Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Wow,” she whispers, wide-eyed. “You actually did something to be nice for once. Not because you wanted to get something out of it.”
“Is that what your problem is?” Preston isn’t in such a hurry to leave now. He sees how stupid this is, like I do, and neither of us has ever handled it well when people deliberately misunderstand us. “That’s what you think? That we wanna get something out of this?”
“Why would I not?” she whispers fiercely. “I mean, let’s be honest. Even the nice things you’ve done for me have all been a way of making up for the vile things you’ve done. And all because you want to make yourselves feel better. That’s all you care about. Yourselves.”
“Oh, yeah,” I mutter, staring her down until she looks away. “Sitting with you during your treatments. We definitely got something out of that.”
“Are you serious?” She blurts out a laugh before adding, “You had to be at the hospital either way. Sitting with me was nicer than cleaning bedpans, remember? Please, don’t break your arms patting yourselves on the back. It’s pretty sad.”
I can’t believe this. How cold she can be. Obviously, she has spent some time thinking about this, too. She had all these thoughts going on in her head, and we didn’t know. There we are, worried about her, dying to be with her, and she was resenting us the whole time.
“Now, go.” Her chair squeaks when she swivels around to face the computer again. “I’m in the middle of actually caring about my coursework. Thanks for the visit.”
It’s like I woke up in some bizarre, parallel universe where nothing makes sense. She wasn’t like this on Tuesday. What changed? “Why are you pushing us away?”
Her hands slap the desk before she lets out a trembling breath. “You know what? I completely understand why your mom pops pills now. It’s because she can’t handle the two of you when she’s sober.”
If the room wasn’t so silent, I might not be able to hear Preston’s soft gasp. I know where he’s coming from, since she might as well have given us both a kick in the balls. That was low, cruel, and not to mention uncalled for.
And if we don’t get out of here now, this could all get a lot worse.
“Let’s go.” I grunt, giving her one last look before turning around to leave. “She can be miserable all by herself.”
“Don’t forget to shut the door behind you,” she snaps.
If Grandma Lois wasn’t here, I would slam the door—hard enough to break it—but she doesn’t deserve that. Her granddaughter does, but not her.
This was a mistake. All of it. Every minute I’ve spent wondering about her, worrying, looking forward to seeing her again. It was all wasted. And I feel that waste with every step I take to the truck, with my fists swinging at my sides and nowhere to vent the ugly, seething rage building in my gut.
“She’s not worth the time,” I decide as I get behind the wheel.
I only wish I meant it.
27
PRESTON
The following Thursday, during volunteering, I can sense my brother’s frustration. It’s a very familiar feeling because we both know Emma is here today. She should be sitting down in her treatment chair right about now and instead of sitting with her, we are folding thin white towels two stories down.
“Let’s just go and check on her,” Easton blurts out what I was too unsure to bring up.
“I think we should too,” I agree. “If she doesn’t want us there, we’ll leave.”
Easton nods and throws his half-folded towel back into the basket. “Let’s go.”
We leave the laundry room and make our way to the oncology department at a swift pace. We’ll probably get in trouble for just leaving, but I can’t bring myself to care at this moment. All I care about is seeing her, making sure she is okay.
With each step closer to the treatment room, excitement about seeing her and worry about how she is going to react fills me. My heart beats rapidly when I push open the door and scan the space. My eyes land on the chair she usually sits on, but she isn’t there. I look around the rest of the room, checking everywhere for her.
“She is not here.” Easton points out what I just concluded myself.
“Where the fuck is she and why isn’t she here?” I turn to my twin, who doesn’t have any of the answers either.
Easton shrugs. “I have no idea why she would skip treatment, but we can’t let her do that. We need to find her.”
I nod, and we both turn and walk back the way we just came. Without another word, we walk out to the truck. I get behind the wheel while Easton gets into the passenger seat. I drive straight to Emma’s house and park in the driveway.