“An ambulance is on the way,” Asher announces.
“Bill, honey, listen to me,” Sheila tries to keep him conscious, looking like she’s about to cry, but I can’t see any real tears.
Her words, however, linger heavily in the back of my mind. They plant seeds of dangerous doubt while the guilt works its way through my stomach. The last thing our father needs is more drama and bickering. My brothers and I agreed we’d attempt to be warm and civil.
But then Sheila decided to join us and refused to leave.
And we let our anger get the better of us. She dragged us down to her level and then beat us with experience.
“Hang in there, Dad,” Cole tells him.
If he makes it through this, I swear it will be the last time we allow Sheila to play us.
19
WILLOW
Jamie has been a caring, perhaps overly concerned, friend since he moved in with me. It’s supposed to be a temporary agreement until the cops resolve their investigation into the poisoning and the road incident, but I’m becoming more and more certain that Jamie likes looking after me.
He carries the groceries through the door, then leaves them on the kitchen counter before he comes over. “Will, you don’t look so good.”
“I’m okay,” I say, but we both know I’m lying.
I’ve been puking my guts out over the past few days and eating like a linebacker until late at night. Even coffee doesn’t go down as well as it used to. Coffee, my favorite thing in the world. I feel weak and deprived of what little joy I had left.
“Girl, you are anything but okay,” Jamie scoffs, then presses the back of his hand against my forehead for a temperature check. “Well, you’re not burning up.”
“I’m telling you it’s just a seasonal flu or something.” I groan and lean back against the sofa, eager to huddle under the plush, creamy white blanket.
Jamie sighs and goes back to the front door first, making sure it’s locked. He looks through the peephole, too, for good measure, making me chuckle softly.
“We’re safe, Jamie. The building manager is liaising with the police. Security staff is on the premises. There are cameras in all the public areas. The concierge knows what’s what, too,” I tell him. “Relax.”
“You can never be too careful, Will.”
I can’t blame him. He’s the one who almost died from a poison meant for me. I take a deep breath and try another sip of coffee, but as soon as the taste meets my tongue, I shudder and set the mug down.
“Are you hungry? I’m gonna whip us up a nice breakfast,” Jamie says as he takes the groceries out of their paper bags.
“Right now, I feel like I’m about to explode.”
“Bloated?”
“That’s an ugly word, but yes. It’s like I’m retaining water. I just have to look at a croissant, and I get puffy and heavy,” I grumble. “And everything pisses me off. The silence of the holidays. You know that lovely quiet period between Christmas and New Year’s Eve?”
Jamie gives me a confused look. “You used to love that. Your favorite time of the year. No emails or phone calls.”
“I know, right?” I’m just as befuddled.
But now, after the whole Christmas fallout, I could use some agitation, some last-minute engagement party or wedding to plan. We’ve got a few events in the pipeline for January and February, though the arrangements are already taken care of.
Jamie starts whisking the eggs first, occasionally throwing a curious glance my way. “Have you heard from them?”
“From whom?”
“Seriously?” He’s got that eyebrow up again.
I reply with an apologetic smile. “They tried calling again,” I tell him. “I let it go to voicemail.”
