The Boyfriend Experience (The Boyfriend Experience 1)

He scrubbed a hand along his jaw and finally glanced at Evie, his eyes so somber it made her want to cry past the huge lump gathering in her throat. “We had a few months of believing she was in remission . . . but the leukemia came back, faster and stronger than before. She agreed to more chemo and radiation . . . and God, seeing how sick and how much pain she was in after her treatments, it nearly killed me, and I kept thinking, why couldn’t I have been the one to get the cancer instead of my sister? I would have gladly traded places with her. I would have fucking died for her.”

His voice sounded like it had been scraped across gravel, and Evie leaned closer to him, looping her arm through his. Since she knew there were no words to ease his anguish, she cuddled up to his side just to be near him, so he knew he wasn’t alone emotionally.

He exhaled a ragged breath. “Then came the words she’s terminal, and I remember screaming at my parents that it couldn’t be true. That Trisha did everything to kick cancer’s ass and she was going to fucking make it . . . except she didn’t.” He rubbed his fingers across his eyes, and the rawness of his voice told Evie he was wiping away tears. “I held her hand when she drew her last breath and passed away, and a huge part of me died that day right along with her. There’s a part inside of me that’s been hollow ever since.”

His story ripped at Evie’s insides like nothing ever had, and she couldn’t contain the sob that escaped her throat or the tears that fell from the corners of her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her own emotions.

He turned his head and gently, sweetly kissed her temple. “I know,” he murmured. “Me, too.”

Wrapping one arm around her, he lay back on the blanket, bringing her down with him so that she was snuggled against his chest and her head rested on his shoulder. His fingers filtered through her hair, playing with the strands, while she slid an arm around his midsection, holding him tight, wishing there were more words to take away his grief. I’m sorry just didn’t seem adequate enough.

He stared up at the stars twinkling in the clear night sky. “Before Trisha passed away, we had the best parents, family, and childhood any kid could ask for. But after she died, nothing was the same. Not that I expected it to be, obviously, but I thought I’d at least be able to count on my parents to be there for me. I was only sixteen at the time, still in high school, and I needed them to be there for me.”

He shook his head sadly, and Evie just let him talk.

“My parents wouldn’t discuss her death. They shut down emotionally. My father . . . he spent more time at work than at home, probably because my mother withdrew from everyone and fell into a deep depression, and for the next two years, it was like living in this bleak, gloomy atmosphere where I kept my own pain bottled up inside. When I finally graduated from high school, my parents divorced and I moved into a dorm at San Diego State University instead of living at home. I just couldn’t be in that environment anymore.”

God, he’d had everything snatched away from him so quickly. His sister. His parents. Normal teenager years. It sounded as though he’d gone from a stable, secure childhood to a shattered one that couldn’t be put back together. “Living in a dorm was probably for the best,” she said.

“It was,” he agreed, placing his hand over hers that was resting on his chest. “I was surrounded by friends and distracted, but looking back, I really should have seen a therapist,” he said with a hoarse laugh. “I felt so guilty that I was the one to live and my sister was the one to die. It was so fucking unfair, and that thought really messed with my head because I had no one to talk to about it.”

“Survivor’s guilt,” she murmured, certain that’s what he’d gone through.

He breathed deep, and she felt the rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm. “Yes, I know that now, though I’d like to think that I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can’t change what happened or who it happened to.”

“They say that it’s always the hardest on the ones left behind when someone dies,” she said softly.

“So true,” he agreed. “Watching someone die like that and feeling so helpless and having your heart torn into a million different pieces . . . It’s something I never want to put anyone through, and I swore I never would.”