A life where I got to grow old and complain about my back hurting for reasons other than cancer devouring my lungs.
But none of that’s happening.
My bloodline ends with me. A dead end.
How fucking pathetic is that?
“Are you okay?” Eli whispers, not wanting to attract the guard's attention.
Cortéz…the cowardly little rat…had us dragged into some damp-ass basement and then ran off to whatever hole he hides his balls in. The room smells like mold and old concrete. A single grimy window lets in a strip of light. Just enough for me to see Eli’s wide eyes shining with fear.
“I’m okay, sweetheart,” I lie.
I’mnot. God, I’m not even remotely okay.
Every breath feels like I’m sucking air through wet cement. I can hear that rattling in my lungs. The one that means blood is pooling. Filling. Rising.
Drowning me from the inside out.
Lying down sounds heavenly. Just sinking into the floor, letting the pain fade… letting the weight go… letting this fucking disease win.
But that’s not my call to make anymore.
Because the universe decided to throw one last job at me before I check out.
Keep this sweet, terrified man alive until Skip gets here.
“Knuckles,” Eli whispers. “I’m still really scared… but my body’s starting to calm down.”
Fuck.
“What do I do, sweetheart?” I ask, voice low, rough. Not because I’m trying to be gentle…because it fucking hurts to talk.
“Nothing,” he says with a shaky smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I shouldn’t be out for more than a minute. Sometimes it’s only seconds before I come back. But it…it takes hours for my body to recover.”
“What about that time you were out for hours?” I ask. “When Skip and I found you in the bathroom?”
“That was different,” he says. “I’d been overdoing it for weeks. That was my body forcing a shutdown. It shouldn’t happen again. Not now, anyway.”
I nod, though my head swims.
I move closer and lower myself beside him. Every bone in my body protests, but I push through and gently guide his head onto my lap.
“Lay your head down, Eli,” I murmur. “If you faint, I don’t want you hitting the floor.”
And if someone walks in…I’ll fight them.
For as long as this broken body lets me.
Maybe only seconds.
Maybe only one punch.
But I’ll fight.
Because life is funny like that. When you know you’re dying…you finally figure out what’s worth living for.
“Knuckles,” Eli whispers, voice already going thin. “Don’t die.”
