Saylor chuckles alongside us as we walk. “He’s right, you need to wash that.”
“Anyway,” I start, prompting a chuckle from them. “It seems you can do anything.”
North frowns, looking at me curiously. “I have my ways, know some people, money helps. What are you getting at?”
“How can you relocate people and take down mayors but not find anything to help Saylor?” I ask, knowing it might be unfair. Hunter said they tried everything seven years ago, but now it seems like they’ve just accepted Saylor’s fate.
North stops, turning to face me, his eyes filled with hurt and longing. I almost feel sorry for him, but then I see Saylor watching him, clearly with the same question on his mind. “You’re right. I haven’t done enough these past few years. There might be new methods, new studies,” North concedes, biting his lip. “Lio wanted to color today. Maybe we can all sit at the kitchen table, he can color, and we can make some calls to look into things. What do you say? I think we’ve done enough running for one morning.”
Saylor takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself, his fists clenched, but he nods in agreement.
“That’s a great idea, thank you,” I tell North, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as we resume walking. He strokes the back of my hand gently, and I watch our hands before looking up at him. “You’re changing.”
He really is. He’s not talking big like Nash or pushing like Hunter.
He’s showing me that he can change by doing and making it happen.
“Told you to watch.”
THIRTY-THREE
We spenthours coloring with Lio and researching Saylor’s condition, trying to find anything that might offer a new perspective or solution.
Every expert, every doctor we’ve consulted, has left us without a solution. North called all the doctors they had contact with when they first tried to help Saylor, but they all said the longer he is in this state, the less likely it is that he can be helped. North made appointments with them anyway, to at least try. Despite that, the glint in Saylor’s eyes dimmed every time North ended a phone call, and the weight on my chest almost suffocated me.
When Saylor felt the pull a half hour ago, it was the first time I was relieved he did. He didn’t have to hear the next crushing conclusion from his hospital doctor over the phone. The likelihood of his heart failing due to his condition was now greater than the chance of him waking up.
Needing a moment, I excused myself, telling North I would bring the van to their house. I could see the skepticism in his eyes, a silent question of whether I was planning to run again. Despite his doubts, he let me go, but not before I promised toreturn. His trust, mixed with apprehension, was evident, and as I walked away, I guess he felt I needed some space.
A tear cascades down my cheek while sitting on the bed in my van. These walls are my sanctuary, comforting and confining as I grapple with my emotions. I had yearned for Saylor when I thought he was dead. I could have coped with that loss because my love for him outweighs everything. But to know he’s still alive, to know he’s suffering, his body there, but he’s never going to wake up again, it’s fucking killing me.
And I don’t want to know how he feels about it.
Although I can guess.
“This is so fucking unfair,” I whisper into the quiet of the van, my words disappearing into the silence. “There has to be something we can do.” My nan’s words echo in my mind, her belief that there’s a reason for everything. But what possible reason could there be for this? “What sense does it make for him to be like this?” I ask into the void, knowing full well that Nan won’t answer, won’t come to comfort or guide me.
She never does.
We did readings for so many people, connecting others with the spirits of their loved ones when they were willing to communicate, yet she has stayed silent.
Why doesn’t she want to talk to me?
Why does she never come throughfor me?
“Why?” I cry out, my voice breaking with emotion. “Why do you leave me alone in all of this?” I stand, my heart pounding fiercely against my chest. “Why don’t you ever come for me? Ineedyou!” I yell, my voice echoing in the small space, not caring if anyone outside can hear me. “You said you’d only be a whisper away. I whispered, I yelled, and now I’m screaming for you. Where are you?”
The questions hang heavy in the air, unanswered.
My outburst has me panting. I sit back down on the edge of the bed, my head cradled in my hands, allowing myself a few more moments to cry and release the pent-up pain and frustration.
I need to get my shit together before getting back home to Lio and the guys.
Home.
It’s funny to think about the house that way now, even though it felt like it from the start.
As I sit here, enveloped in the aftermath of my emotional storm, a faint whisper cuts through the silence, startling me. “Sloany.”
