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“How much short will you be a month?”
“About eight hundred bucks.”
“Fuck.”
“Zane, it’ll be fine.” She laid a trembling hand on my arm. “I’ll be fine, dear. I always am.”
“But you need the treatment. The doctor said—” Fear coiled around my lungs, squeezing the air from them.
If she couldn’t have the treatment her symptoms would get worse. She would need more help. Specialized care I couldn’t give her.
“Shh, now. We’ll figure it out. Mr. Clarkson is going to make some calls on my behalf. I’m sure there are other options.”
Her voice was drowned out against the roar of blood in my ears. What use was I if I couldn’t even take care of her? After everything she’d done for me, the sacrifices she’d made. I had to figure out a way to raise some cash and fast.
“Zane Thackeray.”
“Y-yeah. Okay.” I fired up the engine when something caught my eye.
Celeste.
My jaw clenched as I glared at her.
“Sweet little thing,” Grams said, and I frowned over at her.
“What?”
“The blonde. Celeste. She’s going to be volunteering at the support group. I like her, she’s…”
More white noise filled my mind, pulsing inside me like a violent storm on the horizon. Celeste was going to be here weekly, helping out at the group my grams was attending?
Fuck. That.
I couldn’t deal with her every week, befriending Grams and filling her head with her entitled, privileged ideals.
“Zane, dear? We’re not moving.”
“I… what?”
“The car. We’re not moving.”
With a grumble, I backed out of the parking space and hit the gas.
“What on earth has gotten into you?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing my ass. It was her, wasn’t it? The girl.”
“Nope. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” She scoffed. “Because you’re acting like a damn fool.”
“Sorry, I can’t hear you.” I turned up the radio and ignored her protests.
It was childish, yes. But there was no way in hell I was going to talk about Celeste with my grams.
No fucking way.
