“She does,” he agreed,getting into the car once I unlocked it.
“When I was fifteen, theyfound a tumor in my shoulder the size of a tennis ball,” he said. “It’s calledosteosarcoma. It’s really just… bone cancer, teenagers are especiallysusceptible to it. Maddi has the same thing, in her knee.”
I remembered the scar onMiles’shoulder. It didn’t take a MENSA candidate to put two and two together.
The image of a fifteen-year-oldMiles in that same room, worn out and thinner than he already was, made myheart clench. No kid should have had to go through that.
“I’m sorry,” I said, forlack of anything more intelligent to say.
“So were my parents.” Hesnorted. “My dad was actually okay about it, except for pushing me to do twocourses of chemo to shrink the tumor enough for surgery instead of riskinglosing my arm. The standard is one.”
And chemo is brutal, he didn’t say, but weboth knew. Especially for a fifteen year old.
“My mom was a differentstory,” he continued, and I wasn’t about to stop him. This felt like somethinghe never got to tell anyone, and he was already having a bad day. “She left. Iused to hear her arguing with my dad about my grades slipping because he wascoddlingme, of allthings, like I wasn’t still going to school on the days when I wasn’t too sick toleave the house. Like I didn’t have to throw up in public bathrooms most days.Like I wasn’t trying my goddamn hardest tonot be sick,because that wasinconvenient.”
If my heart had hurt for himbefore, it ached now. He had to be in his late twenties, but the pain in hisvoice was still so raw he might aswellhave been a sick kid all overagain for the way I couldn’t help reacting to him.
Every part of me wasscreaming to hug him. To hold him and promise that everything would be okay,that he’dnever have to feel like that again.
Not that I could stop it. Icouldn’tprotect him from everything, and I definitely couldn’t protect him from his ownpast.
But I could listen.
“They were wrong,” I saidgently. “And they should never have made you feel like that.”
Today was a day for judgingother people’sparents, apparently. I didn’t feel bad about it. They deserved the harshestpossible judgment for failing tobe parents. Kids weren’t a hobby youonly had to do when it was fun.
“Or like the divorce was myfault,” Miles said, voice cracking. “And yet…”
“It wasn’t.” I looked overat him. “Itwasn’t.”
He smiled wryly, like hedidn’treally believe me, but he appreciated that I was saying it all the same.
“Anyway. I’m personallymanaging a research project into better, more effective osteosarcoma treatmentsfor complex patients. Maddi’s in the trial, and it’s going really well based onpreliminary results.”
“That’s good.”
“It is,” Miles agreed. “Butwhoever broke into my office and now my apartment took files relating to thisproject.”
“Sabotage?” I asked. “Orlike… industrial espionage? People stealing secrets?”
Miles shook his head. “I don’t thinkso? Not unless they’re really bad at it. The files were just… status reports.Preliminary findings. Accounting stuff. Nothing critical. Hell, nothing thatwon’t bepublicknowledgewithin a year. And it’s not as though we’re like… covering up that we’rekilling patients, or anything. The trialisworking. Kidsare getting better. Maddi’s getting better. She’s not gonna lose her lowerleg anymore.”
“Huh.” I looked out thewindshield, feeling like I was missing something. Something important. “Anythingelse go missing?”
Miles shrugged. “I think my bankstatement? I hadn’t opened it because who reads paper statements anymore? Thebank won’t stop sending them to me. But it’s not like that’s particularlysensitive. My spending habits are really boring. The worst that could come ofit is someone figures out I shop at Trader Joe’s on purpose.”
I laughed at that. “Youarea rich kid.”
“I really like their cookiebutter and they make things I can microwave without feeling like I’lleventually die of heart disease.” He shrugged. “I don’t live an exciting life.”
“You do occasionally bookyourself a hotel room and find a stranger to hook up with,” I pointed out,wondering if maybe someone was looking for leverage over him. That was the kindof thing he mightnotwant to make public.
“I hadn’t done it in sixmonths before… y’know,” he said softly. “I don’t… it’s not a habit, it’s just…I try to keep my hookups at arm’s length. I had a clingy boyfriend in collegewho I don’t think ever quite got over it, and I don’t really wanna go throughthat again.”
“Never had a clingyboyfriend,” I admitted. “Can’t say I’d mind a little more interest, but I cansee it getting out of hand.”
The fact that Milesapparently hadn’t had sex in six months before me did explain his enthusiasm.Maybe under the right circumstances, he could be convinced to slow down alittle.
