Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
The memory makes me huff out a laugh, though it catches in my chest. “I remember you bolting like the devil himself was after you and leaving me standing there with a carton of eggs in my hand.”
“You were too slow,” he rasps, his eyes glinting.
“I was slow because you shoved me, asshole. I face-planted right into his poison ivy-infested bushes while you took off down the street.”
He gives a hoarse chuckle that turns into a cough, but there’s still humor in his gaze. “Worth it, though. The look on Johnson’s face…”
I can see it even now—the porch light flicking on, the old man roaring as yolk dripped down his screen door, me scrambling out of the hedges with twigs in my hair and Gray doubled over laughing halfway down the block.
“Yeah, worth it for you,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You didn’t get a weeping rash all over your arms and hands.”
His lips twitch again, softer this time, and for a moment it’s like we’re twelve again, just two dumb Buffalo boys raising hell on Halloween night, not sitting here in a room that smells like rubbing alcohol, waiting for the clock to run out.
But the moment doesn’t last.
“What are the doctors saying?” I ask, my voice low.
Gray exhales slowly. “Weeks.” He pauses, meets my eyes. “But between you and me? I don’t think I’ve got long.”
My throat burns. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.” His hand shakes as he reaches for mine. I don’t hesitate to grasp it, hating how bony it feels. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Look after her.”
My eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Who?”
Gray shakes his head, a frown in place as if he’s trying to explain it but isn’t doing a great job at it. “She’ll be alone in this world and she needs someone.”
He must be talking about his daughter, Grayce. Barely a year old. Her mother died in childbirth and now her father is almost gone.
I start to ask what he means, but his eyes are already fluttering shut. “Hey,” he says weakly. “I’m really tired and am going to take a little nap. Can you stay awhile?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, but I have no idea how long a nap is to him. Hopefully he’ll wake up before I have to leave. I have no clue if I’ll be able to get back to see him again and I feel an immense sense of doom hanging over me.
Exhaustion pulls him right under and within seconds, he’s asleep, leaving me with the words ringing in my head. Look after her.
Maddie? Grayce? Both? I don’t know.
I sit there a while, staring at him, the weight of the inevitable pressing down on me. I gently pull my hand free of his and make my way back to the living room.
Maddie’s there, folding laundry. She doesn’t look up as I enter, just keeps at it, methodical and precise. The dark circles under her eyes are stark against her pale skin. Her mouth is drawn down, her shoulders tight. Grief hangs on her like a second skin.
Gray’s words echo in my head. Be nicer to her.
I lean against the doorframe, watching her. Yeah, she looks as exhausted as Gray and I can’t imagine what it feels like to not only be Gray’s caretaker, but to watch him wither away, day in and day out.
An unexpected dose of empathy hits me, which is completely antithetical to the continuous state of frustration I’m always in around her. It wins out over the jealousy that she’s been here, Gray’s constant, while I’ve been the outsider.
“How are things going?” I ask finally, my voice rough.
She stiffens, her hands tightening on the fabric she’s folding. “Fine.” The word is sharp, defensive.
I almost push but stop myself. She doesn’t want to talk. Doesn’t want to let me in. And maybe that’s why she grates on me so much. She’s just like me. Guarded. Closed off. Afraid that if she cracks open even a little, the whole damn thing will break.
“Fine doesn’t tell me anything,” I say after a beat, still leaning against the doorframe. “How is he really?”
Her hands still and she presses her lips together, then says flatly, “You saw him. You don’t need me to paint you a picture.”
My jaw clenches. “I’m asking because I want to know what the doctors are saying.”
Her gaze slices to mine, ice-blue and furious. “What the doctors are saying is that I should make him comfortable. That’s it. That’s all we’re down to now. Happy?”
The air between us snaps tight, and before I can stop myself, I push further. “I just need to know you’re doing everything you can for him.”
Her face goes white, then flushes scarlet. She drops the shirt on the pile with a sharp flick of her wrists. “Don’t you dare question me. Don’t you dare stand here and imply I’m not giving him everything. I am here every single day, Atlas. Every hour. Every breath he takes, I’m in the room making sure he has what he needs. Where the hell are you?”