Page 144 of The Route to You

“And . . . what does Sloan think?”

Kyle shifted in his seat. “I haven’t told her yet either.”

Isla’s eyes met his. “Hmm.”

Great.

“That’s a very judgy hmm .”

“It’s not.” She reached over and squeezed his forearm. “It’s a concerned one. You’re a good guy, Kyle, but I’m worried about you. You don’t seem to think enough about the long-term consequences of how things like these could hurt you. Just be careful, will you?”

I’m fine.

“I’ll be okay, I promise. I’m not taking risks without thinking about it. And I can handle it.”

“Can you, though?”

He nodded.

“And . . . if you can’t handle it. If you realize it’s a mistake or you bit off more than you can chew, will you be willing to admit that? Possibly even quit? You don’t have to answer that. Just think about it. Because if the answer isn’t a resounding yes, then you really should reconsider.”

Kyle cocked a grin at her. “Thanks, bonus sis.” The outdoors no longer felt like a break, but he didn’t want to hurt Isla’s feelings. He stood. “Come on. Let’s get back to the chaos.”

Isla stood slowly, but as she did, he caught the flicker of doubt in her face.

That’s not a good thing.

Because he couldn’t convince his family he was capable of this, how could he convince sponsors to take a chance on him?

. . . or am I just fooling myself?

37

SLOAN

Without a shadow of a doubt, Sloan hated hospitals more than any other place.

She stretched her shoulders back, stiff and tired from sitting in the recliner chair in the apheresis unit for the last six hours—five of which had been with IVs in her arms. The nurse had replaced the heated blanket over her legs the last time she’d been in here, but it had long since gone cold.

Everything about this place took her back to a time she didn’t want to think about, didn’t want to remember. This was where she visited the most often in her nightmares, waking drenched with sweat. The days when Mom was in the hospital had been long and brutal, aching days filled with heartbreak and confusion.

Mom had been religious—taken the whole family to church every Sunday.

Six months before Mom had died, Sloan had stopped praying, her childhood faith gone. Her prayers had gone unanswered anyway, but most of all, she’d been tired.

The last two weeks had been a blur. She’d been a 12/12 match for Penny, which everyone had cautiously celebrated. The tattoo had not gone over well, but fortunately, the tattoo parlor Delilah had taken Sloan to had been a top-notch, state-regulated facility. Between that, endless tests, and the doctors determining that the benefits outweighed the risks of waiting, Sloan had been cleared to donate.

What followed were daily injections to prep her body for stem cell donation. Now she was achy and sore, sometimes cranky, and had a headache that wouldn’t quit.

But how could she complain?

Penny was the one with cancer.

Sloan was just suffering to help her.

Neither of them deserved it, just like no one who fought these battles did. The unfairness of it, though, was more than Sloan could wrap her head around.

Cheyenne had flown out—with Bryce—to stay with her at her dad’s house. Kyle had wanted to come, but she’d asked him to stay in Nashville to take care of the dogs.