“What’s goingon?” I hear my mom’s question as if she’s speaking to me through a tunnel; her voice is muffled.
I can’t doanythingas Hunter turns on his heel and rushes out of the condo. When the front door slams shut, my legs give out, and I crumple to the floor, gasping and clutching at my chest.
“Liv, what is it? Is it your heart? What did hedoto you?” My mom drops to her knees beside me, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at her. “Do I need to call 911? Someone bring me my phone!” she screams over her shoulder.
I clutch my chest, where every beat of my heart—every beat ofHunter’s sister’s heart—feels like I’m being stabbed.
“It’s ... hers ...” I gasp out. “My ... heart ... It’s hers ...”
A blinding pain rips through me, tearing into my chest, straight into the heart I got seven years ago today—the heart I stole from Lyla Barrett, when she died in a car accident because Hunter drove them while he was drunk.
28.
Somehow my mom and Cory move me off the floor to the couch. I’m dimly aware of Mom ordering everyone around, telling them to get a cold compress and a glass of ice water and Tylenol and the peppermint oil.
I hear Talia’s voice, Lou’s voice, my brothers’ voices. Snippets of their words penetrate the rush of my blood in my ears.
“I didn’t know she died on April 1. I thought the car accident was later in April. Her funeral wasn’t until the end of the month.” Lou’s quiet, anguished murmur.
“How can we be sure? There had to be more than one young woman who died that day that donated her organs.” Cory’s low baritone.
“Should we take her to the hospital?” Talia’s strained whisper.
My body is racked with shivers, and my heart—Lyla’s heart—still races. I’m breathing too fast. I stare at the dark TV, but all I can see is Hunter’s face, the horrifying, world-ending truth dawning in his eyes, shattering through him, tearing him apart.
Tearingusapart.
And then everyone goes quiet when the front door opens. I know without looking that Hunter is back. But I don’t look at him. Ican’tlook at him.
“I’m sorry, Liv. I can’t ... I can’t be here—this close to—” His voice is broken.
As broken as I am.
“I’m leaving. I wanted you to know. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Hunter, no! It’s not her fault—”
I hear the door open and shut again, silencing Lou’s protest.
Hunter is gone. And this time, I have no idea where he’s gone. I only know it’s not next door.
He doesn’t come back the rest of the night. I lie on the couch, alternating between panic attacks and silent sobs for hours. My mom wants to call the doctor or take me in to the hospital, but I refuse. I’m not sick. I’m not in heart failure.
My heartisbreaking. But it’s notbroken.
My brothers and Chris leave shortly after Hunter, the party clearly canceled. Cameron and Cory want to stay, but it’s finals, and they have no choice but to leave. Talia sits by my feet, rubbing them with gentle hands; my mom stays by my head, stroking my hair. Lou alternates between hovering and disappearing for brief interludes—probably to try to call Hunter where I can’t overhear them.
Finally, when it’s almost eleven, I make myself sit up. I’m lightheaded and shaky and still have tears leaking out of my eyes. But I can’t force Hunter to go find a hotel somewhere or sleep in his car because he can’t bear to see me. Not when I have such an easy solution. “Take me home, Mom.”
“What?”
“I want to go home with you.” I look to my roommate, fresh tears welling in my eyes. “Lou, you can tell Hunter to come back. I’ll stay at Farmor’s house for ... however long I need to. He’s been through enough. I can’t do this to him. And he needs you.”
“Liv,no. That’s not fair to you. I know this is ...” Lou searches and fails to find a word. “I don’t know what this is. It’s incomprehensible. But he’ll get over it. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
I shake my head, swiping at the tears on my cheeks with shaky hands. “It’s not fine. It willneverbe fine that I’m alive because his sister died. I’ll go.” I turn to my mom. “Will you help me pack my clothes and stuff?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” She brushes back the hair that sticks to my damp forehead, her touch as gentle as her voice.
