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“It’s just an idea,” he demurs quickly. “I haven’t applied or anything. And I’d need to figure out the money stuff?—”
“We’ll figure it out,” I interrupt. “Whatever you need. We’ll make it work.”
He looks at me then, and I see our father’s chin and our mother’s smile glowing on this broken, healing boy. “You’ve already done so much, Rae. I don’t want you to?—”
“Gideon.” I reach across and grab his other hand, so the three of us form a little chain. “You’re my baby brother. There’s not a thing on this planet I wouldn’t do for you. You know that.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I know,” he says. “It’s just that you’ve done so much for me already, even when I didn’t deserve it, and I… I just… I want to make you proud, Rae. Eventually. I want to be someone you don’t have to worry about anymore.”
The tears I’ve been fighting finally win. One escapes down my cheek, then another.
“Youdomake me proud,” I tell him with a stern look so he knows I mean it. “Every single day you fight this thing, you make me proud.”
We hang out for a while longer, until the time comes for us to leave if we want to make it back to the city before dark. Jillian excuses herself to use the bathroom, and I take the opportunity to stop by the administrative office.
The woman behind the desk, Jessica, greets me with a smile. “Ms. Everett! Here for payment?”
“That’s right.” I pull my checkbook from my bag and fill it out. It’s easier than it was the first few times around. No more shakyhands. They used to make writing almost impossible, back when Gideon first got admitted and I had to do math on the back of napkins to figure out if I could afford both his treatment and my rent in the same month.
The raise helps. Lukas’s raise.
I try not to think about that as I sign my name and tear the check free.
Jessica takes it with another smile and files it away. “Same time next week?”
“Same time next week,” I confirm, and head back to find Jillian.
The parking lot is quiet when we step outside. Just the crunch of gravel under our boots and the distant call of some bird that didn’t get the memo about flying south for the winter.
Then I see a strangely familiar face. I do a double-take, but there’s no mistaking it:
Kir Lazarev is here.
Kir is leaning against a blacked-out sedan, scrolling through his phone like he has all the time in the world. When he spots us, his face breaks into an easy, charming smile.
“Rae! Well, would you look at that? Small world.”
Every muscle in my body goes stiff. What the hell is he doing here?
Beside me, Jillian tenses. I can feel it without even looking at her. “Is this bad?” she mutters out of the side of her mouth.
As he approaches us, Kir’s gaze slides to Jillian. It lingers there a beat too long, sweeping over her red hair, her freckles, thestubborn set of her jaw. Something cold slithers behind his smile. I don’t like the look of it one bit.
“Kir,” I say, too quickly. “What are you doing here?”
He pockets his phone, eyes still fixed on Jillian. “Visiting a friend.”
There’s no friend. I know it instantly, the way you can always tell when someone’s lying to your face and not even trying hard to hide it. He’s here for a reason… and, as he proves with his next question, that reason has nothing to do with me.
“Jillian Pierce, right?” Kir extends his hand to shake. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Jillian doesn’t take it. “Who are you?” she asks bluntly.
His smile sharpens. “Kir Lazarev. Rae’s boss. Well—” He tilts his head and grins with fake sheepishness. “One of them, anyway.”
He pockets his hand and we all stand there awkwardly for a minute. I don’t know where to look, but Jillian and Kir are glaring daggers at each other. It’s hate at first sight.
“We should get going,” I interject. “Long drive back.”
