Page 77 of Twisted Fate

He stretches his legs out, sighing. “Yesterday and last night when I woke up.”

“The doctors gave you medication to take it away?”

He scratches his head. “I don’t think he was a doctor.”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

“He was wearing a suit. He didn’t look like a doctor, and he didn’t give me any medicine.”

“I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

“He sat with me for a couple of hours early in the morning before the nurse came to check on me. At least, I think it was the morning. I was pretty out of it. I remember there was so much pain, and then there wasn’t. It was like he absorbed it.”

My breath catches, and before he can say more, Mom, Dad, and Dr. Collins walk in. There are fresh tears on Mom’s face, but she forces a smile.

Dr. Collins leaves the room after saying goodbye to Adam, promising she’ll get someone to send a snack later on if he’s feeling up to it.

I glance between where Adam lies, attached to machines, and where my parents stand at the end of his bed. No one has said what the doctor and my parents talked about, but if my Mom’s reaction walking back into the room is any indication, things aren’t looking good.

“Roar, please don’t look so scared,” Adam says in a small voice.

I turn to him and force a smile despite the wetness gathering in my eyes. “Sorry, buddy.” The last thing I want is for Adam to worry about me;I’mthe one who needs to worry abouthim.

He smiles. “It’s going to be okay. If I can fight cancer, I’ll fight this too.”

I close my eyes against the tears. His optimism is painful, but I can’t bring myself to say anything that might diminish it. He deserves it. Hell, he deserves so much more than this shitty hand he’s been dealt. “Okay,” I say in a hoarse voice. “Okay.”

Mom, Dad, and I head home for dinner after promising Adam we’d come back in the morning. I don’t think my parents can handle sitting in a room with their sick son when there’s nothing they can do for him. I want badly to stay with him, but it turns out, I’m no stronger than they are. If I continue to sit in that hospital room, I’m going to burst into tears in front of Adam, and that won’t help.

Mom and Dad both seem pretty out of it after we get to the house—understandably so—which is why I cook dinner. Knowing how much they love it, I make garlic bread and penne in a rosé sauce. We sit around the table, but we’re all picking at our plates.

Dad breaks the silence, saying, “Your mom and I understand that you’ll need to get back to school soon—”

“I’m not going anywhere until he’s better,” I cut in, trying to keep my tone gentle. My parents are just as concerned about Adam as I am. I don’t want to make it harder on them.

“Aurora, we don’t want your education to suffer because of this, and neither does Adam. You’ve accomplished so much, honey, and you’re almost there.”

The food in my mouth suddenly tastes sour. I have to force myself to swallow it. “Education isn’talwaysthe most important thing. Especially when Adam is sick. I’ve made my decision.” The two biggest factors that typically trigger my anxiety are attacking simultaneously, forcing me to choose between my sick brother and my education. My degree has been my life for the past three years, but my family takes priority over it. I’ll figure it out.

Mom sighs. “Okay.”

After dinner, Dad offers to clean the kitchen, so I retreat upstairs and stand in the shower far longer than necessary. I’m drying myself off when I notice my phone going off on my bed. I rush over and answer it before it goes to voicemail.

“Hey.”

“When the hell were you going to tell me he got worse?” Allison asks. “I would’ve gone with you. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Everything happened so fast. I found out last night while I was at the gala.” I explain how I got home as I pull a comb through my hair.

“Yeah, Tristan told me all of that. Do you want me to come there? I can be at your place in a few hours.”

“No, it’s okay. I appreciate you wanting to be here for me, but I’m going to stick around for a while.”

“Okay. Do you need me to talk to your professors? I can let them know what’s going on if you want.”

The idea of missing lectures makes my stomach queasy, but I say, “would you mind? That’d save me from emailing them. I’m sure they’ll understand. I have all of my placement hours done plus extra, so that won’t be a problem.”

“Of course. Consider it done.”

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