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“Mr. Wentworth…” somebody, probably the doctor, says in a gentle voice. It should be soothing, but for whatever reason, it makes the bile rise in my throat.
A loud cough snaps me out of it, making me turn my attention to my brother.
“Gabby!” I slide my hand over his back, trying to keep my trembling hand steady. He’s doubled over, his skinny shoulder shaking as he coughs for what feels like forever. “Are you okay? Do you need water or something?”
Gabriel shakes his head. “I don’t want to die alone, Prescott.”
I grab his hand, squeezing it for all it’s worth. “You’re not going to die. You’re no—”
“We both know that’s a lie. I’m not getting better.”
I shake my head, refusing to accept it. My brother, my twin, cannot die. “You’ll get better, Gabby. You’ll get better, and we’ll play football together like we planned. We’ll go to school and flirt with the girls and…”
“You’ll have to do it, Pres.” The corner of Gabriel’s lips lifts tentatively, but it’s a weak smile at best. “You’ll have to do it all for both of us.”
“No.” His cool hand slips out of my clammy palms, so I grab it again. “We’ll do it. Together. You have to get better. You can’t leave me.”
My eyes start to burn with tears, so I close them tightly, not wanting to let them fall. Gabriel is the one lying in bed, the one that’s been fighting this stupid disease. Not me. And he hasn’t been crying.
“You can’t leave me.” I grip his hand tighter. “We promised.”
When there is no answer, I open my eyes, and it’s like I’ve been sucker punched. Because lying on that hospital bed, hand in hand isn’t my brother, but Jade.
“No!” I sit upright and almost bump my head into Spencer’s.
“What the fuck, Wentworth?” Spencer asks, watching me warily. “You’re still drunk?”
I lean back down, running my shaky fingers over my sweaty face. My heart is still galloping in my chest, my breathing ragged from the nightmare I just had.
Jade.
Lying in a hospital bed.
Thin, weak, lifeless.
I have cancer.
“Fuck,” I mutter just as Spencer pulls open the curtains. The sudden burst of light blinds me, making the throbbing behind my temples grow even stronger. “Close that shit.”
“I’m not closing anything. It’s five in the freaking afternoon,” he says, opening the window. “And it freaking smells in here, and that’s saying something.” He turns to me, eyes wide, as if something just occurred to him. “Did you stay here all weekend?”
I get to my feet, swaying a little from the sudden movement. “I’m going to my room.”
“You did, didn’t you?” Spencer stops in front of me, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the fuck’s going on, dude? First, you storm in like a tornado in the middle of the night, banging and smashing shit before closing yourself off, and now you spent the whole weekend drinking yourself to an early grave?”
Everything fades to the background except his last words.
An early grave.
Gabriel lying dead in his hospital bed.
Jade…
Pushing Spencer out of my way, I run down the hallway. The door to the bathroom is ajar, so I shove it open, drop down to my knees on the tiles, and throw up.
“Fucking hell, Wentworth,” Spencer curses somewhere behind me.
My fingers wrap around the toilet seat as all the alcohol I’ve consumed the last couple of days comes out of me. Cold sweat spreads over my skin, my body shaky as my stomach rolls and tightens, trying to get everything out. That damn image is still stuck in my brain.
