Page 143 of Ransom

"When did you find out?"

"Does Jonas know?"

I reach down to help Becca up, then step back from the enthusiastic group hug happening on the bench. These women clearly share a deep bond—deeper than I would have expected considering they've only known each other a couple of years at most. "You're not getting in on that?" I ask Becca, pointing to the crying, screaming bunch.

Becca brushes off her pants and stays standing with me, grinning so big it looks like it hurts. “I already knew. Plus, I'm not looking to get an elbow to the boob today."

"Smart move." I cross my arms, watching the animated conversation continue without us.

"So." Becca bumps my shoulder. "How was your night at Casa de Ransom? Did you sleep okay?"

"Okay? Pretty sure the sheets on that bed cost more than my truck." I slept like a damn rock, but that might have a lot more to do with the whiskey. Foul stuff, but it's fucking effective at making worries drift away. For a little while at least.

"Knowing Ransom? Probably." She grins. "Did you snoop through his stuff?"

"What? No!"

"Boring. I always snoop." Becca wiggles her eyebrows. "Found some interesting things in his bathroom cabinet."

"I don't want to know."

"Just hemorrhoid cream." She shrugs. "And hair dye. He's letting the hair on his head go grey, so I'm guessing it's for down south."

"Down so—" I can't help but laugh. This woman is a shit disturber of the first order. "Yeah, you're a bit of an asshole, aren't you? Ransom said you have a way of getting on his nerves."

"It's a gift." Becca studies me. "You okay though? Really?"

"Yeah, just..." I gesture at the chattering group. "They're nice. I'm just not..."

"Part of the sisterhood yet?" Becca nods. "Understandable. They're too fucking loud and way too teary."

"I heard that, asshole," Abby calls over.

"Love you too, sweetie!" Becca blows her a kiss, then turns back to me. "Evie told me a little about your friend. No details of course, just that she’s not doing well. I'm sorry. It's shit."

"It is."

"There's no hope?"

How the fuck do I answer that question? I'm used to keeping stuff private. Yeah, everyone in town knows everyone else's business, but they learn stuff the right way, through gossip. This asking questions and talking about hard shit is weird.

But I'm tired of worrying by myself. It's gotten me nowhere so far.

"It's stage four. The doctors weren't hopeful."

"And she's not getting treatment?"

"No."

Becca scowls down at the floor. "I don't get that. If there's even a little ounce of hope, why quit? Miracles happen every day."

I bite my lip, choking down all the feelings I've kept buried for months. Part of me wants to scream in agreement with Becca, to tell her that I don't fucking get it either, but loyalty to Maggie holds me back.

"She's been through this twice before." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "The chemo nearly killed her the second time."

"But medicine's always advancing?—"

"You don't understand what it did to her." I wrap my arms around myself, memories of her last round of chemo playing through my mind like snippets from a horror show. "She couldn't keep food down for months. She lost so much weight her clothes hung off her. I could wrap my thumb and pinkie around her wrist."

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