Always and Forever (23 page)

“Why do you care?” His eyes rounded as the last of that question dropped off his tongue. He cleared his throat quickly and sped on, not giving me even a second to react. “You guys broke up, Mia. You were all silent and depressed about it, and he sure as shit didn't act like it bothered him at all. I mean, he made this huge grand gesture, shouted out how much he loved you, and then, in the next minute, he can't even be bothered to acknowledge you? What kind of selfish bastard does that?”

“Me,” I whispered, shamefully.

“And, then he has the nerve to try telling me that everything he's doing is for you,” he charged forward, anger rolling off him in giant, pounding waves that knocked me down, dragged me under the surface before I could think to draw in a cleansing breath. “Like I'm a complete moron. I mean, in what world is pretending a girl—who you're supposed to be in love with—doesn't exist count as a favor for that girl? How is that even—wait.” He wheeled around, pinning me with a confused look. “What do you mean,
‘Me’
?”

I swallowed, gathering up the courage I'd need to do the impossible, what I should've done with Kal that night so long ago in my bathroom when he'd asked me that one simple question:
Was I dying?

“Brad, there's something I have to tell you.”

T
WENTY
-S
EVEN

“HOW LONG DO YOU HAVE?”
It was said in the smallest voice Brad owned, and it tore me into a million jagged-edged pieces. The first time anyone would ask me this question, but it probably wouldn't be the last.

I lifted my shoulders in an attempt at a careless shrug. I don't think it worked. “A couple months. Maybe more. Maybe less.”

His gaze dropped to our intertwined fingers. Somewhere along my rambling—at times, semi-coherent—confession, we'd both dropped to the floor. Brad's hand had found mine, his fingers circling my wrists until he pulled me into his lap, his head resting awkwardly on my shoulder.

The words had poured out of me. From the moment I'd uttered the words
sick
and
dying
, something inside of me broke, some invisible wall that I'd erected to keep all of reality out came crashing down. Amid the dust and debris settling around me, I shed the chains of silence, threw them down and stepped away from it all. From the pain, the misery, the anger.

Now, I was just left with the sadness, the overwhelming ache that came from knowing that I'd hurt so many people. I had to make things right. I just had to, but I'd need a little more time.

Just a few more minutes. Just a few more hours. Just a few more days.

“I-I don't know what to say,” he said, swiping a hand across his face to catch the tears racing down his cheeks.

“There's nothing to say.”

His head snapped up at that. “That's it?” he demanded. “You're just going to give up? No fight whatsoever?”

“It's inoperable, Brad,” I told him, speaking slowly, like I was talking to a particularly dense five-year-old. “That means there's nothing they can do. I'm dying.”

He cringed against my words, shook his head, a vain attempt at denial. “There's got to be something. Anything. Some radical treatment. Some experimental drug or something.”

“Now, you sound like Kal,” I chuckled bitterly.

“Speaking of—”

“No,” I cut in. “We're not talking about him. Besides, there's nothing left to say. He's with Kara now. He doesn't need to worry about me.”

“He loves you—”

“Oh no.” I shoved up and away from him, turning to pace the room. “You need to decide which camp you belong to, Brad. You can't keep flip-flopping. First, Kal's an asshole. Then, he loves me. Then, he's a selfish bastard. Now, suddenly, he loves me again? I can't keep up with you, and like I said, it's a non-issue. He's moved on.”

“No, he hasn't.”

“So you say. Right now.” I whirled back around and glared at him. Why did he have to keep rubbing my face in the fact that I'd shoved away the only good thing in my life? Couldn't he tell that I already knew that? “But let's look at the facts, shall we? One.” I flipped out a finger. “He's with Kara. Two—”

“He told me that your break up was all his fault. That he was too blind to see what was right in front of him,” Brad jumped in. “Three, he asks Dave how you're doing every single day, Mia.
Every damned day
.”

Stunned, I took a step back. “He does?”

He jerked his head in a spastic nod. “At first, I thought it was just his way of keeping tabs, of making sure you were getting over him, but now, I know differently. Can't you see? He's staying away because it's what he thinks you want.”

“D-Do you really think so?” That couldn't be true. Because if it was, I really was the worst, most selfish bitch in the world.

“Yeah…Jesus,” he groaned, cringing again. “He really is the nicest guy on Earth, and I beat the shit out of him today.”

“I'm sorry?” It came out sounding like a question, but really, I didn't know what else could be said here.

“Dammit, Mia.” He sat down on the bed, head in his hands. “Here, I thought I was defending you, taking out the bad guy and all. Come to find out…” he trailed off on another low, tortured groan.

“You had the wrong bad guy,” I finished for him, perching next to him. “If it'll make you feel better, I'll let you punch me.”

He lifted his head long enough to give me a look that said,
you've got to be kidding me
. “No thanks,” he mumbled into his palms.

“I really am sorry about all this, Brad,” I whispered, leaning into him.

“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to.”

“I know.”

“That's what the clothes are all for.” He nodded toward the closet. “You're giving Ricki everything, as what, some kind of peace offering?”

I just shrugged.

He considered that for a moment, and then nodded. “And, what about Kal?”

“I don't think any of my clothes would fit him.”

“Mia.” His patience with me had clearly ended.

I stiffened, shook my head. “I-I can't. He's better off without me.”

“That may be so, but you still need to talk to him.”

“He's moved on—”

“I don't give a flying fuck if he's moved on or if he's sitting at home right now, pining for you,” he exploded, jumping to his feet, his face darkening murderously. “This is not about you, Mia. It's about how you treated him. That boy loved you—probably still does—and this is what he gets? I don't get it, Mia. You're usually smarter than all this, but you're being the biggest asshat I've ever come across.”

“I—”

“No! Kal may be
Mr. I'm So Nice I Won't Ever Get Angry With You
, but I'm sure as shit not. You used him, Mia—”

“I didn't—”

“Even worse, you lied to him,” he barreled forward like I hadn't even tried to defend myself. “You can tell yourself all you want that you were doing this to spare him unnecessary grief, but it's all a
bunch of bullshit. You weren't trying to save him pain. You were trying to save yourself, and that's just wrong.”

“You're right,” I whispered. And, he was.

He was completely and totally right. I was worse than the bad guy. I was a monster. How could I have done all this to Kal? The better question was: how could he ever possibly forgive me? Because if it were me, I wouldn't be nice enough to even listen to the apology being offered.

I shook my head, fresh tears springing up and I looked to Brad, reached out for him, needing some small measure of comfort. “But how…I mean, what do I say to him?”

Slowly, carefully, as if I were made of the most fragile glass, he folded me up in his arms. “The truth,” he whispered in my ear. “You tell him the truth.”

*   *   *

Even with all the time Brad and I spent rehearsing this afternoon, I was still a flaming train wreck when Kal arrived home. From my station by the front door, I watched him slam out of his car, his phone tucked between ear and shoulder as he fumbled in his bag for his house keys, striding purposefully up the walk.

It was now or never.

I shrugged into my coat, pulled on my boots and wandered to the back of the house, stopping off in the kitchen to snatch up the gift I'd wrapped for him just moments before. Drawing in a deep breath, I gathered what little courage I could muster and charged out the back door.

This was it. The moment that would decide the rest of my life and death. Everything hinged on what Kal said…or didn't say.

I already had my key out and slid it in the back door without hesitation. I probably should've given it back to him a while ago, but like the pendant still hanging around my neck, I just couldn't bring myself to let it go.

Deep in the upper level of the house, Kal was talking, his voice slightly muffled as if he were shut away behind closed doors.

No one else was home.

I trudged up the stairs, quietly following his voice down the long, narrow hall that his bedroom was at the end of. How many times over the years had I padded down this corridor? How often had we laughed and danced and chased each other through this house? Would we have that joy again, or was this tiny walkway just a cold and lonely place, an abandoned road leading to nowhere, a barren wasteland of heartache and pain, one that I had created with the flick of a wrist.

His laughter, dark, rich, and slow as molasses floated through the partially closed door to tease at my skin, raised gooseflesh on my arms, and sent shivers of remembrance skittering down my spine. My steps slowed at the warm, comforting sound. My determination faltered.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, happiness sliding over his every word. “It'll be fun. Yeah, that sounds good. Okay. I'll pick you up at eight. Okay. See you then.”

Nearly a full minute of silence had passed before I was able to pick my jaw up off the floor and function again. I couldn't do this. It was just asking for disappointment. He'd moved on. How could I possibly survive him rejecting me?

I couldn't. I turned on my heel, intending to go back out the way I'd come in without anyone being the wiser, but I whirled a little too quickly. Instant dizziness assailed me. My roiling stomach dipped and then surged forward, and I crumbled. Hands flailing out around me, seeking out something steady and strong to lean on, I temporarily forgot where I was and what my goal was, and a loud groan fell off my tongue before I could recall myself.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Kal's voice echoed behind me, bouncing off the walls, reverberating inside my brain. His bedroom door flew all the way open, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting underfoot. “Mom, is that—Mia? What the hell?”

In the next moment, his hands were on my forehead, pushing back my hair and lifting my chin up. I started to slap away his hands, to lever myself upright and tell him that I was fine, but the
words stuck to my tongue, my head filled with lead, and everything started to go fuzzy.

No. This just couldn't be happening right now.

“Mia, talk to me,” he pleaded, slapping my cheek lightly. His face swam into focus for all of a moment, and then everything went black.

I couldn't have been out for more than a minute or two, but when my eyes snapped open, I was laid out on Kal's bed, the scent of him hanging over me like a thick fog.

“I know you're awake,” his voice, a hollowed-out shell of his normal tone, cut through the fog with steel determination.

“Yeah, I am,” I groaned. I swiped a hand over my eyes, rubbed at my temple and heaving out a resigned sigh, I slowly—
very slowly
—sat up. “Sorry about that.” I gestured toward the hall. “I got a little swoony there for a second.”

“Swoony,” he echoed, a faint note of derision leaking out of those two syllables. “Mind telling me why you felt the need to break into my house?”

“I didn't break in,” I grumbled, hurt sailing through me at the way he wouldn't look me directly in the eye, the way he sat in his desk chair, putting as much space between us as humanly possible, but mostly at the cold, harsh tone of his voice, usually the very definition of hot, soothing liquid velvet. Digging into my pocket, I produced the shiny brass key and held it out to him. “I guess you'll be wanting this back.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

But he made no move to take it from me. After a few beats of tense silence, I scooted to the edge of the mattress and tossed the key onto his desk. It made a sharp metallic ping as it hit the scarred wooden surface.

I nodded at the silver-wrapped box resting on his desk. “I, uh, brought you a birthday present, too. I know it's a little early, but well, you know,” I finished lamely.

He only spared a quick glance at the gift. “Is that all you came here for?”

Angry, bitter moisture stung my eyes, but I blinked against it, swallowed around the lump that was fast-forming at the back of
my throat. I would get this out. I was already here. I couldn't chicken out now.

“Actually, no,” I told him, impressed with how calm and steady my words were, even if I was a sloppy mess on the inside. “I came because…well…I came to apologize.”

I reached out a hand to him, but he shifted at the last moment, turning his attention to something apparently fascinating just outside his window.

“When I found out…when Dr. Shreve confirmed the diagnosis, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to handle everything. All I knew was that I didn't want to die of cancer. I wanted some kind of control over something in my life, and the manner in which I went was the only thing I could think of. And, then you came over, and I just couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth, Kal. All I could see was your face when I first told you what Dr. Lambert said. It was four years ago all over again, and I couldn't do that to you. I just didn't have the strength to hurt you like that.”

He didn't reply, just continued to stare out the window, arms folded across his chest and a tick working in his jaw, like he was grinding his teeth in intense irritation.

“And then, with Christmas, it just kind of snowballed. That first kiss was just—” My hand closed over the pendant, and I smiled, remembering the feel of his lips against mine, the taste of him, and the warmth of his arms. “—amazing is what it was. It was everything I'd ever wanted and hoped it would be, and it just killed me that this had to happen now, when I couldn't savor it, savor you. By then, I didn't want to tell you or anyone else for that matter. I just wanted to be a normal girl for a little bit longer.”