I feel vaguely sick. I’m a right fuckin’ arsehole.
Erin spins around at the sound of the door, her eyes red-rimmed and wet. When she sees me, her face crumples completely.
“Cavin,” she whispers, and it sounds like a broken thing. My heart. My goddamn heart. She reaches for me, and I envelop her on instinct, holding her as she breaks down and cries.
All that rage, all that jealousy, all that fuckin’ stupidity, drains out of me in a single breath.
“Erin.” I feel her whole body shaking with silent sobs.
I hold her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped around her waist. “I’m sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, love.”
She cries harder, and I just hold her, letting her break apart in my arms because I can feel that she’s been holding this in for too long.
After a few minutes, she pulls back slightly, wiping at her face with shaking hands. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to—I just—I should’ve told you the whole truth.”
“Don’t,” I tell her firmly. “Don’t apologize.”
We’re not just apologizing for this, but for our stupid damn fight, and we both know it.
She takes a shuddering breath and looks back at the girl in the bed. The girl’s eyes are closed, her breathing shallow.
My chest tightens. “This is your sister.”
Erin’s voice cracks. “She’s sick, and she’s getting worse. Aplastic anemia—it’s rare. Her bone marrow’s fucked. She can’t make blood cells properly anymore.”
The words hit me like a fist to the gut.
“She was diagnosed two years ago,” Erin continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “We thought—we thought the treatment was working. But it came back, worse this time. The doctors say…” She can’t finish the sentence.
I pull her back against me, tucking her head under my chin. Over her shoulder, I look at Bridget. Really look at her. And I can see the resemblance. She has Erin’s nose. The same shape to her face, though it’s gaunt now, hollowed out by illness. She’d be a beauty, like her sister.
“That’s who you’ve been texting,” I say. It’s not a question.
Erin nods against my chest. “Her. And the doctors. And… sometimes I’m just checking her charts online. They give family access to the medical portal. I check it constantly. Looking for any changes, any updates, any—” Her voice breaks again. “Any hope.”
“Erin.” I tilt her face up to look at me, brushing away her tears with my thumbs.
“I should have told you the whole truth,” she whispers. “I just—” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’ve been so scared, Cavin. I’m terrified I’m going to lose her.”
I pull her close again, and this time I press a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re not alone anymore,” I tell her. “You hear me? Whatever happens, you’re not facing this alone.”
She makes a small sound, something between a sob and a laugh. “You must think I’m such a mess.”
“I think you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” And I mean it. Carrying this weight, keeping it hidden, trying to be normal while her sister fights for her life—that takes a kind of strength I’m not sure I have.
Movement from the bed draws our attention. Bridget’s eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then land on us.
I’m not scared of fucking anything, but somehow, facing her sister and her illness has me shaking.
“Erin?” Her voice is barely a whisper, rough and weak.
Erin pulls away from me and goes to her sister’s side immediately, taking her hand. “I’m here, love. I’m right here.”
Bridget’s gaze shifts to me, confused and hazy. She blinks slowly, like she’s trying to focus. “You brought the husband?”
“Aye,” Erin says softly, glancing back at me. Her eyes are still wet, but there’s something else there now. Something like hope and definite pride. “You remember Cavin.”
“Mmm. You’re right, sis, he’s well fit,” Bridget mumbles with a lopsided smile, her eyes drifting closed again before opening. Erin giggles in spite of herself. I squeeze her hand. “You’re brave. Braver than me.” She’s clearly delirious, the fever or the meds making her thoughts scattered.
