Page 159 of Break Me

“Sam’s not going to be okay,” I say, softer now. “You know that.”

Knox braces his forearms against his knees, hands clasping loosely, like he needs something solid to hold onto before he answers. “He’s stronger than you think.”

“He won’t be,” I say. “He doesn’t know how to live in a world where I’m not in it.”

Knox leans back slightly, his gaze dropping for a second before it comes back to me, slower this time.

“I need you to be there.” I pause, drawing in a slow breath when my body doesn’t quite keep up with the words. “Make sure he doesn’t disappear,” I finish quietly.

“You’re asking me to watch him fall apart.”

“I’m asking you not to let him stay there.”

He studies me, looking below the surface to what I’m not hiding as well as I think I am.

“How bad is it?” he asks.

I don’t look away.

“The doctor told me it’s moving faster than he expected,” I say, my voice steady in a way that feels almost detached. “The last scan showed more spread.”

For a second, neither of us moves.

“I don’t have as much time as we thought,” I say. “I need to know you’ll do this.”

Knox looks away for a second, then back at me, his expression softer now.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I’ve got him.”

It’s not casual or light.

It’s a promise from my big brother.

“Thank you.”

The words come out softer than I intend, the weight of everything sitting between us in a way that has nothing to do with Sam anymore.

His gaze lingers on me, longer this time, like he’s seeing something he doesn’t want to name.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, quieter now.

“I do,” I answer.

Because this isn’t just about Sam.

We both know it.

The silence stretches, but it’s different now, not as guarded. It’s familiar—the way it used to be.

I shift slightly against the couch, drawing the blanket closer around me without thinking. His eyes track the movement automatically, the same way they always have.

“Do you remember when you used to sit me on the back of your bike and take me for a ride,” I say after a moment, “and you’d tell me not to tell Dad?”

Something in his expression almost breaks.

“Yeah,” he says.

“You scared the hell out of me.”