9|Quick Sand

The call came just as Liam left the race track.

When he saw the name flashing on the screen, he ignored it, and his sister went to his voicemail. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Willow go off at him about his irresponsible, selfish actions. They'd had a lot of such calls in the past several weeks, starting when Senior first brought up his succession plan.

His phone pinged again. This time it was a text from Holly, the youngest Anderson child. As the baby of the family, Holly was the most spoilt and self-entitled.

Their parents could never refuse her anything. Liam figured being a renowned ballerina helped because no matter how ridiculous her demands were, Clarke and Lois would bend over backwards to cater to her every want and need.

When Holly wanted her very own private ballet studio, Clarke had bought a warehouse and refurbished it specifically for her needs.

When she demanded a six-bedroom penthouse in Rock Castle's prime location, an army of realtors had to run around like headless chickens to secure it for her, never mind that the place would stay empty because she was hardly in the country.

The most ridiculous of her whims though was that one time when all the boutiques on 9th Street had to be closed because she wanted to choose her fifty-thousand pair of shoes and matching handbags without all the commoners gawking at her.

Her text was yet another demand. She wanted Liam to get his ass to the Medi-Clinic in Glen Eagles ASAP.

Willow called again. He put her on speaker. His heart crashed to his feet when her desperate sobs filled the car.

It took him a few minutes to calm her down and get her to tell him what was wrong.

"It's Dad," she bawled on her end, "You have to come to the hospital!"

Liam hung up and made a U-turn, ignoring the huge warning sign forbidding him from making a turn there. He skipped every red traffic light and ignored the millions of car horns blaring at him. His eyes were firmly on the road ahead, but his mind was back in his father's study, replaying their heated exchange and the last words he said to him.

In the ten minutes it took him to get to the hospital, he prayed harder and more times than he'd ever done in his life. He made silent promises and bargained with everything he had. He'd give it all up, his dreams, racing, the tournaments if it meant having just one more hour with his father.

Liam didn't know how he got to the hospital; he snapped out of his daze when he pulled up in the visitor's parking lot and heard screeching ambulances race off to save lives somewhere.

Both his sisters came to meet him at the entrance.

On most days, Holly and Willow–both named after trees because of their Mom's love for plants–were immaculate visions of class and poise. With their ink-black hair, large green eyes, porcelain skin and slim frames, they could easily pass for twins despite the four-year difference between them.

Tonight, though, they were both dishevelled, their faces splotchy with tears and snot, their eyes red and hollow with fear.

They threw themselves in his arms when they saw him. He hugged them tight and tried to assure them as best as he could even though he didn't know what the situation was.

"What happened? Where's Mom and Dad?" He asked as he released them from his embrace, and they headed to elevators to take them to the VIP wing.

"Dad's very sick, Liam," Willow said in a tearful voice.

"That can't be," Liam shook his head, refusing to accept something was wrong with Clarke. The man has never missed a day at the office because of an illness. "There has to be a mistake. I saw him today. He was fine!"

"That's what he wanted you to think," Holly murmured. "He's been sick for a while now."

Liam paused and stared at the two of them, a suspicious scowl on his face. "How long is a while and what's wrong with him?"

"About six months," Holly replied.

"Colon cancer," Willow added.

The air swooshed out of Liam's lungs. For a stunning moment, he felt like he was sinking in quicksand as he gasped, convinced his sister's announcement would suffocate him. The worst though was the silence, the terrible, never-ending silence. He couldn't hear anything except Willow's words, echoing in his mind over and over.

Colon cancer.

Wasn't that for really older people?

Clarke wasn't old. At 58 he still had a lot of life in him, and he was the healthiest person Liam knew.

His father took care of himself and exercised for at least an hour every day. He played golf on Saturdays and went bowling on Sundays. And the most sinful thing he ever ate was a thin slice of cake for dessert, and only on special occasions.

What Willow said didn't make sense to him.

"No!" Liam shook his head in denial as he forced air into his lungs. "You are wrong! Dad is not sick. Dad would never get cancer!"

"Liam," Holly reached for him and held him close, trying to keep him from unravelling right there in the middle of the corridor. "Dad is not okay."

"He would have told me if he was sick," Liam brushed off her hand, and they began walking again.

"He didn't want you to worry," Willow explained. "After you take over, he and Mom planned to go overseas to get treatment."

"He should have told me sooner!" Liam raged as they stepped inside the elevator. "I wouldn't have fought him so hard. How bad is it?"

"Enough to require immediate surgery to remove part of his colon," Holly said.

Liam stared at his sisters, an incredulous look in his eyes. They both seemed to know so much about their father's condition.

"Am I the only one who didn't know?" He asked softly.

"We wanted to tell you, but Dad made us promise not to. He knew you were training hard for the tournament and he didn't want to take your focus away from the competition." Willow murmured as she rubbed her swollen eyes.

"You think I care about any of that now–" He was about to lose his shit, but the elevator dinged open, pausing what would have undoubtedly been their biggest fight yet.