“So you’re just gonna leave?” Emotion threads through my unsteady voice. “You’re just gonna walk out on us? On Mom? Now? She’s dying, Chris. Don’t you get that? She’s dying—” My voice cracks, and I draw a shaky, steadying breath, but it’s too late. Tears fall freely.
“If you walk out now, you’ll regret it.”
A slow exhale leaks through his nostrils, something flickering behind his eyes as he rolls his shoulders. I recognize it for what it is: a single, deliberate motion to keep himself together. Pain is weakness, and he can’t let the world see that he’s not indestructible. But regardless of how well he holds himself together, I’m not blind to the sheen in his eyes or the way he swallows, once, twice, too many times.
He’s hurting, and I don’t want him to walk out on us.
Not now.
Not when we need him most.
“Don’t,” I plead, placing my hand on his arm, but he shifts out of reach. The rejection hollows me out, my ribs too narrow to contain the unfurling ache.
His throat rolls again, and he pinches his eyes as if the action alone will ward off the tears that threaten to fall.
“I’m sorry,” he says in a gruff voice before ghosting past without another word. I turn just in time to see him escape through the front door and rush past the windows.
Madsen watches me with a pitying look. She wants to say something to make it better, because that’s what she does. She comforts people. But I don’t want comforting, empty words or hugs.
I want this nightmare to end.
Summer lets go of Mom’s hand to dry her cheeks when I enter the room. “I tried to convince him to stay.”
“There was nothing you could say or do that would change his mind.” My voice is surprisingly steady. I’m good at pretending to be the strong one around my sister. It’s the role I’ve always played. Sometimes I welcome it.
“It’s okay,” I say as I stop by Mom’s bedside and take her hand. “You can leave if you want. Catch a few hours’ rest. I’ll call you if anything changes.”
It’s clear from the dark circles under her eyes that she hasn’t slept. She’s been here instead of me because I’ve been warming Kane’s bed. I can’t help but hate myself a little for it.
She collects her jacket from the chair, and I pause when I notice purple bruising on her neck.
“Summer?”
“Hmm?”
She folds her jacket over her arm. When I walk around to her side, she looks at me questioningly.
I cock my head slightly, my lips twitching. “Is that a hickey?”
Her brows knit together, then her eyes widen, and she slaps a hand over the love bite.
Now I’m intrigued. This is my innocent sister, the same girl who blushes fiercely if you so much as mention sex. Now she has a hickey on her neck? Who has she been spending time with while I’ve been busy with Kane? I’m suddenly curious but also worried about her.
“It’s nothing,” she says, collecting her phone from the chair where she left it. When she turns to leave the room, her cheeks burn hot.
“Who is he?” I ask, trying to read her face.
“No one. It’s nothing.”
Before I can ask more questions, she rushes out with a final,call me.
Silence settles in, broken only by the rhythmic beep of the heart-rate monitor. I let my gaze drift, catching on the wilted flowers by the window. Mom’s breathing is so light it’s barely visible.
Taking a seat in Summer’s vacated chair, I reach for my paperback on the nightstand and open it to the page where we left off. I smooth the yellowed paper, wondering whether Summer has gone to find her secret fling or gone home to sleep.
Who is the guy she’s seeing? And how long has it been going on? While she was bound to meet someone eventually, I can’t help but feel protective of her.
One of the last things I did after Mom’s terminal diagnosis was to promise her I would look after Summer, and I won’t go back on that promise now.
