Page 2 of Heart Taker

Without pause, I headed for my brother’s side. Josiah’s eyes were closed, his face pale, nearing on gray, and dotted with sweat, his blond curls sticking to his forehead. I tried to tread lightly—not easy for a hockey player of my size— but I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought, and suddenly Josiah’s eyes opened. They were a deep chocolate brown, like mine, but his were bloodshot and glassy. It wasn’t only fluids he’d been given, but something for the pain.

“Hey bud, how’re you feeling?” I asked as I plunked down in the one and only chair by the bed.

“Like shit.”

“Language.”

“Look who’s talking.” My brother gave me a wan smile. “Every other word out of your mouth is a curse.”

“That’s different,” I countered and reached for his smaller hand.

It was colder than ice.

“I think I deserve to swear, don’t you?” Josiah replied.

Yeah. Yeah, he fucking did. I nodded and squeezed his hand.

“Just here,” I admitted. “But don’t tell Dad.”

“Deal,” Josiah whispered.

My father was strict about stuff like that growing up, and he’d instilled a strong work ethic and a no-quit attitude in both his sons. Dad was nonverbal after the stroke, but his eyes told me he understood every word I said to him. He was going through therapy to learn to read, write, and speak again, but it was a tough battle, and writing—or speaking—one letter for him was like churning out a whole book.

Dad didn’t care what the doctors said. He wouldn’t give up. And I wouldn’t either. Not on him, not on myself, and not on Josiah.

My brother had a baby face but the oldest soul; a disposition that was funny, kind, and sweet. Unlike me, Josiah was outgoing and bubbly, and he laughed. A lot. Or, he used to. Between everything that happened with our parents, and now this disease ravaging his body, the sunshine that was Josiah was starting to dim. Lately, he’d missed school days and outings with his friends, and worst of all, he became withdrawn. When Josiah was first diagnosed, he’d vent his frustration at being at home all the time. Now that his pain was worse, conversely, he was quieter, sometimes not wanting to talk at all. I couldn’t let that happen. There were new treatments and surgeries, many of which cost a fortune, but I knew that something had to work.

Enough was enough.

I swallowed down the bitter taste of fear, like I’d done many times before, and forced myself to put on a brave face.

“They’re keeping you in overnight.” I smiled at him. “And then, tomorrow, when you’re feeling better, we’re going back to your doctor to talk about surgery.”

“I can manage fine without it, Si,” Josiah returned. “We can’t afford it.”

“I don’t care what it costs, Jo. You need it. End of.”

His condition was getting worse, the bleeding was happening too often, and I wasn’t going to stand by and let his quality of life be destroyed. The surgery wasn’t covered by our insurance. Meds yes, but surgery, no. Fuck that. I didn’t care what it cost. Staring at him now, looking at how gaunt Josiah was, his cheekbones sharper than my blades, I made up my mind.

No matter what I had to do, Josiah was getting that fucking surgery.

I’d figure out a plan. I’d take a year off school and work full time. Fuck that, I’d take two jobs. I’d do whatever was needed. No matter what, even if I had to be ruthless, the surgery was happening. The only thing that mattered was Jo’s recovery.

“You rest up and let me take care of things, okay?” I reassured him.

Josiah didn’t say anything in response. Instead, his clammy hand squeezed mine.

Ruthless, it is.

CHAPTER 2

SILAS

A YEAR AGO—AGE TWENTY-ONE

Iwas so tired that I was seeing double. Story of my life for the past year.

After finishing my shift at Verdant Ink, I ate a sandwich and grabbed a coffee, then hopped in my truck and headed to my next job. Given my skill for numbers, I worked as a bookkeeper for several local businesses, including a retail store and a café. All in, I clocked more than seventy hours a week, plus ridesharing.

---