It’s like I’m Dorothy, caught in the tornado. I should be mourning Marcie, I should be sitting with her parents while I try to ease their pain. But instead, I lay in my hospital bed and try to hide my tears from my brothers.
They refuse to leave. They refuse to give me the privacy I so desperately need to process the life I almost,almosthad. I could have been happy with Spencer. I could have made him happy, and created something special with him.
But after tomorrow, it all changes.
I won’t be worthy. I won’t be what he needs. And I’ll be busy losing my hair and vomiting the poison out, none of which he needs to bear witness to.
Doctor Rhett isn’t my surgeon tomorrow, but he’s promised he’ll be with me the entire time. It’s like I’m a teenager again. I cling to the thought of him being there, I want to impress him, if only because it’s the single shiny diamond I have in a world of dull rocks.
Spencer keeps calling, but once I take his call, everything will become real. Once I take his call, it’ll be the beginning of the end, and I’m not ready to go there yet.
So I ignore him, and pretend that nothing has changed.
I doze off around eight with my brothers talking in low murmurs, but wake again shortly after, when those murmurs turn to rage and snapped words.
“Absolutely not!” Mitch growls. “Fuck off and leave.”
I crack my crusty eyes open and blink at my brothers’ backs. They stand in the doorway, shielding me from who is outside, but their defensive stances confuse me. Slowly sitting up, I smile when Troy peeks over Beck’s shoulder.
He’s my hero, my biggest supporter, the strongest man I know. It’s a tragedy we only see each other sporadically, but I understand his work is important to him. Him being here now is special, but at the same time, it’s terrifying. Because I’m sick. He’s come because that’s what he does. He takes care of me, he helps me fight a war I never signed up for, and then he leaves again until it’s time to fight anew.
His presence is both happy and sad, a pleasant surprise, and a stark reminder of what tomorrow brings.
His dark eyes study me from top to toe, from the messy pile of red hair bunched at the top of my head, to my puffy eyes from crying for three days straight, down to my feet covered in the white waffle blankets that the hospital supplies. Troy is comforting but protective; his eyes make sure I’m okay, but then they leave again when Mitchell snaps at someone in the hall.
Mitch is like a feral dog, snapping and biting in a way I’m not accustomed to. He’s my quiet brother, the one that will usually keep to himself and stay in at night, rather than go to a bar with friends. He’s never brought a girl to us to meet, though I’m certain he has relations with women. He keeps to himself, and gives Mom and Dad no reason to worry when they already have so much to worry about; a sick daughter, a firefighter son, another son in the military who always works away.
He’s our caregiver, our safe one, so his loud shouts now are like an assault on my ears.
Troy’s eyes skim over our brother, then stop in the hall and widen in surprise.
None of this makes sense. None of it seems right on the night before my world changes all over again.
I slowly fix my pillows and sit up straighter, drawing Troy’s gaze when I grunt. My grunt has nothing to do with my breasts or my sickness, and everything to do with my tender ankle, which is so dumb, considering the reason I’m here.
I arch my neck and try to peek past the crowd of Rosa men, but then it all becomes clear. It’s bleak and obvious and horrible when the very man I was hiding from literally shoves between Mitch and Nixon, moving them out of his way and slamming them against the other guys as he charges through.
He’s like a bowling ball through pins. A locomotive with no brakes.
Spencer looks the same as I remember, but not the same at all. My mind had been able to recall him all this time, but it had dulled the extremes; I knew he was tall, but I’d forgotten quite how tall, I knew he was strong, but I’d forgotten the size of his arms and the width of his thighs. I knew he was broad, but I’d forgotten how he can’t walk straight through a doorway without smashing his arms against the frame.
Mostly, I’d forgotten how truly scary he is; how jagged his scars are, and how close they came to ending his life. I forgot how flat his lips can become when he’s angry, and how fiery his eyes can get when something is important to him.
“Spencer?”
My pulse skitters in a wild beat because I’ve been ignoring his calls. I’m not ready to face the truth. I’m not ready to face his anger at being ignored.
“You’re having surgery tomorrow?” His voice is cutting and mean. He’s so angry that tears instantly rush to my eyes and spill over. “What the fuck, Abigail?”
“That’s enough of that.” Mitchell storms forward and grabs Spencer’s arms. “Get the fuck outta my sister’s room! You’ve been warned before.”
“No!” I surge forward so far, I almost fall out of bed. Spencer won’t go away just because Mitch said so. He’ll fight to stay, he’ll fight my brothers to get his way on this. “Please stop, Mitch.”
My cry goes unheard as Spencer spins and jams Mitch’s arm behind his back so hard that we all hear the pop. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me, asshole.”
“Leave!” Beckett rushes forward and shoves Spencer with a roar. “You don’t belong here.”
“I belong where she belongs!” he replies. “I deserve to know the truth about her diagnosis. I deserve to have a seat beside her bed.”