Oh god, my brother. How long had he known he was sick?
I leaned over, grabbing the paper where it had fallen, face down on the linoleum. I flipped it over.
The date was a month old. He’d been carrying this thing around in his pocket all that time? He’d been smiling at me and acting like nothing was wrong?
A lump grew in my throat as tears shimmered in my eyes. How could he look me in the eye and not tell me?
And how could our family survive this a second time? It had almost torn us apart when Mom got sick. The fear and uncertainty was enough…no matter how hard we tried, the cracks started to show. And then losing the fight… burying my mother…
My father had to be in the dark too. He’d just been smiling and excited about a promotion—he wouldn’t have acted that way if he knew that Matt was sick.
Pain, jagged, knifed its way through me. My brother didn’t tell us because he didn’t want it to break us all over again. He was living with this alone to spare us. It made me love him and hate him in the same breath. He’d been telling us his job was keeping him busy, but it wasn’t that at all.
It was cancer treatment. Jesus.
A sob wrenched free and I scrambled to my feet. The letter was still gripped in my hand, so I smoothed it out, then carefully folded it and slid it back into the envelope, hoping my tears hadn’t stained the paper. Then I slipped it gently back into his coat pocket.
I raked in a shaky breath of air, trying to slow my heart, trying to steady my breathing. I dug my phone out, dialing Annie’s number.
“Pick up pick up pick up,” I said, panic swelling in my chest. What was I supposed to do? My internship started tomorrow. I had a plane to catch in four hours.
“ARGH,” I groaned, when her voicemail picked up.
I paced the kitchen, tears trailing down my cheek, unable to calm myself down. What was the right thing to do now? Tell my dad? Confront my brother?
The letter in my brother’s coat pocket practically screamed at me, like some telltale heart.
Impulsively, I did something totally instinctive. It just felt right.
I dialed Landon’s number, my heart in my throat as it rang four times, then went to voicemail.
I switched windows, to the web browser. It took three tries to find the number online for Prestige Sports medicine, but only one ring for a perky receptionist to pick up.
“Landon Hill, please,” I said, as smoothly as I could with the tears clogging my throat.
“May I ask who’s calling?” She was too chipper. Her world wasn’t crumbling.
“Taryn. Just tell him Taryn.”
My voice cracked and I could sense her hesitation, like maybe I was some crazy person. But then I was put on hold. Soothing music played as a crisp voice began to tell me about the award-winning programs founded by Prestige.
“Taryn?” Landon answered.
“Landon.” My voice broke on that one word, and a sob wrenched free.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s my brother,” I gasped out. “I need…” I sniffled. “I need…”
“Meet me at my house in ten minutes,” he said.
Relief came swiftly. “Thank you.”
“And Taryn?”
“Yes?”
“Drive safe.”
And then the line went dead.
I dragged myself off the floor, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I couldn’t even bring myself to care about the fact that I would arrive at Landon’s house a total mess.
My life was a total mess. What if Matty died? What if this all went the same way as last time, and he was gone, and it was just my dad and me? My mom’s passing had nearly ruined my father. This would finish the job.
I grabbed my purse and keys, rushing out the door as sobs threatened to overtake me. Maybe my brother and I weren’t as close as we were as kids, but I still loved him. I’d followed him everywhere, trailing after him to the arcades, to the ball fields, and down the halls at school. And he put up with it. He looked out for me.
I climbed into the car and buckled up, then sat there in silence for a moment, raking in shaky breaths and trying to blink away the tears. I could do this. I could hold it together long enough to get to Landon’s so he could help me figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with this news.
Landon would know what to do. He always did. When we were younger, he was the one who knew how to handle a car accident we witnessed. How to check for injuries, stabilize a broken arm, and call the authorities all at once. He would do that here… he would perform a triage so I could calm the hell down and figure out a plan.