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“When I get back to LA, I’m not doing any more chemo.”
Nathaniel tugs a hand through his hair, feeling sucker punched. “Grandpops, I don’t understand.”
Augustus holds his eyes, no bullshit in his gaze. “Yes, you do. You’re a doctor.”
He does.
He knew early on that chemo and radiation were onlyextending the time his grandfather had left. That with this type of cancer, the chances were slim. But it’s still not easy to hear. That the hope he had is just that. Hope.
“I’m terminal.” Augustus looks out at the fairway. “I don’t want to drag this out. So I am pivoting, and I’m making peace with that choice.”
He puts an arm around his grandfather’s shoulders. “I believe you,” he says thickly. He’ll never be ready for this. And that hard thought cracks something inside him. Moisture collects at the backs of his eyes. Christ, he doesn’t think he’s cried since he was a child.
But he doesn’t fight it. Instead, he scrubs a hand over his face and says, “I love you, Grandpops.”
His grandfather pulls him in for a hug. Nathaniel holds tight to him for a long time.
“Nate dawg!” Tater’s goofy voice pulls them from the moment. “Dude, check this out.”
In unison, they look over to see him wearing a beer bucket on his head.
Augustus gives a wry laugh. “Please take care of that kid when I’m gone.”
Nathaniel rolls his eyes. “Goddamn idiot,” he says dryly, though he’s secretly thankful for the levity.
“Now don’t tell anyone about my plans yet,” Augustus orders, coming back to the conversation.
Nathaniel’s throat tightens. He curls his fingers around the steering wheel. Squeezes. “What about Ash?”
“I plan to tell her.” Augustus’s voice is steady, but the tremor in his words betrays his nerves. “I plan to tell everyone at the end of the trip.”
Fuck. The last thing he wants to do is keep secrets from Ash. Not now. Not when they’re—
They’re what?
“I don’t want you to worry.” His grandfather’s somber voice derails his thoughts. “We are prepared. We have Ash.” He squeezesNathaniel’s shoulder. “And after I’m gone, you’ll move on. You’ll all move on.”
Already, he’s sick to his stomach. Move on?
Is that what he’s supposed to do when he gets on that plane? Forget about her? Forget their time together ever happened? Impossible.
Is that what she’ll do?
A rush of denial floods his chest as images pop like sunbursts in his head. Ash stretching catlike in a bed that isn’t his. Her red lipstick smeared over another man’s chest. Those long black nails making their mark down someone else’s back.
Fuck. Fuck this.
He’s going to have a fucking heart attack. He has to fight the urge to gun the gas on the golf cart and drive like a madman back to town. Track down Ash. Tell her—
“Won’t you?”
He blinks his way back to the present. His grandfather’s staring at him expectantly.
“What?” he asks.
“You’ll move on. The North Sea? It’s what you want, right?”
He swallows, making a pained noise. An ache settles behind his ribs. “I don’t know anymore.”
