I remember the picture in my pocket, warming my skin and smile. “I know.”
We don’t say anything for a few seconds. My head is a bit clearer after my admission. I want to tell him I missed him. I miss who we were.
I’m going to tell him. He needs to know before it’s too late.
“Is Megs still around?” I ask, referring to Nor’s childhood best friend.
I can’t stop thinking of Nor. The stress is getting to her. She seems older than her twenty-nine years. When was the last time she left the hospital or has eaten anything? She needs a break from this place before this situation eats her whole. I might be angry, furious even, about the things that happened in our past, but that doesn’t mean I will be a dick and watch her suffer. No one deserves this.
Josh’s face clouds in confusion, probably wondering where I’m going with this. He nods.
“Do you have her number?”
He jerks his chin toward the bedside stand. I lean forward, open the drawer and take out his phone. Ignoring the weight of his stare, I scroll through the contact list. Nor wouldn’t know when to quit even when her own exhaustion was staring her in the eye. She has always been the kind of person who, when she gives, she throws her entire fucking life into something. A part of me appreciates that. I’m not certain how big that part is, because I’m still trying to sort out the catastrophic mess of emotions storming inside my chest.
Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop a smile from touching my lips.
That’s Nor, going to great lengths to make sure everyone was comfortable.
I see movement in the corner of my eye and look up to see Josh waving his hand to catch my attention. “You’re smiling.”
I shut it down fast and continue to scroll through his phone. When I find the number, I quickly type a text to Megs then hit send. I return the phone back inside the drawer.
I’m dying to ask him what type of cancer he has. But somehow I feel like if I voice the question, it kind of confirms that he is on death’s door and that thought punches me hard in my gut.
I run a hand through my hair, sliding it down to rub my neck. I feel a dull headache forming in the back of my head, a product of the short night’s sleep and long drive finally sinking in. That and this situation.
I make my way to the other side of the bed and lower myself onto the chair, drop my head in my hands, and blink back the tears. Fuck. I shouldn’t display that kind of weakness in front of him. He needs a strong support system of family and friends surrounding him. Bawling my eyes out won’t help shit.
He touches my arm and I lift my head to meet his steady gaze. Isn’t he terrified of dying? I haven’t seen fear in his eyes since he woke up. He has accepted this. Accepted that he is going to die.
“How can you look so unaffected by this?” I ask almost angrily. I’m not sure who I’m angry at. Cancer, Josh or me. Maybe all of them.
He shrugs. “I knew the end was coming. It was just a matter of time.”
“When did you realize you had. . .you were sick?” I ask
“Six years ago. My pancreas finally flipped a finger at me. I’m on stage four.” He pauses. Inhales deeply. “The first doctor who diagnosed me said I had only a few months left to live. I guess I was too stubborn to die.” He grins.
He fucking grins.
Jesus. I want to kick something.
I shake my head, horrified and in awe of my brother. He should be scared. Instead, he’s fearless, even when death is waiting, counting the days, hours, minutes, or even seconds to claim his soul.
“Do Mom and Dad know you came home?”
I shake my head, taking in the worried look on his face. I have no idea how to interpret it, so I ask, “Why?”
His expression clears and he grins. “They will freak out when they see you, especially Mom.” He eyes my arms and neck where the tattoos are showing.
“I’m not twelve,” I retort.
He laughs, his arm wrapped around his middle as if to support his body from bursting open. “I bet Mom will have something to say about that.”
I had most of the tattoos done when I got to New York after leaving my home. Each word and every drawing on my skin was a memory. A reminder of what I lost. What I wanted to remember.
The mirth on his face vanishes, replaced by a somber look. His narrow chest expands as he takes in a long, deep breath. “I don’t have a lot of time left. I need you to do something for me.”
I should give him the respite he craves, given the desperate look on his face, but my mind and mouth have other plans. Before I can control the words burning my tongue, words I’ve asked myself a million times rush out. “Why, Josh? Why should I do you a favor, when you took what was mine? You ripped my life out from under me.” I slow down and take deep breaths. “Give me a good reason why I should, Josh.”
He doesn’t look fazed by the words.
“Because Nor needs you, she’s always needed you and she’ll still need you long after I am gone. Please, Cole.”
I open my mouth to talk but I pause, too worked up to speak. I grunt, frustrated.