I flick through more photographs and find the same thing.
And then it hits me.
Like a damn freight train to the chest.
She’s skin and bones.
Her face is gaunt.
The beanies aren’t some kind of fashion statement.
Kiera has cancer.
The butterflies in my stomach turn vicious. Not the fluttery, cute kind either. It’s the gnawing, clawing, stomach-acid-churning kind. The kind that says everything is wrong. The herbal remedies, the lack of hair, the images where Kiera looks too pale, too thin. Her breathlessness when she ran to the phone. The way Mercs shuts down when she’s mentioned.
Good Lord! His sister is sick.
A notification pings at the top of my screen—Kiera has accepted your friend request—and a tiny smile slips onto my face despite the way my heart is sinking.
“You look deep in thought,” a familiar, low voice cuts through the quiet.
I glance up, warmth washing over me the second I see him. Mercs leans in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest, that soft smile on his face doing things to my insides he’ll never understand.
“I am,” I murmur, setting my phone aside. “Kiera just accepted my friend request.”
His expression shifts instantly.
The warmth vanishes.
His arms drop, and he starts toward me, something hollow flashing in his eyes. “You friended Kiera on Facebook?” he asks, stepping closer.
I stand, confused. “Well, yeah. I figured it was the right thing to do. She’s a fan and your sister.”
He exhales sharply, raking his hand through his hair. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “What did you see?”
My heart cracks. “It’s okay, Mercs. I’m so sorry.”
His lips tug into a hard, broken frown. He pauses, staring into my eyes with this desperate ache that makes my own chest seize. He shakes his head slightly. “I don’t want to lose her, Effa.”
The bottom falls out of my stomach. I lunge toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and hold tight, like maybe I can will my strength into him. “Of course you don’t,” I whisper.
“She’s my baby sister,” he rasps. “I helped raise her. Watching her fade away like this…” He swallows hard again, his voice growing hoarse. “It’s killing me, especially when she’s violently sick from the chemo. Hours spent curled up against the toilet. When all her hair fell out. When she can’t even stand some days.Fuck. A piece of me dies every time I see it.”
My throat tightens. “She can beat it, though, right?”
His arms tense. “She has Acute Myeloid Leukemia. And I… I don’t know. I want to believe she can. But some days, it feels like I’m lying to myself.” He leans against me, sagging under the weight of it all. “There’s a procedure. A stem cell transplant. They’re going to try to use mine. The odds are around eighty-five percent of success. I know that sounds high, but it’s not high enough for me.”
I pull back slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes are red and glassy.
“We’re gonna help her through this,” I say with everything I’ve got. “You, me, Gran, the girls, the crew. We’ve got her, Mercs. You just have to let us.”
He nods slightly. “She’s my whole world. Dad walked out when we were little. Mom died from cancer when I was fifteen… Kiera was eight. It’s just us. And Gran.”
I reach for his hands and grip tight. “You have me now, too.”
His eyes lock on mine. “I should’ve told you. I wanted to. But saying it out loud, admitting that s-she’s…” his voice breaks, body shuddering, “… dying.” The last word cracks like glass. “Ijust… I want to be strong for you. But when it comes to her, I’m weak. She’s the one thing that can and does break me.”
I cup his cheek, brushing my thumb across the stubble there, trying to soothe him. “Hey, she’s okay right now. You still have time. And if you need to leave the tour for the procedure, you go, Mercs. We’ll survive. She’sfarmore important.”
