Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
JESSICA
Atakeaway coffee appears in front of me.
“Here,” Cash says, nudging me to take it.
I have a crick in my neck from sleeping sitting up, and it’s been hours since I last ate anything. Cash looks just as bad: exhausted, with dark circles beneath his eyes, hair mussed from tugging at it and a rumpled shirt.
I accept the coffee and wrap my fingers around the steaming paper cup, blowing on it to cool it down.
“Thank you.”
This caffeine fix is desperately needed to wake me up. Since I got the call, my sleep has been fitful, and I haven’t managed more than an hour or two here or there.
“Why isn’t he waking up?” I ask quietly.
Cash takes a seat beside me, spreading out. “The doctor said he’ll wake up when he’s ready. We have to be patient.”
“But what if there’s something wrong?”
Cash sniffs, flicks his finger. I’ve noticed he does that a lot. Must be a nervous trait. “He’ll pull through,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “He always does.”
My heart pinches at seeing him so defeated. He looks like he’s lived five lifetimes in the space of a few days.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Cash stays quiet, staring at some invisible spot on the floor.
“I wish I’d—”
He cuts me off. “It’s not your fault.”
I’m unsure whether I believe that or if it’s just wishful thinking on his part. Still, the truth remains the same. Kane wouldn’t have driven his car into a train if it weren’t for me. And I almost lost him because of it. We all did.
I don’t want him to believe there’s no hope. I was upset and hurt after finding out about Beverly, but those feelings disappeared in an instant when I got the phone call saying Kane had crashed his car.
That was when I realized I had given Beverly power when I left Kane. She wanted him for herself so she could continue abusing him, and I was in her way.
But the worst part that keeps me awake at night is knowing how easily she could come between us. She did it effortlessly, without even trying.
All it took was a carefully placed sentence, and I was running out the door.
“Maybe it’s not my fault that he crashed his car, but I shouldn’t have been so quick to walk out on him.”
Chris taps the armchair. “It broke him.”
It broke me too. But I don’t admit that out loud.
Instead, I confess, “I was scared. I’m still scared. And with everything that’s going on with my mom…”
I can’t bring myself to finish that sentence. Hell, I’m tired of using Mom as an excuse. It has to stop. I need to start taking responsibility.
Because that’s what I’ve been doing this whole time. I’ve been using my mom’s illness as an excuse not to get close to anyone.
And I’m tired of being scared.
I look at Cash, who grits his teeth as he meets my gaze.
In the silence that follows, a nurse walks by, clipboard in hand.
“I was scared of getting hurt.”
And look how that turned out. Cash keeps tapping the armchair, but he says nothing, and I don’t blame him. He probably thinks this is my fault, even if he won’t say it aloud.
“I love him,” I confess quietly.
“You shouldn’t tell me that. Tell him.”
It’s not rude the way he says it, but it still has a bite to it.
As we study each other, the door opens, and Chris walks out. Exhaustion weighs heavily on him as he tells a passing nurse that Kane is finally awake and talking.
I shoot up. “He’s awake?”
For the first time in days, I feel like I can finally breathe again. I never realized how tense I’ve been until my shoulders dropped just now as if someone cut the strings that were holding me upright.
The nurse leaves, and my brother sits down, stretching his legs out. But then Cash’s phone rings, and he stands up to answer the call, leaving me alone with Chris as he walks further down the corridor.
“He’s going to be okay,” my brother reassures me.
I sit back down and close my eyes for a long moment. These past few days of waiting in this hallway in between checking on Mom have been pure hell. It’s true what they say: you don’t realize how strong you are until you have no choice but to be strong. “Thank God,” I whisper.
“He would love to see you.”
I chew my lip and tip my head back against the wall. “I thought you hated him.”
“I did.” He shrugs casually. “But that was before I realized he loves my sister so much, he didn’t want to live without her.”
“You shouldn’t joke about these things,” I mutter, rubbing my tired face. Cash is still on the phone, further down the hall, with his back turned to us.
I wonder who he’s talking to?
My brother replies. “I’m not. He loves you, and it’s time I accept that. I won’t stand in the way anymore.”
Confused, I turn to my brother. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I want you to be happy. You’ve moped around for weeks.”
“I haven’t moped.”
He raises both brows, then chuckles. “Whatever. You should give him another chance.”
“I’m not sure I like this new version of you.”
Chris just lifts a shoulder as if to say, ‘Oh well.’
I rest my head on his shoulder, finding comfort in his familiar scent. “I love him,” I admit, “but that doesn’t mean we’re right for each other.”
“Why wouldn’t you be?”
That’s a good question. Where should I even start? Our financial situation, for one.
The truth is, I don’t want to be financially dependent on him. It’s not fair to him, for one. And then there’s the fact he’ll be a founding father someday.
Even if he could back out of it, I don’t want him to turn his back on his legacy because of me. But I don’t bring any of that up.
“It doesn’t matter. I need to focus on Mom right now. She has to be my priority.”
Chris disagrees. “You need to prioritize yourself for once. Mom isn’t with us anymore. She might still be in that bed physically, but she’s not here. Kane is.”
I straighten. “Go back to hating him. It was a lot easier.”
Why does he have to come to his senses all of a sudden?
“How about this? I’ll give him another chance if you visit Mom,” I suggest, because I won’t give up. Mom is still holding on, and I think Chris is the reason why.
Removing his baseball cap, he runs his fingers through his hair, then puts it back on, twisting it around before finally looking at me again.
His eyes carry a hint of vulnerability as he rests his elbows on his knees, rubbing his knuckles across his palm.
Before he can respond, Cash returns, and I stand up when I realize how pale he’s gotten.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, and I feel my stomach twist with nerves. But then he seems to snap out of it. “I have to leave for a bit.”
Leave? Now? Kane’s finally awake.
“Did something happen?” I ask.
Cash looks back at Kane’s door. Then he turns to us and shakes his head. It’s just a subtle shake that’s easy to miss, but it somehow makes it worse because it’s clear something’s wrong and he can’t find the words.
Eventually, he admits. “It’s our Mom. The staff found her on the roof. She threatened to jump.”
Oh God. I press my hands to my mouth, tears welling up in my eyes.
“She’s been committed,” he continues, his throat bobbing on a swallow. He points over his shoulder. “I should... I need to leave.”
“Yeah, of course,” I respond.
He turns but hesitates. “Can you please not tell Kane about this yet? He needs to focus on healing.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He stares at me with glazed, haunted eyes, and all I see is a broken man barely holding himself together. I want to hug him and tell him everything will be okay, even though I can’t make such promises. But he’s already walking away, rubbing his neck.
My tears finally fall as Chris stands up and pulls me into his arms. Kane once told me about his mom’s illness and the inevitable crash after one of her episodes.
But I never realized it could get this bad.
She seemed so alive and vibrant when I was there; she looked happy.
I couldn’t even tell she was struggling.
Mental health is an invisible and debilitating illness.
What we see on the outside is just a mask, and I saw a smiling woman who fluttered around the kitchen and hosted parties.
What I never saw was the broken woman who locks herself away for weeks, hoping to disappear, or the woman who self-harms to numb the pain.
No, only Kane and his family see that side of her.
Untangling myself from Chris, I let him wipe my tears away with his thumbs.
“Talk to him,” he urges, his voice gentle. “He needs you now more than ever.”
I don’t trust myself to answer, so I turn toward the door.