Worth Fighting For (Fighting to Be Free 2)

Some of the tension seemed to leave me at the beautiful sight of her, and for the first time since I woke at four a.m. to the sound of the ringing phone, I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I stepped forward, dragging my case behind me, and Stacey crashed into me, the force of it almost knocking us both off our feet. Air left my lungs in a rush as her arms wrapped around me, her fingers digging into my back as she clutched me to her tightly. When warmth enveloped me, I felt the emotional wall I’d constructed around myself on the plane begin to splinter and crack. I closed my eyes, fighting to regain my composure and not break down. I couldn’t afford to lose control of myself again; there was no Toby here to look after me this time. I had to be strong. I was the one who needed to do the looking after; I was going to be the one who had to reassure and be a tower of strength for my thirteen-year-old sister. She deserved for me to be there and be strong for her; I couldn’t turn up a watery, blubbering mess of hysteria.

I pulled back, looking into Stacey’s red-rimmed eyes. “Hi,” I croaked.

“Hi,” she squeaked, pulling me into another bone-crushingly tight hug. “Oh, Ellie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I can do, but if there’s anything, anything...”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence, I knew what she was saying. I nodded, biting my cheek just hard enough that the pain from it kept my mind focused. No one paid us any mind as they walked around us, oblivious to the pain we were sharing.

She pulled back again, sniffing and plucking a Kleenex from her pocket, proceeding to wipe her eyes with it. I let my gaze wander over her; she looked the same as I’d left her three years ago—tall, slim, and effortlessly beautiful, even with the messy topknot and the bloodshot eyes.

Her smile, warm and comforting, somehow made it seem a little bit easier to breathe. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

I shook my head in rejection. “I want to go straight to the hospital.”

Her arm looped through the crook of my free one as she guided me along toward the exit. “It’s between visiting hours, they won’t let you in. Your nana said to bring you home first and you can go to the hospital later.”

“Oh.” I tugged my jacket tighter around my body, shielding myself against the chill in the air as I blindly let her lead me along, stopping to pay for her parking ticket, before guiding me to her car—a brand-new Mercedes S-Class, the coupe version. My eyes widened in surprise as she pressed a button and raised the trunk.

I picked up my luggage, forcing it into the small trunk, thanking my lucky stars that I’d only packed a medium case and not tried to bring all my things in a large one; there was no way anything bigger would have fit.

“This is a nice car,” I mused as we slid into our seats. “Did you come into some money while I was away?” I joked, shifting in my plush leather seat and reaching to turn on the heat because March weather here was slightly colder than what I was used to in London.

“It’s not mine. It belongs to my boss, Owen,” she answered, starting the car with the push of a button.

“And your boss doesn’t mind you borrowing his car?” I asked, wanting to keep the conversation going so there wasn’t any silence. When the silence started, my brain whirled, and my grief intensified and became too painful.

She shrugged, smiling over at me before pulling out of the space and heading toward the exit. “Owen likes to make me happy, because he knows if I’m happy, then I keep him happy. If you know what I mean...” She trailed off suggestively, leaving the meaning hanging in the air.

Understanding washed over me. “You’re sleeping with your boss?” I asked, a little shocked she hadn’t told me this tidbit of information before. I knew Stacey was personal assistant to some rich businessman who made a fortune from real estate developments, but in all the times we’d spoken, she’d never once mentioned the fact that she was seeing the guy outside of work.

She pursed her lips, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “When it suits me to, yes.”

The drive from the airport to my house seemed to take forever. Stacey talked practically the whole way without much encouragement or participation needed from me—for that I was grateful, because my exhausted brain wasn’t up to much socializing.

As we pulled into my street, drove up the road that I had learned to ride my bike on, passed trees that I had climbed and doors I had knocked on at Halloween, my heart became heavier. When the familiar white house came into view, my heart seemed to skip a beat. My eyes took in everything: the polished windows, the immaculately cut grass, the spring flowers just beginning to peek through the freshly overturned earth in the borders, the perfectly edged lawn, all of it so familiar it was like the last three years hadn’t happened.

I popped my seat belt and climbed out of the car still in a daze, my body just going through the motions while my brain was still playing catch-up. Stacey was quicker than me, already having lifted my case from the trunk and standing by the curb, waiting for me with a sad smile on her face. I smiled back, or tried to, and her arm wrapped around my shoulders, giving me a small comforting squeeze as we walked up the stone path toward the blue front door.

At the door, we stopped, and I reached out, my hand on the cold knob, unsure if I was strong enough to go in. Inside, people were grieving, just like me, people hurting, and I was supposed to be able to be strong enough to hold them all together. What if I couldn’t cut it? What if I broke down and made things worse? What if I—

But I didn’t have enough time to complete my worried thoughts, because the door swung inward, and there stood my nana in one of her floral dresses, an apron tied around her waist. She had aged quite visibly since the last time I saw her, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth more prominent, her hair thinner, her cheeks hollowed, her small frame now looking frail instead of sturdy. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed how tired she was. Her thin lips twitched into a smile, her eyes shining and pooling with tears as she opened her arms to me.

Without hesitation I stepped into her embrace, wrapping my arms around her, noticing how much weight she’d lost. I could feel the bones of her back and ribs pressed against me. The three years had changed her so much, and I suddenly realized how old she had gotten.

“Oh, Ellie, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, pulling back and holding me at arm’s length, her eyes shining as she cupped my cheek softly with her cool hand.

I gulped, willing my voice to work. “It’s great to see you. I’ve missed you so much.”

Her smile grew, but in her eyes, I could see the sadness swelling. She looked stressed, worn, close to the br

eaking point. I could see the desperation and sadness in her eyes as she stroked the side of my face, just looking at me softly. Finally, as the silence stretched out and neither of us knew what to say, she blinked a couple of times and stepped back, pulling the door open wider. “Well, don’t just stand there all day, we’re letting all the heat out.” Nana smiled weakly over my shoulder. “Hello, Stacey dear.”

As the door swung open, a wave of nostalgia hit me at seeing the hallway and all of our possessions there: the umbrella stand, the oil painting my dad had purchased for my mom when I was young, the side table with the old-fashioned dial telephone on it that didn’t actually work but was there just for show because my mom had thought it pretty. Seeing it all was like a stab to the gut as memories intensified my heartache.

I took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold, instantly noticing how quiet the house was. It was never quiet like this unless it was empty. There was always a TV or radio on, always Kelsey singing or dancing around, my mom’s foreign language tapes playing lightly in the background while she repeated the words she couldn’t quite pronounce. The house was always warm, bright, and full of noise. Now, though, it felt cold and devoid of life, even though there were people inside.

I gulped, my eyes moving around slowly, stopping on the shoe rack that was off to one side. My heart stuttered as I saw a pair of large shiny black men’s shoes neatly stacked there. My dad’s shoes. My body suddenly felt cold, so I wrapped my arms around myself, dragging my eyes away from the shoes and back to my nana’s face.

“How’s Mom?” I asked, my throat scratchy.

Nana’s eyes dropped to the floor as she unconsciously wiped her hands on her apron. “She’s still in recovery. They sent us home a couple of hours ago and promised to call if there was a change.”

I nodded slowly, not knowing what else to say. I couldn’t bring myself to mention my dad—not yet, maybe not ever. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

She shook her head as if to clear it, a forced smile gracing her lips but not reaching her eyes. “I’m fine, honey. Don’t worry about me. I was just making some lunch. Are you hungry, have you eaten?”

Food. My nana’s answer to everything. The Brits had their tea, and my nana liked to feed people until they were fit to burst. “I’m not hungry,” I answered automatically. I should have been hungry; I hadn’t eaten all day. Being on UK time, it was now dinnertime and I’d skipped three meals already, but my body was too tightly strung to feel anything as mundane as hunger. Food was way down on the list of priorities.

“You sure? How about I make you a plate anyway?” she cajoled, already heading to the kitchen, where I could smell the unmistakable scent of five-bean chili, Nana’s specialty.

“I ate on the plane, Nana,” I lied, wanting this conversation to be over already. She stopped, turning back to me, her disappointment evident in her slouched shoulders. I knew she was just trying to keep busy, keep herself distracted, but I wouldn’t even be able to force down a single bite. “Where’s Kels?” I asked, looking over her head and into the empty living room.

Nana’s body seemed to tighten. “She’s up in her bedroom. She