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Her eyes find mine, and my heart clenches with the sadness that lives inside of them. I know firsthand what it’s like to lose a brother. The pain never goes away. It just feels dull sometimes.
I learned from Sutton that Poppy is a freshman here at Brooks. But given what an asset she is to the dance program, the school allowed her to live in this house off campus.
“Looking for Cade?” she mutters, leaning her head back.
I nod, chewing my bottom lip nervously. Another wave of nausea hits, but I force myself to ignore it. “Yeah. Have you seen or talked to him?”
When she shakes her head, I sigh.
“Damn it,” I whisper. “Poppy, I’m really sorry about your brother. And I’m … I’m really sorry for being so cold to you last night.”
“I don’t blame you. I know how it looked,” she breathes out. “And thanks. Me too. But I kind of figured it would happen eventually. He’d been on that same bad path for years now.” She pauses, setting her mug next to her and knitting her fingers together. “I know it sounds dramatic, but the truth is … Cade could end up facing the same fate, Haley. He’ll go to bigger and worse drugs. They always do.” Her eyes bore into mine. “I’ve been around him enough lately to know that if anyone can save him … it’s you.”
“I can’t save him, Poppy.” My voice breaks, and a lump instantly forms in my throat now that I’ve admitted that out loud. “He won’t let me.” I sniffle. “I love him more than he’ll ever love me.”
“That’s because right now, he has to put drugs before anything and anyone else. And it’ll only get worse if he doesn’t get the help he needs. I promise you that.” She gives me a sadsmile. “Sometimes, people just need the right person to let them know that no matter what, they’ll be there. I see the way Cade watches you. Looks at you and smiles at you.” She blows out a tiny laugh. “And I listen to him yak about you during dance practice. You’re the one who can save him. Theonlyone. You just need to believe that.” She stops, looking down at her hands. “Drugs have a way of taking a person and stripping them of who they really are. It starts little by little. But then”—she shakes her head—“it’s all at once. Cade is a rare gem. I don’t want to see him get lost.”
“Me neither,” I croak, swiping a tear away. “I should go. I need to find him.” I give her a sad look. “Again, I’m really, really sorry about your brother.”
She waves to me as I head toward my car, getting inside and quickly backing out. But I only make it a mile down the road before the turning inside my stomach worsens. And after trying to fight it for a few minutes, I eventually give up and pull over to the side of the road. Pushing my door open just in time to throw up on the dirt, I groan, squeezing my eyes shut. I have always hated throwing up. In fact, I’m sort of a baby about it.
Nothing is left in my stomach, yet I continue to heave. And once I finally get myself under control, I close the door and beat my fist against the steering wheel, crying in my empty car.
Where are you, Cade? Why can’t you just come home?
I’m scared. And when I get scared, I become mad. But acting like a lunatic, hitting my car? I’ll blame that on PMS. My period must be coming soon. That has to be why I’m acting so crazy right now. Hormones.
My thoughts catch up with me, and I frown.When was the last time I had my period?
I look through old text messages because I know I sent Remi a message the last time I had it, telling her how awful it was andhow I couldn’t stop eating nasty Cosmic Brownies and crunchy Cheetos.
Finally, I find the text. And when I look at the date, I suddenly feel dizzy. And nauseous again. Because that date … well, it was over six weeks ago.
Which means my period is two weeks late.
Shit.
And I thought my life was falling apart five minutes ago … but nothing compares to this moment right now.
I park in front of Remi’s dorm and text her that I’m here. Within minutes, she’s sprinting toward the car through the pouring rain.
Quickly getting in, she wipes the water from her face. “You said it was urgent?”
“I think I’m pregnant,” I blurt out before I start crying again. “What if I’m pregnant? Oh my God, Remi. I can’t be. I just can’t.”
“Whoa. What?” Her face pales before she pushes her door open again. “Switch seats. I’m driving.”
“What?” I sniffle. “Where?”
“Walgreens,” she mutters. “Switch sides. Now.”
I don’t argue. I just climb across the console and get in the passenger seat before buckling my seat belt.
As she starts driving, my mind races. I can’t be pregnant. There’s no way. Every time we’ve been together, we’ve been safe.
But that first night … I was drunk. He was drunk. And probably high. I don’t even remember if he put a condom on or not.
Oh my God, how could I have been so stupid?
