PROLOGUE
EASTON
2 Years Earlier
“Dibs on your knife collection.”
“Good luck fighting Dad for it.”
“Dad doesn’t stand a chance.” I hold out my fist to challenge my brother, the unfortunate heaviness in my chest sinking even more, knowing this will likely be the last time we get to mess around like this.
The last time it’s just Ben and me, shooting the shit like we’ve done since we were kids. Kids who got in more trouble than we ever should’ve been able to get away with.
I lift my eyes to my lifelong best friend, mixed thoughts provoking an unforgettable memory we share together. One I know will bring a smile to his worn and tired face. “Remember that time in sixth grade when Mom let us stay home alone for the first time?” I ask Ben.
The softest of smirks ghosts his cheeks. “You mean theone andonlytime Mom let us stay home alone? Couldn’t forget it if I tried, brother. I’ve never seen Pops so angry.”
He’s right. We were never allowed to stay home again. Not because we weren’t old enough—we were. Mom just didn’t trust us.
It seemed like wherever Ben and I went, trouble followed.
I’ve come to realize that’s par for the course when it comes to having twins. A disadvantage for Mom, but the gift of a built-in best friend for my brother and me.
Despite being twins, the similarities between us are small. Ben has dirty blond hair and light features, while my features are darker. It’s our height and build that’s the same.
Growing up in the small town of Salt Hollow, Alaska, there wasn’t much to do but fish, hike, and cause chaos out of boredom. Ben and I excelled at increasing the number of gray hairs on our parents’ heads.
There weren’t many moments in my life I feared the wrath of my pops quite like the time we snuck into the storage shed hidden in the forest behind our family’s mobile home park. It was wet and cold outside, and being true to our mischievous nature, we got the genius idea to start a fire for some warmth—insidea shed. Except, Ben got carried away and dropped a match, wreaking havoc, which then set the shed and forest on fire.
“Still can’t believe you took the blame for me,” Ben tells me somberly. There’s a mixture of gratitude and sadness in his tone.
“And I’d do it again.”That’s what brothers do. We look out for each other.
Ben situates himself in the hospital bed, struggling to comfortably straighten the IV cords taped to his arm. It’s just he and I in this sterile hospital room, yet it feels like we’re miles away from the good ole days.
The fact is: Ben is dying, and it’s only a matter of days until my twin brother leaves this earth. Just days until I’m left alone without the one person in my life who has been more of a best friend to me than he ever had to.
As much as my chest hurts and my stomach is sick with anger knowing that out of all the people in this giant fucking world, the best guy known to man had to get sick, I’d rather know he’s at peace and no longer suffering.
That’s the one gift not even God or doctors can give him.
Nothing can prepare you to see your brother battle something so fucking painful. Especially a pain that’s out of your control. No, because I have to sit back and watch Ben roll over in agony as he fights to lift himself out of bed. Or watch him vomit up blood without any explanation. Maybe it’s from the chemotherapy that didnothing. Or the all-juice diet a holistic doctor recommended that only made him weaker. Not to mention the fatigue he’s forced to endure from it all for no fucking reason other than this bitch of a disease called cancer.
Gastric cancer, to be specific.
After following up with every doctor under the sun, we were assured there was absolutely nothing Ben could have done to prevent it. It’s likely genetic. Our Uncle Todd, my mom’s brother, was diagnosed when he was in his fifties, passing a few years later.
But Ben is only thirty-five.
Far too young to die. He can’t die. Not when he has a family, fiancé, and friends who would quite literally take his place instead.
We need him here.I need him here.
Unfortunately for him, cancer doesn’t give a flying fuck where he’s needed. And I’m supposed to just accept it.
For that, I send a giant middle finger to every researchstudy out there unable to find a cure. If I had the education for it, I’d do it myself.
“You’ve been a good brother, East. I want you to know that,” Ben tells me, catching me off guard.
