Page 10

CHAPTER TEN

arden

There’s one hundred reasons why I don’t tell Whitney or Autumn about what Carter asked me to do.

The first being that they’d want me to go along with it.

The second… Well, all the reasons why I don’t bring it up are tied to the fact that they would force me to agree.

For the plot, obviously. They already went crazy when they heard what he said in the press conference. I’d prefer we never discuss him again.

I am not agreeing to something that ridiculous.

It sounds fun in theory, but I don’t really have the luxury of fun anymore.

Plus, this is also a blatant, obnoxious lie to cover up a crime.

Though just, it’s still an assault. I like living my life unnoticed.

I go to work, pay my bills, and spend whatever little time I can afford with my friends.

I don’t clean up crime scenes in my spare time.

Pretending to date Carter Forkerro would be one big, fat lie that puts one big, fat spotlight right on my face.

I don’t want people to know my name. I don’t want people scrutinizing me on social media.

I just want to put my head down and get through life one step at a time, with as little bullshit as possible.

I sigh at my phone when I see a text from Anya.

Anya

Dad is a stubborn mule who refuses to use his wheelchair.

Sprained his wrist and ankle attempting to take himself to the washroom.

He’s the most stubborn person I know, my dad. He knows he’s sick, but he refuses to listen to the advice of experienced nurses and doctors. He can barely move nowadays. He shouldn’t be doing any of those big walks on his own, but he still tries like he’s perfectly healthy and mobile.

Me

Where is his care team?

Anya

Too busy, Arden.

I run a hand over my face. He’s been in a long-term care home for a while now, but it’s the cheapest one that my hometown has to offer.

Three girls in their twenties can’t afford those nice, beautiful places with significantly better care.

Medical care isn’t cheap. It costs a lot to be ill or to die in this country.

I might have a very strained, non-existent relationship with my father, but I’m still a nurse, and he’s still my dad. I don’t want him to suffer, and I want him to be in a home where the staff have the time and the resources to take care of him.

But I’m not made of money. I pay eighty percent of the bills for him, most of the time. Unless Anya and Serena can up their contributions, there isn’t much more I can do.

I could move home, I guess. Move back into my old room in that house without a mortgage, and shovel all my extra cash toward his care.

I know that’s what my sisters want. I wouldn’t have to pay rent, we’d all save money on food and utilities, and we’d become one big, unhappy family. But I can’t go back. Leaving is the one thing I’ve ever done for myself, and it’s the only reason I haven’t completely lost my mind.

I’m holding onto my sanity with a white-knuckled grip.

Me

I’ll call and talk to them.

And I will. They hate me there, and I hate being the nurse who barks orders and complaints at other nurses, but it’s my father. I expect them to care for him while he is there, because he is incredibly ill and that is their job.

Anya

Don’t imagine it’ll do much good.

I roll my eyes. Ever the fucking optimist.

Anya is the baby. She gives me the most shit and resents me the most for leaving. Her comments are nothing new, and neither is her pessimism. I feel for her. Being forced to grow up is hard, and knowing you’re going to be an orphan sooner rather than later isn’t any easier. I’ve been there.

Me

I’ll let you know what they say.

Anya

Why don’t you come home for once and talk to them face-to-face?

I swallow, glaring at the screen. Because I can’t fucking afford it, Anya.

Me

Soon.

Anya

Right. I’ll see you when we bury Dad.

I shut my eyes, ignoring the stab of pain that explodes through my chest at that jab. I know I’m hurting them and I hate doing it. I miss them as much as they miss me, but I left so that I don’t start resenting them as much as they resent me.

Sometimes, I want to scream at the top of my lungs that I had nobody!

They had me. They had each other. I didn’t get to have sisters, I had little girls to raise.

I was only a couple of years older than them.

I didn’t have a mother to go to or a father to lean on.

I was eleven, and I was forced to do and feel everything on my own.

For them. To protect them. To spare them one ounce of the pain I was enduring.

When my father would hold Anya, run his fingers through her dark hair and stare at those blue eyes, I’d hate her for a moment.

When he’d laugh with Serena, a sound I only heard when he was with her, I’d walk to the bathroom, lock the door, and cry.

Even now, they have each other. I wish they’d focus on that instead of focusing on how angry they are with me for leaving them with our sick father. If only they could grasp the fact that it’s better for all of us if I’m not there.

My phone lights up. I half expect to see Serena’s face smiling up at me, calling to try and mediate Anya’s bitterness and my reaction to it. It’s not my sister. It’s Whitney, and I’ve never been so happy to see her name on my phone.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing?” she asks .

I glance around my living room. “Watching a horrible movie and arguing with my horrible sister. What about you?”

“Just finished my horrible shift,” she says, and I hear her car start up in the background. “Want to go out? Autumn’s in. I need a fucking drink, Ards. Nancy was back with a vengeance today and smacked me so hard that I met God.”

I cough out a laugh, thinking about a glass of smooth red wine sliding down my throat.

“ Icebox ?”

“Ooh. Hoping to run into Big Boy?”

I roll my eyes. “Half price bottles of wine on Thursdays. You know the drill.”

She laughs in that sing-song way she does. “I’ll swing by in thirty minutes.”

“One glass for the pre-game, or one bottle?”

I don’t know why I asked, I’m already walking to the kitchen to uncork a fresh bottle of Cab.

“Bottle, baby,” she says, a long sigh leaving her throat. “One glass won’t nurse my pride back to life after a seventy-year-old backhanded me into the next year.”

I pull down three wine glasses and smile, grateful I have two sisters who can still stand me, even if the other two wish I were the one getting smacked around.