Shattered (Extreme Risk 2)

But fear of what going home means.

Fear of leaving here with things like this between us.

Fear that this is it, this quiet, civilized, angry exchange of words is all that Ash and I are going to have.

Ash heads for the door, then stops and looks at me, his hand on the knob. “Are you going to be okay? Packing yourself up?”

“I’m not an invalid, Ash. I’m the same person I was yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. I haven’t changed just because—” My voice breaks, but I force myself to say the words. Force myself to make them real. “Just because the rhabdomyosarcoma might be back.”

“Rhabdomyosarcoma.” He says it like it’s a bad word, like it’s worse than the most vile curses I’ve heard him utter time and time again. “That’s what you’ve got?”

“It’s what I had.” I put emphasis on the last word because, goddamnit, it’s just a fever. It could be nothing. It could be everything, but it could be nothing just as easily. And even if no one else wants to believe that, I’m going to. Because it’s the only way I’m going to get through the next twenty hours without breaking down completely.

“Right.” He opens the door, steps into the hall. “Call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll be back to help you carry your bags in about an hour.”

“I don’t need you to carry my bags. I got them up here on my own, I can get them back down, too.”

“Damn it, Tansy!” He whirls around then, and for a second I think his shoes are going to hit the wall again. Or maybe it’ll be his phone this time—he’s got that clutched tight in his right hand. “Let me help you.”

I close my eyes at the pain in his face, the agony in his voice. “I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because that’s not what I want from you.” It’s never what I wanted. To be another burden to him? To be something else he has to check off his to-do list? To be one more thing he has to take care of, one more thing that will slowly, inexorably break him? No, that’s not what I want to be to Ash. Not now. Not ever.

“Then what do you want from me?” he demands, wild-eyed and frustrated. “What the fuck do you want from me? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to look at me like you did last night. Like you think I’m beautiful. L

ike you want to make love to me. I want you to look at me like I’m whole and healthy and normal.”

Again, he doesn’t say anything, and again, he doesn’t have to. Because I can see it in his eyes, in his face, in the way he’s being so careful not to look me in my eyes.

Suddenly, I’m exhausted. Just completely worn out and the last thing I want to do is stand here and listen to Ash tell me all the reasons he can’t give me what I want. What I need.

“Go help Logan,” I tell him with a sigh. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Your bags—”

“I can handle them. I’ll text you if I can’t. I promise.”

He looks like he’s going to protest, but in the end, he just nods. Slips outside. Closes the door behind him. I wait until I hear him walking away, until I hear a door down the hall open and close, before I sink to my knees. And sob.

Chapter 25

Ash

I don’t know what to say here, don’t know what to do. Every move I make is the wrong one, every word I utter is just another wedge between Tansy and me. She’s sitting across from me on the plane and she’s never looked more fragile. More breakable.

Her eyes are fever bright, her skin flushed and stretched taut over bones that are far too close to the surface. For the first time, I understand why she’s so skinny. Why she’s so broken. Every scar on her body stands out in stark relief in my head, every sharp edge that I’ve ignored or downplayed is suddenly a nightmare inside me.

Cancer. Tansy has cancer. Rhabdomyosarcoma, to be exact.

Though I know it was the worst thing I could do, I looked it up on my phone while we were driving to the airport. What I found nearly made me sick, nearly stopped my heart in my chest. Because there’s almost no survival rate for people like Tansy, who have the disease when they’re teenagers. Little kids over the age of one survive it all the time. Adults do an okay job of it, too. But people who suffer from it between the ages of 10 and 19 … for whatever reason, the outcome isn’t very good for them.

I try to ignore the fact that Tansy is nineteen. That she’s been suffering from this disease for what sounds like years, if the information Z gave me is correct. He didn’t know much, only what Ericka told him, but it was enough to chill my blood. Enough to make my head feel like it’s going to explode even now, hours later.

We’re an hour out of Salt Lake City and Tansy and I have barely spoken more than fifteen words during the whole trip. That’s my fault, but Jesus, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to her. Don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.