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Turns out Matt doesn’t expect me to say anything, which is just as well, since my brain is down to basic functions. As he talks, even that small part shuts down. He’s talking, and I’m staring at him. I hear snatches of sentences, words that make no sense.
And then they do.
‘Tumors have spread. Organs are failing. Won’t be long. Nothing they can do.’
“No,” I whisper. “Shut up.”
“Zane. I’m only trying to prepare you, man. I got the whole talk. I’m trying to condense it here for you. I just—”
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up! Fuck you.” I push my chair back, and distantly I hear it crash to the floor. Blindly I turn to go, get away. Another door, another attempt to escape.
What a fucking joke.
I stumble out into the parking lot. Matt calls my name, but I need a minute. Hell, I need a year. What does that mean, there’s nothing they can do? All this equipment, drugs, machines, trained doctors. Specialists. You hear about people saved and healed every day. You don’t hear about those who don’t make it.
Emma has to make it. She has to.
My hands shake as I pull out my cigarettes and light one. I draw on the smoke and close my eyes. Let this be a dream. Let me wake up right fucking now.
The parking lot blurs but doesn’t vanish. I’m still here, still trapped. Still waiting for the final, parting shot.
“Hey.” Matt steps out, beside me. “The hell, Zane? I was just trying to prepare you. This isn’t exactly easy for me, you know.”
“I know.” I suck more smoke into my lungs, hold it. Predictably, it does nothing to calm me down. “Sorry, fucker.”
It’s not enough. It never is. But that’s all I have.
Matts sighs, rakes a hand through his short dark hair. “You need to accept it, Zane.”
“What, like you have?” I stuff the cigarette in my mouth to stop myself from saying more, and I almost choke on my smoke.
“Dammit.” He kicks at a pebble and takes a few steps away. “She’s my wife, Zane. How do you think I feel about it?”
“She’s my sister. How about that?”
He slumps and turns back to face me. “There’s nothing we can do, man. I have to think of the kids.”
Right, the kids. I nod. It makes perfect sense.
No sense at all.
“Who’s with them?” I throw down my cigarette and step on it. “Want me to go check on them?”
“Nah. Stay until you’re sober.” Matt gives me a flat look, and I shrink a little. Didn’t fool him, huh? “I’ll go. You can stay with Emma for now.”
He gives me another long look before he heads toward his car. “Your friends know about this, right? Your roommate, that girl who likes cooking pasta for you, and Asher?”
“Sure they do,” I lie easily. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“Don’t know.” He shakes his head and turns to go. “Just making sure you’ve got someone to lean on, that’s all.”
His words chill me. I’ve always leaned on Emma and Matt. I want to ask where he will be when I need him, but he’s already gone.
***
Sunday afternoon finds me back on the road, heading back to Madison. Heading home. Oh yeah, right, home. Whatever.
I should leave the apartment. Move out. Stop clinging to the past. Or something.
