“I know you think you have to handle everything on your own, but you can’t handle this by yourself. You need doctors and medicines and rest. You’re doing too much, and I know we’ve had…stuffgoing on… which I’m really sorry about…”
I whip my head back to her in violent protest. How could she think she would ever need to apologize? “It’s not your fault.”
“It won’tmatterwhose fault it is if you die,” she snaps.
“Nix… I’m not going to—”
“You can’t leave me all alone,” her voice suddenly cracks, going from anger to small and hollow in a blink. “You’re all I have.”
Hot tears rush out before I can stop them, and I reach out and pull her against me before I fall apart in front of her. I squeeze her as tight as I can because she doesn’t realize that it’s the other way around.
“You’re allIhave.” I bury my face in her hair and cry like I haven’t let myself cry in years. Ugly, gasping sobs shake through my chest and tear open everything I’ve been trying to keep down. I should try to reassure her that I’m going to be okay, but all I can do is selfishly hold her.
Because she’s right.
If I die, nothing will matter. It won’t matter what I tried to do or why. All that’ll be left is her—alone.
And I swore I’d never let that happen.
Because I know what it feels like. I was left alone with a newborn at eight years old. There was no one to turn to. No one to protect me. Just a screaming baby with tiny fists that didn’t care how tired I was.
I remember holding her in the dark, my arms numb, wondering if she was ever going to stop crying, wondering ifIwas ever going to stop crying. We were both so small. I wasn’t even tall enough to reach the kitchen counter, but somehow I learned to boil the water for the formula without setting the house on fire. I learned to fake a parent’s signature. I learned to lie to authorities and how to wipe vomit off her neck while shaking from hunger.
People talk about instincts, but it wasn’t that. I kept her alive because if I didn’t… then I would actually be alone.
She was all I had.
She’s still all I have.
“Ewww!” she screeches suddenly, ripping away from me with offended horror. “Did you just snot on me?!”
“No!” I quickly swipe at my nose.
“You did.” She paws at her hair. “Oh my God.”
“I didn’t,” I insist, though I’m pretty sure I did.
I grab the box of tissues on the table beside me. It’s just a little snot. God. That’s what happens when you cry. Good to know our moment can only last a second. Rubbing my nose, there’s a softness, almost like… Are these the lotion ones? I twist the box around. Name brand. Oh, for fuck’s sake. They’ll probably charge me a hundred bucks per tissue used.
“Hey,” I try to get Nix’s attention back from her hair. “What’s with this room? Didn’t you tell them I’m on Medicaid?”
She raises a brow. “A Landon? On Medicaid?” There’s a playful lilt to her lip.
“A Landon? What are you—”
“Feeling better, Buttercup?”
Of. Course. JaxLandon. I narrow my eyes at where he’s leaned against the door frame, arms folded. He doesn’t have a hair out of place as he tilts his head. God, he’s relentlessly delectable.
And most likely overheard that I snotted on Nix.
“What are you doing here?” I grumble, even though I know exactly what’s happened now.
This room, the tissues, and the real flowers, it’s because of him. His money. His stupid fucking arms that must have carried me down that damn hill. Again.
“Just checking on my wife.” He smirks.
I choke. “Excuse me?”
