Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
JESSICA
“Then I examined my own heart. And there you were. Never, I fear, to be removed.”
The words blur on the page, and I close the book as the heart rate monitor beeps steadily in the background. For the last hour, I have been reading to Mom without taking in a single sentence.
But my mind is elsewhere, and I can’t concentrate. Not that it matters, though, because I already know this story inside and out after spending countless hours in this chair, reading and hoping she can still hear me.
It’s been three weeks since I last saw Kane, but I still miss him, and not an hour passes without me thinking about him and wondering what he’s up to. He’s been texting me good morning and good night every day, sweet messages that make it even harder to let go.
But I never respond, and even though it hurts, I know it’s for the best. He’ll give up and move on eventually.
I place the bookmark with Mom’s favorite quote between the pages, set the paperback down, and then curl up in the chair as a nurse walks by outside. It’s late afternoon. The sun is setting, but I have nowhere else to go.
I hate to admit it, but seeing Mom, a living skeleton, makes me almost wish for her to take her last breath so she won’t be in pain anymore.
But even as I think it, shame tightens my throat, and I swallow past it, rubbing my face.
What a terrible thought. I’m just exhausted.
I don’t want to lose my mom. I just… I don’t know…
Maybe I don’t want to sit in this chair anymore and listen to the heartbeat monitor.
Maybe I’m sick of the antiseptic smell and the rhythmic puff of oxygen and the sympathy cards beside the bed.
And maybe I’m a terrible daughter for feeling this way. How much time does she have left? Months? Weeks? Maybe less?
“Mom,” I say as I scoot forward in the chair and take her hand in mine, tracing her translucent, yellowed skin. “Mom,” I try again, throat clogged.
But the words won’t come, and I rest my head on her chest, hugging her like I used to when I was little.
She no longer smells like Mom. The faint trace of her favorite perfume has faded, replaced by antiseptic.
But her heart still beats, soothing something broken and scared inside me as I listen to its gentle thud.
I won’t hear it for much longer, and every thought about how tired I am of this room and this chair fades away.
“I love you, Mom.” I close my eyes to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall.
“I’m not with Kane anymore,” I confess, pretending she can hear me. “It didn’t work out.”
A nurse’s shoes squeak in the hall, but I focus on the faint beat beneath my ear, ticking down the clock.
Time is precious. We don’t have forever.
I lift my head to look at Mom’s sunken face.
She was a radiant woman even when exhausted from working double shifts, and life is cruel for letting her fade away right before her family’s eyes.
But she’ll always be beautiful to me: the most magnetic woman ever to walk this planet.
She gave the best hugs too, warm and safe.
“He was with someone else,” I say as I hug her again, closing my eyes.
“And the worst part is that I miss him, Mom, and I don’t know what to do and could really use some advice right now.”
What I wouldn’t give for her to wake up and tell me everything will be okay like she used to.
No matter what I worried about, big or small, she always knew what to say to make my problems not seem quite as daunting anymore.
A tear escapes, rolling from the corner of my eye and across my nose, dripping onto her clothing.
“Do you know what you said to me once?” I murmur, lost in memories. “That we have to risk everything, otherwise we won’t know if it was real.”
I quickly wipe my cheeks. “I did what you said. I risked it all, Mom. And it was real.”
But real doesn’t always mean it’s good. Sometimes real is still wrong. And sometimes it destroys you.
“I wish you had told me that sometimes real love means loving someone who can only hurt you.”
Sitting up, I take her hand in mine.
“I miss you.”
I use my sleeve to wipe my face dry. I’m honestly so over crying, but no matter how much I tell myself that, I can’t seem to stop. When I get home tonight, I’m going for a long fucking run, and I won’t stop until I collapse from exhaustion.
The vase of flowers in the window grabs my attention. I get up from the bed and cross the small space, hugging my arms around myself.
I’ve been wearing Chris’s hoodie since yesterday. The oversized fabric is soft and smells like him, and it reminds me of a warm hug on a chilly autumn morning.
I examine the bouquet: carnations, daisies, chrysanthemums. There’s no card. These weren’t here yesterday, were they?
The door opens, and a nurse walks in, holding a clipboard. She notices me and smiles.
“Did my brother bring these?” I ask, confused. No, it can’t have been him. As far as I know, he hasn’t been back here since our last argument.
The nurse looks up from her notes. “The flowers? Your boyfriend brought them this morning.”
My boyfriend?
She sees the confusion on my face and clarifies. “Mr. Ravencourt. He’s been coming by to check on your mom every morning.”
My lips purse, and I glance at the flowers. I start to say something, but then I give up and sit back down.
Why would he come by to check on my mom? Then I remember, and my eyes widen as I straighten up. Oh god. He’s still paying her medical bills. I was going to ask them to cancel payments, but it slipped my mind. Where would I even get the money from? We’re broke.
And my dad? He was taken away in a blacked-out Hummer by three men in suits, who literally manhandled him off our porch. The last thing I heard, he’s locked up in a rehab center. Kane is paying for that too.
Don’t ask me how, but I’ll find a way to pay him back somehow.
Someday.
Even if it’s the last thing I do.
“Every morning?” I ask as she checks the monitors.
“Without fail.” She fills out her paperwork and heads for the door, then turns and says, “He reads to her.”
My heart stutters.
He does?
She tips her chin toward the battered paperback on the nightstand. “One chapter every morning.”
With a final smile, she leaves the room and shuts the door behind her.
My eyes drift to the worn book, and something warm yet painful unfurls beneath my ribs.
“You heading home?” the person behind the counter asks as I walk past, checking notifications on my phone.
I look up. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Get some rest, honey. We’ll call you if there are any changes.”
Smiling gratefully, I walk away, calling out “bye” over my shoulder. But I’m too busy messaging Chris for a lift to notice the flashy car parked outside until it’s too late.
The sound of a door closing grabs my attention as I step into the late afternoon air, and my stomach flips when I lock eyes with a guy leaning back against the car with his hands in his pockets.
At first, I think it’s Kane because they’re carbon copies, but then I remember the green sports car behind him and breathe a relieved sigh, unwilling to acknowledge the sting of disappointment.
What is Cash doing here?
He’s wearing a fitted white button-up shirt with a few top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, paired with cropped taupe tailored pants and suede loafers.
His dark hair is styled back in a smooth, deliberate sweep, as if he ran his hand through it before stepping out of the car.
I quicken my pace, about to walk past him, when he pushes off the car and catches up in a few quick strides.
Naturally, I start to run. Don’t ask me why I’m acting like this, but I’m not ready for this conversation.
The wound is still too raw, and he looks so much like Kane that when he pulls me back by my arm, my heart threatens to beat out of my chest, a thrill rushing through me as I collide with his hard chest.
“Don’t run from me,” he growls low, gripping me a little too tightly, which only intensifies my fucked-up feelings. I like the pinch of pain, and I enjoy almost pretending he’s Kane.
“You’re hurting me,” I protest as he opens the passenger door. What is he doing? I’m not going anywhere with him.
“Stop fighting,” he says, his voice revealing his irritation. “I need to talk to you.”
“We can talk here.”
Where does he think he’s taking me? This feels like kidnapping.
I try to push him off, but he’s much stronger.
Before I know it, he wrestles me into the passenger seat and straps me in.
How many times has Kane done the same thing?
If I didn’t know better, I’d think the Ravencourt men have a thing for forcing women into cars.
But Cash doesn’t look like he’s enjoying this any more than I am.
When he closes the door, he has the nerve to lean down and point at me.
“Escape, and I’ll shut you in the trunk.” His voice is muffled through the glass, but I hear him loud and clear, anger rising up inside me.
“You haven’t got one. It’s a fucking sports car,” I shout after him as he rounds the front, then mutter, “asshole,” under my breath.
The door opens, and he slips behind the wheel, the leather creaking under his weight as he settles in.
“Is your brother coming to pick you up?” His low tone surrounds me and makes my heart long for things it shouldn’t. He even sounds like Kane, with the same dark cadence in his voice.
When I don’t answer, he suddenly pulls my hair, catching me off guard with his ruthless grip.
“Is he on his way?” he asks, and I quickly nod, whispering, “Yes.”
A beat goes by, a second too long, then he releases my hair and starts the car.
It roars to life like a furious beast, and I feel a surge of panic as he speeds out of the parking lot and onto the road.
Chris will worry himself sick when he arrives to pick me up and I’m not there, but I can’t worry about that now.
Not when Cash is driving me in the opposite direction of home.