I laughed, happy that he remembered. “For about half a second before I face-planted like a dork.”
The memory hung between us, a reminder of the life we'd had before. Casey had always been the cool, adventurous one—skiing, surfing, rock climbing—while I'd been the scared little brother, never quite matching his fearlessness but willing to try because he believed I could.
Now our roles had reversed. He depended on me now, and I was doing a piss-poor job of being the rock he needed.
“Theo?” Janet's voice came from the doorway. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I squeezed Casey's hand again. “Be right back, okay? Don't go anywhere.”
It was our old joke, from when we were kids and he'd leave me behind to hang out with his friends. The humor fell flat now, but Casey's lips twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile.
In the hallway, Janet Reynolds, Casey's primary nurse and the closest thing to an ally I had in this place, led me a few steps away from the door. “He did well today,” she said, her voice low. “Made it almost to the end of the hall with the walker.”
“That’s progress, right?” I asked, but deep down, a voice whispered that this was all taking too long.
Janet's expression was carefully neutral. “It's progress. I know it feels slow going right now,” Janet said, reading my expression. “But I've seen patients make remarkable recoveries with the right support. The brain is incredibly adaptive.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Not adaptive enough to work with our bank account.” The last statement from Casey's insurance company sat on my kitchen counter at home, the denial of extended coverage highlighted in clinical yellow to make sure I didn’t miss it.
Yeah, thanks.
Janet glanced down the hall, then leaned closer. “Look, I've seen patients like Casey before. They need time and consistency.”
“Eight weeks,” I murmured. “That's how long we have before I have to figure out something else.” Just thinking about that made me feel sick.
“Have you heard anything from that rehab center in San Diego?” Janet asked.
I could practically recite Dr. Mercer's specialized rehabilitation program brochure from memory now, the one that cost more than a year of college tuition. “They're saying they might have a spot for him opening up in the next couple of months.”
Her eyes held mine, searching. “That's good. Lucky for you both that this fishing job in Florida pays really well.”
My stomach clenched. The lie about fishing had been the best I could come up with, to explain why I’d be out of contact for days on end. I couldn't tell her, or anyone here, what I'd actually be doing at The Ranch. “Yeah,” I managed. “It does. Enough to get us in the door of the rehab center.”
After that, I'd have to figure out something fast.
“I know you hate leaving him here, but we'll take good care of him while you're gone. And you can call anytime to check in. Casey is lucky to have a brother like you who cares so much about his recovery.”
The irony wasn't lost on me. Casey had always been the one making sacrifices for me.
Now he needed me. “Thanks,” I said, grateful for her kindness. “I should get back to him.”
When I returned to the room, Casey was staring at the ceiling, counting the tiles under his breath. “Twenty-four, twenty-five...”
“Still twenty-five,” I said, resuming my seat. “Same as last time.”
Casey's eyes found mine. “You're leaving.”
It wasn't a question.
“Just for a few weeks,” I repeated. “It's a great job opportunity. We'll be swimming in dough when I'm done.” I smiled wryly. “Get it? Swimming? Fishing job?”
“I don't want you to go.” His voice had taken on that childlike quality again, the one that made him sound so unlike the brother who'd taught me to drive, who'd punched his best friend Tommy for calling me a fag, who'd always been my fiercest defender.
My heart dropped, but I forced a smile. “I know, Case. But I need to do this. For both of us.”
His eyes filled with tears, another change from the Casey I'd grown up with, who had cried twice that I could remember—when our mom left and when our dad died.
“What if you don't come back?” he asked, his fear naked and raw.
