Page 12 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

“Plus another twelve thousand dollars for the deductible?” I croak, my disbelief strangling the words.

Anger rockets through me, and as I jump to my feet, my fingers slacken, dropping the pages to the floor. Between this news and my run-in with Damian earlier, I’m more than ready to punch something.

“But you’re sick. You need that medication. You need that treatment! Have you called Tim? Maybe it’s a mistake or he can fix it somehow. Surely, he knows we can’t afford this.”

My mom is a bookkeeper for a small, local construction company, and her boss, Tim, is quite possibly the nicest man alive.

He’s been so accommodating with her treatments, always giving her time off when she needs it and going out of his way to make her comfortable in the office.

Hell, if he didn’t rely on her to keep his employees paid—Mom included—I’m certain he would have granted her indefinite paid time off until she was better.

If there’s anything he can do to help, I know he would.

Mom shoots me an exasperated look. “There’s nothing he can do, Lex. This was the insurance company’s decision, not his, and I’m not about to go stirring the pot when I’m lucky I even still have a job at all considering how much work I’ve missed. A lot of people in my situation aren’t so fortunate.”

I glare at her. How can she consider herself lucky right now when our world, which was already flipped upside down by her cancer, has now been torn apart from the inside out, ripped into pieces that we might never be able to put back together again? How much more heartache can one family take?

“What about Gina? Can she do anything?” I pause as another thought occurs to me. “Does she even know about this?” I stare at my mom with pleading eyes, trying to ignore the elevated pitch to my voice, which has gone up several octaves, inching closer to hysteria.

Mom frowns and gives a slight shake of her head.

“I didn’t want to distract her when she’s working, so I’ll tell her this evening.

Not that it would matter, though. It’s not like she can claim me as a dependent, which is the only way she could get me on her insurance, and then there’s you to think of, so no.

Even if getting on her plan was an option, I wouldn’t do it if it meant leaving you without healthcare. ”

“That’s such bullshit!” I shout. I start to pace the length of the room because, if I stand still any longer, I might scream or try to break down a wall, like in that old movie my film-obsessed aunt made me watch where some half-naked Spartan dude chest-kicked another guy into a pit.

“Without treatment, you could—” Silence swallows the rest of my words.

I can’t say it. If I say it, it becomes a real possibility, and that is an outcome I can’t bear to face.

A groan escapes my lips as I push the locks that have escaped my bun off my forehead and hunch over, planting my hands on my knees. Is this some sort of karmic punishment for fucking Damian again? Have I been cursed? I swear to god, it’s like his dick is bad luck.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I bite down hard, fighting back my impending tears. I can’t cry in front of Mom. If I cry, she’ll cry again, and then neither of us will find a way through this.

Think, Lex. Think. What are your options?

I bolt upright, resolved. “I’ll get a job. I’ll pay for your prescription myself.”

Mom scoffs and leans back against the sofa cushions, which seem to swallow her frail figure whole. “A part-time wage wouldn’t come close to covering this, sweetie. You know that.”

“Who said anything about part-time? I’ll drop out. I’ll get multiple jobs if I have to. I’ll start an OnlyFans. Whatever it takes.” Plopping back down onto the couch beside her, I clasp her hands firmly in mine. “You’re more important to me than an education.”

“Like hell you will.” Sitting up straight, she pulls her fingers free to cup my face.

“I did not work my ass off for years to ensure you had every possible opportunity for you to drop out this close to the finish line. You have worked too hard for this. I know it’s not MIT, but a degree from Conwick will still open doors, and you will not squander your future on my behalf.

I just—” She falters, swallowing loudly.

“I just wanted you to know about this so we can prepare ourselves.”

I flinch at her words. She isn’t saying what I think she is…is she? “Prepare ourselves for what?” I manage to ask, but my voice is meek.

Mom sighs, and it’s the sad heave of a woman giving up. “The alternative to me continuing treatment.”

A traitorous tear slides down my cheek, which I quickly wipe away before more can follow. “Fuck that,” I tell her, grabbing her hands again. “We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

She doesn’t argue, offering me a tender, reassuring smile, but I can see the doubt behind it.

Though I try hard not to, I frown. If my mother, the eternal optimist, doesn’t have faith that everything will work out…

How can I?