Chapter 62

West

A bluish light glows from Rachel’s bed and I freeze in her doorway. It’s late and she should be asleep. The clothes I let Haley borrow are in my hands. Sheets shift and, with a click, the lamp on Rachel’s beside table illuminates. With her head propped against a stack of pillows and the covers pulled up to her chest, Rachel squints against the light. “You okay?”

I slip into the room and close the door behind me. Mom sleeps lightly, attuned to any sound in case Rachel should need her. “I was hoping to sneak in and put back your clothes.”

“Hold on. I need proof. Ethan won’t believe me.” Rachel raises the phone in her hand and snaps a picture. “Didn’t see the whole cross-dressing thing happening. Maybe I should have. You are pretty for a guy.”

I smile, forgetting how much I love her dry sense of humor. “Sorry I woke you.”

“I was already up.” Her cell buzzes and a silly grin plays on Rachel’s lips as she reads the text. Her fingers type a response and then she shyly glances at me. “It’s Isaiah. My sleeping patterns are insane so he...” Her cheeks turn red. “He keeps me company.”

Isaiah—the guy who hasn’t left my sister’s side and walks around school like a zombie. The guy who attends every single physical therapy appointment and follows every rule my parents have created. The guy who loves her. Just like I love Haley. “You love him?”

“Yes.” The answer is swift.

Before the accident, I would have flopped onto her bed and messed with some breakable item in her room to get a rise out of her, not skulked near the door. I lost that right the day I waltzed into this room and took the money she needed. “I’m sorry. What’s happened to you...it’s my fault.”

All of Haley’s warnings over the past couple of months crash in my head: I act without thinking, I’m impulsive and my impulsiveness hurts not only me, but the people I love. It hurt Rachel and now it’s hurting Haley.

I recklessly wound my way into Haley’s life, reacting each time, thinking I knew more, but the truth is I’m an idiot. Haley once wondered if we were nothing more than actions to reactions—helpless against our own fate. It’s true. I react and others pay.

“I did this,” I say to Rachel. “I’m the reason why...” And my eyes snap shut with the burn.

“West.” The hurt in Rachel’s tone scrapes at the already pulsating wound. “You have to come here, because I can’t go to you.”

The impulse is to leave—to run as far as possible—but I’m done with impulses. I’m done doing what feels good. Everyone has told me my sister needed me, but I was too selfish to listen. I was too concerned about the ache.

I sink to the floor with my back against her bedside table, not because my sister needs me, but because I’m a bastard and need her. I f**king need my sister and the past two months without her have almost driven me over the edge. Rachel rests her head on a pillow and stretches out her arm. Without looking at her, I take her hand.

“It’s not your fault,” she says.

The muscles in my face pull down. “It is.”

“It’s not.”

“You can’t walk,” I snap and I feel her hand flinch in mine. “I stole your money and now you can’t walk and there is nothing I can do to f**king fix it.” I suck in a ragged breath and nausea creeps into my windpipe. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m so f**king sorry.”

Rachel pulls on my hand and, like a house of cards, I tumble. I hurt Rachel and I’m on the verge of hurting Haley. When will I stop paying for all my past sins? How many things will I lose that I love in exchange for all the pain I’ve inflicted?

“I don’t cry,” I say. I don’t. Men don’t f**king cry, but as Rachel touches the top of my head, I f**king lose my shit.

“I know,” she answers.

Yet we stay that way until Rachel squeezes my hand and I eventually squeeze back.

Attempting to reclaim my pride, I sit up and wipe at my face. “If I could fix this, I would. If I hadn’t stolen the money...”

“If I had told you or Ethan or Mom or Dad about the trouble I was in...if Gavin never gambled...if Colleen had never had cancer...it doesn’t matter anymore. None of it does. Will you please let this go, because I can’t carry any more burdens.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“I know. I want the same for you... I’m going to walk again.”

I try to pull my hand back, but she keeps it.

“I mean it. I’m going to walk again and I want you there when I do.”

“Okay,” I say if only to appease her. One of us deserves a happy ending.

“Promise you’ll be there,” she says.

“I promise.”

She squeezes my hand again, and, after I return the gesture, we both let go.

We’re silent and I’m grateful just to have the opportunity to sit with her again. Too many horrible conversations will be had tomorrow. I’m fine with silence tonight.

“The what-ifs,” Rachel starts.

I know the what-ifs—I’ve asked them my entire life. “Yeah.”

“If Colleen had never gotten cancer, me, you and Ethan would never be alive.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s an awful thought to have. To know you’re alive because someone else died.”

“It is.” And I say what I think every day and what she needs to hear. “But I’m still happy to be here.”