He blinks, turning back to Ben. But his voice is soft. “He’s sleeping.”
I take a step closer, my eyes sweeping over Ben. He’s curled up against his brother, his head leaning against Jared’s shoulder. “He’s sleeping a lot now.”
“Any medication?”
Clearing my throat, I move toward the kitchenette, picking up the washing basket to bag it for collection tomorrow. “He has a dose of dexamethasone every morning. He can’t swallow it now, so we moved to injections around a week ago.”
“And the pain?”
His voice is closer than I expected, and I jump. The basket slips from my hands, clothes spilling everywhere.
I drop down on one knee to grab them, shoving them back into the basket. “The pain is… bad.”
When I get to my feet and turn, he’s close. Jared frowns, his eyes dropping to the dirty washing. “Why are you doing this?”
I follow his gaze. “He goes through a lot of changes of clothes.”
“No.” Jared shakes his head. “I mean – why are youhere? What are you getting out of this?”
My head rears back. “What?”
He looks frustrated, but it’s nothing to the flood of icy anger that washes through my veins at his words. “What exactly are you trying to insinuate, Jared?”
Iknow. But I want to hear him say it.
He watches me for a moment longer before he shakes his head. “Forget it. I need to grab my bags from outside.”
I point silently to where I brought them in with me, propped up by the door.
Jared takes a single step before he whirls back, fists clenching. “He has no money, you know. If that’s your angle.”
I flinch away from his hands, backing up a step with the basket between us. But the anger surges. “I beg your fuckingpardon?”
He keeps his voice low. “A little suspicious, don’t you think? That his very own personal guardian angel rocks up just when his illness becomes worse? There’s no life insurance, Emilia. No savings. So if you’re hoping to play the grieving widow when he’s gone, you’re going to be disappointed.”
My mouth falls open.
But the words don’t come.
26
Jared
Ican feel the anger dripping from my mouth like poisoned blades, weapons angled directly for Emilia. Hell, I’m not even sure that I fuckingmeanthem. But the anger churning in my chest needs an outlet.
Although…Nobody just rocks up and volunteers to care for someone in their final stages without expecting something in return.
Nobodyis that decent.
Nobody that I’ve ever met, anyway.
Nobody is that—
Careful. Don’t go there.
“My brother is a good person,” I say firmly. “But I’m not my brother. I will not let you take advantage of him.”
She’s still silent. Pale, as she watches me. Her knuckles are white on the washing basket filled with my brother’s clothes, and I hate the fucking sight of it.
