Page 163 of My Unfinished Heart

“I wanna ask you a question,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows and indicates with a nod of his head that I can proceed.

“Did I turn out okay?”

He laughs his deep, easy laugh that reminds me of everything good in my life. “Eliza just did a report on diamonds. Turns out the right amount of pressure on an ugly lump of coal makes one of the strongest, most beautiful things in the world. What do you think about that?”

“I think that’s some vague ass shit your mom would say.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but I thought of it first.”

I put my arms around him, so grateful. So unbelievably fucking grateful to him. He hugs me back, solid and unflinching, not moving away until I do—until I’m breaking down again. I can feel it, my ends fraying and separating from my center.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze and makes me look at him. “Here's what I know. If a guy has to leave town to get away from you—it’s not too late. I’m not saying it won't be an uphill battle, but it's just a battle. All you have to do is show up to fight it.”

“You think?”

“Brother—chemo only works on people who are already dying. The rest of us just need someone to hold onto when the waves get rough. He’s had plenty of time. It’s time to stop letting him go.”

Connor is waiting in front of my house when I get home from school on Monday. He won’t make eye contact with me, and I take that as a bad sign.

We sit on the sofa, mirror images, each of us with one leg on the cushion and one foot on the floor. I put my arm across the back of the couch and wait for him to lead the way into whatever he came to say.

“He's not coming back,” he says after what feels like eight or nine hours.

“From where?” I ask, my throat constricted and tight.

“Houston. He's moving back in with his parents until he finds an apartment. He's taking the rest of the semester off. I tried everything, but I couldn't change his mind. I’m sorry.” Connor sniffs and covers his face with his hand, wiping away tears.

I take his hand and tug it toward me, hating how wrecked he is. He scoots closer so I can put my arm around him. “What did he say?” I ask. “Why won’t he come back?”

“How’s he supposed to live with me knowing that half the time I leave I'm coming to hang out with you, or I’m going to dinner at Helen’s? It’s exactly how I felt when I found out the two of you were together.”

That comparison is too much truth for me. All I can picture now is Tristan’s limp body in that tub. My stomach turns.

Connor must notice my face drain of all color because he’s quick to say, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” I look past my brother into the backyard. I sigh, heavy and overburdened. I think of what West said by the grill. His rebuttal to my chemotherapy theory. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. “Hey, bud?”

He meets my eyes.

“I need you to let me try to get him back.”

His expression manages to be anxious and hopeful and annoyed at the same time. “You know I can't do that.”

“What do you have to lose? He’s already gone. Tell me where he is so I can go talk to him.”

Connor blinks, and if his hesitation had mass, it would rank up there with neutron stars.

I narrow my eyes at him, wishing I could read his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “At least with him there and you here, I have you both.” He focuses on his hands, folded together in his lap.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t possibly tell the future.”

Pushed beyond reason, I burst. “Connor, I’m so fucking in love with him. Have you ever been in love before? Because this is a first for me.”