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It hurts.
It hurts so fucking much it’s destroying me, knowing I’m standing here watching my mother die by inches and seconds and hopeless breaths.
I’ve been through this once before, back when she beat it the first time.
Even then, I never thought we’d get lucky twice.
I remember the last time, the cancer diagnosis, me and Ethan and Grant standing together in this painful huddle, trying not to hurt, to be brave.
Just three awkward kids staring down their first brush with death and how flipping cruel life can be.
I’m not that wide-eyed child who can’t find the right words anymore.
Oh, but what I wouldn’t give to have my brother here with me right now.
And what I wouldn’t give for those rare moments back when an impossibly grumpy, overgrown bear of a man could be comforting and kind.
Now, I’m an exile.
A stranger to Grant’s oak branch arms and his big, broad body throwing up a wall, blocking out the world and its threats.
A stranger to everything I’m struggling so hard to keep sealed—and failing—deep in my bleeding heart.
5
ONE BIG MESS (GRANT)
It’s like I’m fucking cursed.
I swear I’m spending more time at my job thinking about Ophelia than I am actually working lately.
That woman frustrates me so goddamned much.
Mainly because she won’t get the hell out of my head while I’m pretending to focus on writing up what must be the twentieth vandalism report of this tourist season.
Damn punk-ass kids.
If rich people are going to bring their brats around this town to act out and shoplift, we’d all be better off if they’d teach them some manners first.
Honestly, we’ve gotta do something about it, because it gets worse every passing year and half the town’s income relies on the tourist bucks.
All we need is a bad reputation for petty crime. Then all the city birds who migrate here with the seasons will stop flocking to get their fix of artisan furniture and home-brew beers and hand-tapped maple syrup, too scared off by rumors to spend their time and money.
Too bad every time I try to work out a plan of action so I can make things work with such a small crew, my brain won’t cooperate.
It snaps right back to that look on Ophelia’s face.
That narrowing of her eyes that says she could see right through my bullshit.
Fuck.
How does she alwaysknow?Even after all these years avoiding each other?
Annoying as hell.
And why’s she always gotta go snooping around up inside my damn head?
Only, I owe her one for bringing Nelly-girl home safe, don’t I?
