“Please don’t tell anyone, Grayson. Please. If word gets out, he’ll lose his job.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t fire people for having cancer.”
I rolled my eyes. “And you call me naïve.”
An awkward silence bloomed.
I let go of his wrist, realizing I was still holding it.
“That’s why you agreed to do this. The contract. All of it. Because of him.”
I couldn’t exactly deny it. It was the truth, after all. Somewhere along the way, though, I’d stopped thinking about it.
Grayson rubbed the ninety-degree angle at his jaw, and I noticed it looked like he hadn’t shaved.
A strange look crossed his face. Guilt? That couldn’t be right.
“Please, Grayson,” was all I said.
Raw hurt bled from his face. “You really think I’d do that?”
I didn’t know what he’d do.
“Grayson!” The voice ripped both of our attention away.
“Lottie, what? How did you get in—” Lottie jumped into Grayson’s arms, kissing him hard. He looked into my eyes, until I tore my eyes away, back to Uncle.
When it rains, it pours most people said.
My mom always said when you bleed, you’re a cut away from bleeding out.
She was fucked like that.
“Oh, what…” Lottie’s enthusiasm drained, spotting Uncle. “What’s going on?”
As if in answer, a horde of paramedics rushed his room, taking the stairs two at a time. Lottie grasped Grayson’s hand as paramedics strapped my uncle to a board, carrying him down the stairs.
“I better—” I started.
“Yeah,” Grayson finished.
GRAY
* * *
“That was intense,” Lottie said, a few minutes after everyone had cleared out.
I still stared at my bedroom door, picturing Story’s confused, hurt face. She’d only agreed to this for Woodsy. Somehow that was so much worse than if she’d just wanted to use me for money.
In no way, shape, or form had she ever wanted to be involved.
Fuck.
Before I’d felt like slime; now I was slime.
I fell back onto my couch, head in my hands. Woodsy’s cancer was back. We barely beat it the last time, and the stubborn old man refused to let me pay for any of it. Fuck that. Not this time.
How bad was it?