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49
Willow
“If Miss Greene’s the only person on this team, then she alone will receive the high marks.” My teacher’s brisk tone from earlier this afternoon funnels into my ears. The asshole forced Jamie to return to the beginning of the PowerPoint and start over. I sensed his toes were geared toward the door to run faster than I ever could. Beneath the cover of the podium, I’d stitched our fingers together to stop his departure, and after about five minutes of him regurgitating what I said, the teacher flicked her wrist. Cold bitch.
Now, I’m wishing I had the other MacKenzie brother’s hand engulfing mine while my knees cave. Hillary’s arm snakes around my waist. Like magic, we’re thick as thieves.
We sniffle tears, clinging to each other while Dad speaks. “It’s too expensive. Hil, baby girl, it’s because of you and Thad that she’s stayed on life support this long.”
“I understand. This is a tough decision to make,” the doctor begins in a tender tone.
“Do you?” I grit out.
“It’s important to keep in mind the underlying condition, not the removal of life support, is the true cause of your mother’s death.”
“Oh, what is this WebMD bullshit?”
“Willow, I ain’t having it,” Dad threatens. We crowd around Mom’s tiny bed.
Dr. Eaton clears his throat. “There simply hasn’t been any sign of progress in over four months. The outlook is as grim as it was on the first day, Miss Greene.”
“So, give up on her?”
Hillary asks, “What are our options?”
Dr. Eaton’s mouth sets into a forced grimace. “We’ve exhausted every possibility. The ventilator and breathing tube will be removed on Sunday afternoon.”
“Daughters, perhaps we’ll witness a miracle. The pastor will visit at three p.m., right before,” Dad offers.
Once Dr. Eaton’s sympathetic eyes sweep across all of us, he exits. A broken silence falls over the room. The only sound emits from the ventilator.
The three of us exchange pained glances.
“Okay,” Hillary repeatedly mutters, spine rigid.
White noise echoes in my ears. Legs moving, I exit the room and push past where I crossed paths with JT and Sterling two months ago. I’m halfway out of the building when my father clutches my arm. Dammit, he’s no longer using a crutch, and I’m not in the position to run.
“Please let me go.” I glare off into the distance.
“You won’t even have a simple conversation with me, Lolo. Stop seeing that boy, come around. Go to church.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I glare in his direction. “Let me start by saying, the boy, Camdyn, is rooting for us to mend our relationship. Now, on to forgiving you.” Torment flashes across my face. “Done. You’re forgiven for getting drunk and driving crazy with my momma. But Dad, I’m sorry, this will take time to digest.”
“You have to understand,” he sighs.
“Mom’s in there, fighting for her life. Where’s your faith?”
Anguish flits before his dark face. He bites his fist. His next words gut me to my core.
* * *
Camdyn had called around ten p.m. while I roamed South Avalon Boulevard. I remember telling him I felt like walking. Now, frail streetlight touches down on my shoulders before flickering out. I’m in a bad neighborhood, not even my neck of the woods. One would assume I’d be too traumatized to meander in the dark, but here I am. My arms slip around me.
The roar of an engine battles underground rap coming from an open apartment door I’m wandering by. An imposing figure in a leather jacket, dark pants, and a familiar skull helmet blocks my path. Camdyn places the extra helmet beneath his thick bicep and heaves a sigh. He brushes his thumbs over the tears on my cheeks, mumbling how it hurts him when I cry.
“How did you find me?” I don’t know why I ask him that. I’m too numb for meaningful conversation. It occurs to me I’ve chosen an emotionally stunted asshole to give my heart. I’m not sure how he can help.
Camdyn folds me into his leather jacket and zips me up, mentioning how he’s had iPhone location-sharing turned on since that night.
