Page 27

HARLOW

“Here she is, doing the walk of shame at almost lunchtime,” Brooke calls happily through the house when I close the front door behind me, making me groan. “Get ready, because you know I want all the juicy deets.”

Ignoring her, I walk past the stairs and go straight for the kitchen. The coffee Laura served might have hit the spot, but I need more caffeine if I’m going to have to give Brooke a play-by-play of our date.

I think back to our picnic on the beach last night. It feels like a million years ago after the tense morning.

My mug is almost full when Brooke’s feet race down the stairs and she appears dressed in her robe with a white face pack on.

“Wow, you’re looking ravishing this morning.”

“Is that for me?” She swipes the coffee from the machine and turns to put some sugar in it.

“No, it wasn’t, but please, help yourself.” I roll my eyes at her and pull down another mug to start all over again.

“So … from the beginning, please,” she encourages once she takes a seat at our table.

“He took me for a picnic on the beach.”

“Aw.”

“We sat out on a blanket and watched the sunset. It was a pretty incredible date.”

“I knew he was hot, but I didn’t think he had that in him. Way to go, Corey.” I laugh at her antics. “And then you didn’t come home, so I’m assuming you got a taste of the goods.”

“Yeah. We went back to his place.”

“Where does he live?”

“An apartment building that overlooks the ocean.”

“Sounds flashy.”

I think back to Corey’s place. Right now, flashy is not a way I’d describe it, although I must admit it does have potential.

“What? You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

“I think he’s got money issues.”

“Oooooh. Now I get the face.”

“What?”

“It’s your I-must-help-and-be-a-good-Samaritan face.”

“Shut up. I do not have a look for that. I just like helping people. Hell knows, I can’t help myself most days.”

“I know, H. And I love you for it, for your generosity. But should you be getting involved?”

I shrug, because she’s most probably right.

“He’s hiding stuff …” I hesitate. “Dark stuff.” That piques Brooke’s interest.

“I’m guessing he’s not the only one.” She quirks an eyebrow. “He has no idea about your background or that you can help with this, does he?”

“What do you think?” Brooke knows that I don’t make a habit of telling anyone who I’m connected to.

“I think that if you suddenly help him out, you’re going to have to come clean, and I know how much you hate talking about it.”

“Maybe it’s worth it.” Her chin drops as she stares at me in disbelief.

“What do you mean?” she whispers.

“I don’t know. He’s a good person who deserves better in his life. But to be honest, we didn’t exactly leave things on great terms.” She opens her mouth to respond, but I cut in. “He’s not in a good place. He’s run away from some shit that I only know the basics of. I just want to do something.”

“What shit? How damaged are we talking here?”

“He was medically discharged from service six years ago. He’s been through things …” I trail off, because I have no idea what those things really are, and I’d hate to do him and his past a disservice by guessing. “Pasts can be painful, B. I know that better than most. I just want to help.”

“I know you’ll do what you think is right no matter what I say, so I’m just going to tell you that I trust you and leave you to make the decision on this.”

“I-I appreciate that,” I stutter. I was expecting her to get more involved, but she’s right: I need to stay out of it.

“I’m going for a soak. Hot date tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You won’t need to wait up. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

She dumps her mug in the sink before disappearing.

“When don’t you?” I call after her, but all I get in response is her laughter.

I make myself another coffee and take it up to my room.

Sitting myself in the middle of my bed, I open up the website the final notice for Corey’s apartment was from on my cell and hover my thumb over the call button.

My need to help burns through me. I can make the stress of his imminent eviction disappear with one quick call.

I hesitate, but in the end, I put my phone down and try to forget about it. Brooke is right; it’ll only lead to me having to answer questions I’m not ready for.

In the end, I finish my coffee and jump in the shower. I need to go and see my aunt.

I stop at the store on the way to pick her up a few things before pulling up to her house.

My stomach drops. All the curtains are closed.

I glance at the clock. It’s now past lunchtime. This isn’t right. Throughout all her treatment, even on her worst days, she always got up and got dressed.

I find her front door key on my keyring, and, with her bags in hand, I make my way to the house. My heart pounds in my chest at what I’m going to find on the other side of the door.

“Hey, it’s me,” I call into an equally dark house.

“Upstairs,” a weak voice replies. I drop everything in my hands and take off running.

Her bedroom door is wide open, and I quickly round the corner to find her propped up in bed.

“Hey,” I whisper, walking up to the bed and dropping myself to the edge. “You not doing so well?” It’s a stupid question and one I regret immediately.

“My seizures have been coming more often.” Everything in my chest tumbles into the pit of my stomach.

“Would you like me to call the doctor?”

“We both know what he’ll say.”

I stare at her. Her previously glowing skin is almost gray, and her eyes have lost their sparkle.

“I know, but if it’s the safest place for you to be, where you can be properly looked after, then it might be the right thing to do.”

She lets out a sigh.

I’ve offered to move in with her time and again, but she’s point-blank refused. I understand that she doesn’t want to drag me into this, but I’m her niece. I’m the only one she has left, and I’d do it in a heartbeat.

That’s probably the reason she always refuses.

She told me from day one that she’d rather go into a hospice than watch me put my life on hold again, and I know how much she hates them, so it really is saying something. Equally, I don’t want to see her in one of those places either, but it’s something the doctors have been recommending.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine in a bit. I just need some rest.”

I want to argue. She’s got terminal cancer, not the fucking flu. But I understand that she wants to be in her home. I hate that, ultimately, I’m the one who’s going to have to stop that from happening. And soon.

Despite the fact that she’s only said a few words to me, her eyes begin to get heavy. I take her hand in mine and squeeze, so she knows I’m here.

“I brought your groceries and ingredients for soup. I’ll make us some for lunch.”

She nods slowly and squeezes my hand back, but it’s so weak it brings tears to my eyes.

She drifts off to sleep, her light snores filling the room, and when her hand goes limp in mine, I stand from the bed and slip away, unable to just sit there and watch. I’m much better when I’m doing something.

I make quick work of cleaning up everything that’s been abandoned in the kitchen.

It’s so unlike her to leave even a glass unwashed.

I do a lap downstairs, picking up rubbish and making sure that everything is in its right place before putting the flowers I bought in some water and placing them on the coffee table where she can enjoy them.

They’re roses, her favorites, and they smell incredible.

I take a second to breathe them in and try to relax. But it’s impossible. The countdown clock is ticking, and I fear it’s going faster than I can deal with.

Lowering myself onto the edge of the couch, I drop my head into my hands as tears burn up the back of my throat.

I won’t cry. I won’t. She could come walking down those stairs any moment, and the last thing she needs is me in a state. She needs me strong, to fight beside her, not to break down.

I wipe the few escapee tears from my eyes and push up. I’ve got a job to do, and I need to focus on that, not sit here and dwell on what’s to come.

I’m just about to start chopping vegetables for the soup when my cell pings in my purse. I expect it to be Brooke, so my eyes widen a little at the sight of Corey’s contact. The words are simple, but the message behind them isn’t.

Brit Boy: Thank you.

But what is he thanking me for? There could be a whole host of things.

Is it a thank you for a good time? A thank you for understanding? Or worse, a thank you because things are done?

I stare at those two words for the longest time, and they only add to the ache in my heart.

Yeah, he freaked out this morning, but I wasn’t lying when I told him that it was fine, that I understood.

If this is a goodbye, then I’m not afraid to admit that I’m not ready for it.

I want to reply, but I have no idea what to say, so in the end, I close the message and slide my cell into my back pocket and continue cooking.

Thoughts of both my aunt and Corey spin in my head as I potter around. I make the soup as promised, but when there’s no movement from upstairs, I also pull out some of my aunt’s beloved baking equipment and make her favorite lemon slices.

The scent of them baking fills the room, and my stomach rumbles.

Plating everything up, I carry a tray to her room to see if she’s up for eating.

To my surprise, she’s awake when I round the corner.

“Harlow, that smells delicious,” she says softly. She’s still not as enthusiastic as she normally is, but thankfully, she’s more awake than when I first arrived.

She doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed, and I don’t mention it.

I just sit with her and chat. Corey might be the last thing I want to talk about right now after that vague message, but I tell her all about last night’s date and she swoons over a guy she might never meet, telling me that anyone who goes to that much effort for a single date must be worthy of my time.

I love her enthusiasm and her simple way of thinking. If only reality was that easy.

The sun is beginning to set when I say my goodbyes.

I promise to pop in again tomorrow in the hope that she’s feeling better, although something in the pit of my stomach already tells me she won’t be.

This is a downward spiral. The only question is how long it’s going to take to get to the bottom.

The doctor might have said weeks to months, but we all know that this disease is unpredictable at best, so all I can do is what he suggested and try to prepare for the worst.

Brooke has already left for her date when I get back, so I order myself some takeout and make myself a rum and Coke in the hope it’ll push away just a little of my worries for a moment.

It’s wishful thinking.

When I get into bed later that night, my head is full of concern for my aunt and confusion over Corey.

I have no idea how long I’m there tossing and turning before a noise outside has me fully alert.

Jumping from the bed, I peel the fabric back from the curtain as the doorbell rings through the house. I have no idea what time it is, but it’s late.

I don’t see anyone for a few moments, but then someone stands back and looks right up at me.

Butterflies erupt, and I run from the room to let him in.