sergei shit his pants on the bus?”

A weak, single note of laughter comes out of Colby’s mouth. Ford meets my gaze.

“I’m gonna move him onto the shower chair and we’ll get him undressed.”

He puts an arm behind Colby’s knees and scoops him up like he’s about to carry him over the threshold. Gently, he sets him in the shower chair that Colby has to use for showering these days.

Colby has so little strength that he can’t hold himself up, so I get in the shower and close the bar that surrounds his lower torso like the safety bar on a roller coaster.

Ford is still supporting him beneath his arms. Our eyes lock.

“How do we get him undressed?” I ask.

“I can still get his shirt off.”

“Sorry, guys,” Colby says softly.

“We’re good, don’t apologize.” Ford looks at me. “Get the water and I’ll get him to drink some. Then grab scissors and a trash bag.”

I nod, grateful for his calm, levelheaded demeanor. It’s hard for me to think of anything but how much it kills me to see my husband covered in his own vomit, unable to stand on his own.

The cycle of chemo he’s on is powerful. The doctors told us it would be the most brutal yet.

I bring Ford Colby’s glass of water with a curved stainless straw in it. He takes it.

“Alright, man. Drink some and get that shitty taste out of your mouth.”

I’ve never been more grateful to another person. I have to leave the room so neither of them sees the tears in my eyes. Ford has a way about him that I’ve always admired. It’s why he made such a great team captain. He makes the people around him feel comfortable and respected.

Five minutes later, I come back into the room with the supplies. Ford has already taken off his own shirt and Colby’s. I cut off everything he’s wearing beneath the waist and scoop the clothes into the garbage back, adding his socks, too.

Colby can’t see Ford’s grim expression at the sight of his visible ribs and collarbone, but I can. It’s a special kind of hell seeing a war raged on the body of someone you love.

“He’s kept the water down,” Ford says, his expression neutral again. “You keep that up and we’ll be bringing you chocolate shakes soon.”

Ford slides his pants off, only his boxers left. He locks eyes with me.

“No reason for us to both get wet. I’ve got this. Go hang out with the girls.”

I give him an appreciative smile. “Thanks, but I want to stay.”

“Okay, get a clean towel and clothes for him and I’ll get him cleaned up.”

I nod, hearing the flow of the water as I leave the room. This is something I truly couldn’t do without help. We’d have to hire home health nurses if Colby’s former teammates weren’t willing to do it. At first, Colby hated his friends seeing him looking like he does, but he’s used to it now.

When I return to the bathroom with two towels and clean clothes from our closet for both Colby and Ford, Ford is just finishing up using the detachable showerhead to rinse Colby off.

Together, we dry him off and get him dressed. With Ford’s supporting most of his weight, Colby’s able to slowly walk into our bedroom. Once he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, I move his legs into it and Ford helps him get into a comfortable position.

“Thank you,” Colby says, giving Ford a solemn look.

“We’re brothers, man. You’ll be doing this for me someday.”

Colby can barely keep his eyes open. I pass him a pill and bring the glass of water up to his mouth, angling the straw so he can reach it.

“Two swallows,” I say.

“Role reversal,” he mumbles, his lips quirking in a small smile. “You usually swallow.”

“He’s still got the jokes,” Ford says with a grin. “I assume you’ll be here all week?”

“Don’t have much choice.” Colby’s amused expression slowly slides away and he closes his eyes.

Ford and I quietly leave the bedroom. I gently pull the door closed.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For...”

I look away, tears flooding my eyes again. Ford opens his arms and I accept his hug, letting a few tears flow.

“We’ve got you,” he says softly. “Not just Colby, you and the girls, too. This is what family does.”

I nod against his chest, hoping that someday, in some way, I can return all the love and support they’ve given us.