“Fuck you, Braxton!” she hisses. “I’m good at my job.”
“Of course you are,” he purrs. “You’re awesome at your job. I was just kidding. Now get back on my dick so I can finish, please.”
Everly glares, gathering up her clothes and putting them back on in haste. “You can finish your damn self,” she says, grabbing her heels and stomping out the door.
“Great,” Braxton says dryly. “This”—he points at his now soft dick—“is all your fault. Which one of you is going to suck me off so I don’t get blue balls?”
Declan snorts out a laugh, and I roll my eyes. “Thank fuck this tour is over. I need a few months without walking in on you fucking your way across the globe.” I shove Gage awake. “And you need to lay off the drugs.”
Gage grunts in response, pulling the condom off and dropping it onto the floor as he gets up and stumbles toward his room. “Will do, Dad.”
“I’m worried about him,” Declan says once we can hear his snoring from the other room.
“Yeah, I am too,” I agree. “But we’ll be back home in a few days, and we’ll keep an eye on him. I spoke to my dad, and aside from a few shows we’ve already committed to, we’re going to take the next six months off to write and record our next album.”
“Sounds good,” Braxton says, grabbing his pants and pulling them on. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Want a drink?” Declan asks, raising a bottle of Jack.
“Sure.”
We take our drinks out onto the balcony, and I pull out my phone to text our tour manager to let her know what happened and to find out what time we’re flying out tomorrow. But when my screen lights up, I find several missed calls from damn near everyone in my family.
My stomach drops. Something is wrong.
Since my mom was the last one to call, I hit her name and wait as the phone rings. “Camden, we’ve been trying to reach you,” she says, her voice filled with emotion.
“My phone was on silent, sorry. Everything okay?”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end before she says, “No, it’s not. Maria is in the hospital, and the doctors aren’t sure how long she’ll be able to hold on for.”
I shoot up in my seat, knocking my drink to the ground. The glass shatters everywhere, but I ignore it, too focused on what my mom just said. “What are you talking about?” I just saw her a couple of months ago when we were in town for the charity concert. She was fine. She even made me my favorite French toast.
“She’s been tired a lot lately. I asked her if she was okay, but she blew me off. Today, she had a dizzy spell while she was in her room and hit her head,” she chokes out. “She was rushed to the hospital, and the doctors said she has stage four cancer. She never told us. Didn’t want to worry us because it was too late.”
“Fuck!” My heart squeezes in pain. “There has to be something we can do. A doctor we can call.”
“We’ve spoken to the oncologist, and there’s nothing that can be done. They gave her roughly six months to live. It’s been three, but her body is shutting down. They said it can be days or weeks, but she doesn’t have long. Right now, she’s coherent, and she’s asking for you.”
“I’m on my way. I’ll get a flight out as soon as I can. Tell Nanna I’m coming.”
“Oh, there’s my boy,” Nanna murmurs when I walk into the room several hours later. She’s lying in a hospital bed in a private room, looking so small and fragile. Like simply touching her will break her.
“Nanna,” I breathe, tears welling in my eyes.
“Come give me a hug, sweetheart.”
I do as she says, hugging her gently and kissing her cheek before I drag a chair over and sit next to her. My parents and Bailey excuse themselves to give us some time alone, but I don’t pay them any attention, focusing on the woman in front of me. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I ask her. “We could’ve called someone.”
“No, you couldn’t have,” she says softly. “I always hated going to the doctor. Kept putting it off. By the time I went, it was too late.”
“You still should’ve told us.”
“So you’d spend my last few months worrying about me?” Her wrinkled hand pats mine gently. “I didn’t want anyone fussing over me. You and your sister were both on tour. Bailey is so busy with her internet, and I didn’t want to upset Phoebe.”
“I would’ve come home sooner.”
“I know you would’ve. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
I squeeze her hand. “What did—”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a feminine voice says. My eyes dart over to Layla standing in the doorway, dressed in ripped jeans, an off-the-shoulder cream sweater, and brown leather boots since it’s cold as hell in New York. “I didn’t know you were here with her. I’ll come back later.” Before I can get a word in, she backs out and closes the door behind her.