“I’m sorry, son.” He puts his arm around me. “Her organs are shutting down. The doctors are shocked she’s doing as well as she is and talking as much as she is. They said to prepare ourselves because it won’t be like that for long.”
“This fucking sucks.”
“Yeah, it does,” Mom agrees. “Why don’t you go home and get situated? I know it was a long flight.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I promised Nanna I’d be here when she woke up. I just wanted to come out here and properly say hello.” I give her a hug and a kiss on her cheek, then turn to the guys. “If you want to check in to a hotel…”
“Nonsense,” Mom says. “You guys can stay with us.”
“We appreciate that, Sophia,” Declan says. “But you haven’t lived with these assholes in a few years, and trust me, you don’t want them stinking up your place.”
In other words, the guys need their space to fuck, smoke, and do their own thing.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be here,” I tell them. “If you want to head back…”
“Fuck that,” Gage says, looking somewhat sober. “If you’re here, we’re here. Besides, I need to say hi to Nanna.”
“I’ll let you know when she wakes—”
“Excuse me,” a female doctor cuts in. “Are you the family of Maria Garcia?”
“We are,” Mom says, speaking for all of us.
“Maria went into cardiac arrest. Because she signed a DNR, we weren’t able to resuscitate her. I’m sorry, but she didn’t make it.”
And just like that, my heart implodes inside my chest.
“This sucks.”
I glance over and find Layla sitting next to me. The funeral has ended, and Maria’s casket has been lowered into the ground.
“Are you going to your parents’?” she asks when I don’t say anything. There’s a repast taking place at my parents’ house, but I can’t find it in me to move.
When I stay quiet, she reaches over and threads our fingers together. I look down at our joined hands, noticing her left hand is missing her wedding ring. In its place is a pale strip where the ring once was.
“The last time I was home, she made me French toast. I told her not to, said she should be relaxing, but she insisted. She said she would make them every time I came home as long as I keep returning.” My voice chokes up on the last word, tears filling my eyes.
“She made them for Felix a couple of weeks ago. He said they were his favorite, so I tried to make them for him the other morning.” She laughs softly. “He said they were good, but they weren’t as special as the ones she made him.” I laugh at that, knowing exactly what he means. Nothing compares to her French toast.
“Going home will make it real,” I say, answering her earlier question. “And I’m just not ready for it to feel real yet. She won’t be there to offer to make me food or do my laundry when I’m not home. She won’t leave me a snack when I sneak in after curfew or gripe about the guys leaving a mess even though she insists they come over… because she’s gone, and she’ll never be back.”
Layla squeezes my hand. “She is. I can’t say I completely understand because my dad and I were never that close. He worked far too much and wasn’t around enough. But it still hurt when he died. Every morning on his way into the office, he would call me to say hi. The first day he didn’t call, it was hard. My heart hurt, and I cried. The next day, though, I was ready for the heartbreak. Each day got easier, my heart healing more and more. It still hurts, and I miss him, but it’s bearable now.”
She looks at me, her brown eyes shining. “It won’t be today or tomorrow or the next day, but eventually, your heart will heal.”
When she squeezes my hand again, I look down at our hands, remembering the last conversation Nanna and I had. I’ve never been the type of person to believe in fate. But right now, while I would give anything to have Nanna back, I’m wondering if maybe, as her last gift to me, she brought Layla and me together. Because had she not passed away, I’d still be across the country instead of sitting right here holding hands with the only woman I’ve ever loved.
“I think you’re right,” I tell Layla. “I think my heart will eventually heal.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CAMDEN
“I need to talk to you guys.”
Declan looks up from the paper where he’s scribbling lyrics, Braxton stops strumming his bass, and Gage removes the joint from his lips.
“What’s up?” Declan asks, reaching over and taking the joint from Gage so he can take a hit.
“We’ve done everything together from day one,” I begin, nervous at what I need to speak to them about. “Every decision, every show, when we decided to move to LA—”