Page 4 of Breaking Point (IceHawks #1)

Bella

LAYLA

what about glitter in Jason’s vents?

BELLA

with a side of breaking and entering charges?

no

LAYLA

potato in his exhaust pipe?

BELLA

the garage is secured, we wouldn’t be able to sneak in

LAYLA

what about an Etsy psychic that can cast a spell against him?

BELLA

there are psychics on Etsy?

LAYLA

you can get anything off Etsy

“ I did everything right. I went to college, I got a degree, I took a stable corporate job and shoved all my desires about being an artist to the back of my mind and yet here I am, drunk on a Tuesday night applying for—” My eyes squint at the blinding laptop screen before me. “What is this?”

Layla leans across where I’m sitting on the floor and snatches the laptop. Her eyes scan the screen before she grimaces. “Why are you looking at a position for children’s party clowns?”

“I was?”

“Yeah, you searched it.”

Layla types furiously on the keyboard from her perch on my sofa as I gasp, a hiccup escaping me. “I was talking about how I won’t ever have children because I’m such a failure but then I realized how fun kids are and maybe I could do face painting.”

Groaning, I slide down until I’m lying flat on the floor, a bottle of wine clutched in my grip because we unceremoniously finished all the vodka an hour ago.

“L-layla?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

I snort. “Why is it that you get kinder when you’re drunk? Most people get a little attitude but nope,” I say, popping the p . “Not you.”

“You’re not mean.”

“That’s because I like you. Do you remember last year when we went to that swanky club in the city?”

There’s a slight pause in typing before she lets out a small snort. “Oh my god, yes! To be fair he deserved to be kicked in the nuts.”

“And then kneed in the face?”

“He followed a girl into the restroom and cornered her.”

“Oh, yeah! I forgot about the why.” I shiver. “Ugh, he was a creep.”

My living room ceiling begins to spin, so much so that as Layla leans over the couch to peer down at me, her vibrant red hair makes me blurt, “Is the ceiling on fire?”

“ Oookay. ” She yanks the bottle of wine out of my hand. “That’s enough for tonight.”

I pout. “But we haven’t even done karaoke yet.”

“Who said anything about karaoke? ”

I think through the haze of tonight and come up short. “Maybe I applied for a karaoke position?”

“I hope not. I love you, Bella, but your voice sounds like a cat being put through a blender.”

“Ew! That’s a disgusting image.”

A small chuckle escapes her as she moves around my apartment. “Closest thing it sounds like, though.”

“I don’t sound that bad,” I mumble under my breath before pausing. “Wait, how do you know what a blended cat sounds like?” Squinting, I side-eye her small form. “Do you secretly torture animals? Because if that’s the case, I can’t be friends with you.”

Her head pops into my line of sight, a frown marring her soft features. “Do I really look like an animal torturer?”

Taking in the freckles smattered across her nose, the small turned-up nose, and the kind soft blue eyes, I burst out laughing.

“Blended cat,” I scoff. “As if you’d blend a cat.”

“Okay, up you get.”

A hand suddenly pops into my line of vision. Without a thought in my brain, I take it and let Layla pull me up onto the couch beside her. She shoves a mug of something warm into my hand and it takes a moment for me to see through the spinning haze of my mind that it’s a steamy mug of hot chocolate.

My head lifts to find her cheeks flushed as crimson as her hair. She hums happily under her breath and takes a sip of her own hot chocolate.

“You turn into Martha Stewart when you’re drunk.”

“Yes, and you point that out every time.”

A coy smile dances across my lips. “You love it.” As quickly as the smile appeared it vanishes as my eyes snag on a framed photo of my mom and me.

Layla frowns after following my line of sight. “You’ll find something, Bella. Don’t start stressing yet.”

“Stress is practically my middle name. I’m as type A as they come.” I throw my hands in the air. “For crying out loud, all you have to do is look at my spice cabinet to know I have issues! ”

Layla shakes her head, licking the chocolate off her lips. “I think the matching glass jars and printed labels are cute.”

“I alphabetized it.”

“Okay, so you like to have order in your kitchen.” At my pointed look, she adds, “And everyday life. I don’t think wanting to take care of things is bad, but?—”

“But?”

She waves me off. “We’re getting off track.”

“Yes, we were talking about why I shouldn’t stress, which only makes me think of why I most certainly should.

” The topic at hand is sobering me far quicker than I’d like.

“My severance won’t get us far, especially if she needs to have surgery or something pops up.

” Rubbing my fingers over my forehead, I try to massage away the throbbing headache that’s blooming.

I groan. “I’m sorry, you have your own burdens to deal with. ”

“Don’t do that. You know I hate it.”

My shoulders slump. “But you do, Layla. You shouldn’t have to deal with your stuff along with?—”

“Stop. We don’t need to go down that path today. How much of your savings do you have left?”

Swallowing thickly, I admit, “Not as much as I should have. Every extra cent has gone toward her treatments.”

Layla bites her lower lip, her telltale sign that she’s deep in thought.

I hold up a hand. “Don’t even try to offer me money again. Every cent needs to go toward your health, which speaking of, is there any news from the university hospital?”

Layla has suffered from lupus since she was the ripe age of fourteen, when her symptoms first began to appear.

As an adolescent girl, it was hard for her to be diagnosed.

Layla’s time in high school wasn’t spent in classrooms or at football games but instead in doctors’ waiting areas and hospitals until she was finally diagnosed at eighteen.

Layla and her parents have done everything they can to try and create a normal healthy life for her. The Charité, a university hospital in Berlin, Germany, has experimental programs, one Layla’s doctor referred her for, which she has been anxiously waiting to hear back from.

She shakes her head, an edge of disappointment in her eyes. “No, nothing yet.”

“Well, don’t give up hope. There’s still time. The program starts in two months, right?”

“True, but they require you to arrive a month before for preemptive testing.”

I lay a hand on her arm, rubbing my finger back and forth in soothing motions. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.”

Her swallow is audible. “The same for you, Bella. Please let us help you and your mom.”

I lean back on the couch, truly sobering up now. “It’s not that dire yet.”

Yet being the keyword.

“That’s true, and we applied for dozens of jobs. I have no doubt they’ll all be knocking down your door to hire you.”

My smile is forced, stretched taut. As much as her positivity wants to seep into my pores, I know how fucked up the job market is right now.

“How did her latest doctor appointment go?”

Now it’s my turn to swallow my emotions.

“Not well.” I burrow further into my couch, covering myself with blankets and throws because every time I talk about my mom's cancer, my entire body breaks out in a cold sweat. “They say it’s not taking a turn for the better, that the chemo isn’t working despite the grueling dosage. It’s…still spreading.”

It’s quiet in my apartment for a moment. The only sound the ticking of my clock that hangs on the wall.

Nothing quiets a room quite like the word cancer .

Layla’s eyes gleam with tears. “B, I’m so sorry.”

The tears pooling in her baby blue eyes no doubt mirror my own, the back of my eyes burning with unshed tears.

“Life sucks,” I admit with a sad laugh as a tear finally falls.

The first of many, it seems. I can’t stop the second or the third tear, or the rest that come after that as they turn into heaving sobs .

Layla moves quickly, wrapping me in her arms as I cry into her embrace. The weight of my life crashes down on my shoulders. The chance of my money lasting my mom and me three months is slim, as slim as my mom’s life even continuing on past three months.

How do you prepare yourself to lose the person who has been there for you through thick and thin your entire life? How do you say goodbye to the woman who raised you, who molded who you are today?

I don’t know what’s worse. Never getting the chance to say goodbye to someone as they experience a sudden quick death, or watching them waste away, losing who they are at their core as they fade into nothing, day by painful day.

The worst thing you can do to a person who craves control is make them feel utterly useless by uprooting their entire life with events they have not a single ounce of say in.

My worst nightmare is coming to fruition, and I fear I’m not equipped to deal with it.

There is no to-do list that will prolong my mom’s life.

There is no perfect resumé to submit that will make people want to hire me on the spot.

There is no amount of cleaning I can do in my apartment that will erase the ugly cloud hanging over my head.

There is nothing in my life right now but sadness, and all I can do is sit in it as it sucks the life from me.

The tears stop falling once I have nothing left in me. I pull away from Layla’s embrace, pick up my laptop, and do the one thing still within my control.

“Let’s keep applying for jobs.”