Shattered (Extreme Risk 2)

“He’ll come,” Anna whispers to me, squeezing my hand in a way I know she means to be encouraging. “This is a lot for him to wrap his head around, but he’ll come.”

I don’t tell her that that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

Even if I’m not sick this time, even if this is just some weird virus that’s kicking my weakened immune system’s ass, I don’t want Ash to see me like this. I don’t want him to come around because he feels obligated like he does with so many other parts of his life.

And I don’t want him to come around because he loves me, either. It’s better for him if he just moves on, just forgets about the strange girl with the weird clothes and weirder cancer.

As if just thinking about him conjured him up, my phone buzzes from its spot next to the water pitcher. I roll over, pick it up gingerly, like it’s a snake that might strike at any second. But it isn’t Ash texting me. It’s Cam, checking to see how I’m feeling.

I type off a quick, flippant answer, then scroll through my other missed texts. From Luc and Ophelia and Z. Logan has sent me one, too, because he wanted “to check in.” There’s also a text from Timmy and his parents, thanking me again for the trip and asking me to let them know how I’m doing when I get out of the hospital. Even Ericka has written something.

For a girl who’s spent most of her life being the odd one out—bald, skinny, sick—the sudden overwhelming influx of friendship feels odd. Good, important, terrifying, but odd.

I take a few minutes to answer each of them, even manage to respond to their answering texts. As I do, I tell myself I’m grateful that Ash is the only one who didn’t try to check on me. The only one who didn’t text.

And as I roll over to face the wall again, tears slowly tracing a path down my cheeks, I even believe it. Better a fast break now than a slow, agonizing one later. Ash deserves better than that … and maybe, so do I.

Chapter 27

Ash

“Pizza or Chinese?” I ask Logan from the doorway to his room. He’s currently sitting on his bed, sulking, and pretending to play Xbox. But I’ve been standing here for a couple of minutes now, and haven’t seen his thumb move over the controller once.

He shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Anchovy and mushroom pizza it is, then.”

Even that doesn’t get much of a response, just a quick glare before he goes back to staring blankly at the television screen.

And maybe it’s a mistake, maybe I should just give him more time, but I can’t take the almost silent treatment for one second longer. Not from him. Not after that plane ride from hell. Not after saying good-bye to Timmy at the airport and watching Tansy drive away to the hospital without a backward glance.

No, patience is not something I’ve got right now and it’s past time that Logan figured that out.

“Hey,” I tell him, as I cross the room and sit down at his desk. “I want to talk to you.”

He shrugs again, doesn’t even bother looking away from the game.

It gets to me, which is exactly what he’s intending, so I work really hard not to show it. But it’s difficult, especially with all the other shit going on in my head right now. It’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to call every hospital in town until I find the one that Tansy’s in.

I could just text her, but I figure she won’t answer me. Not after the bullshit I pulled when I found out she was sick. Besides, I don’t even know what I’d say. I’m sorry doesn’t seem to cover it, especially not when I still feel blindsided by the fact that she has cancer and didn’t bother to tell me. And not when she made it more than obvious that she doesn’t want to see me again.

“Look, can we talk about what happened in Chile?” I ask after a few more minutes of brooding silence. “It kind of got swept under the rug with everything going on there at the end—”

“You mean Tansy getting sick again?”

I grit my teeth. “Yes.”

“You can say it, you know. It’s not like voodoo or black magic. Tansy’s sick.”

There’s a part of me that wants to punch the kid—he’s being such an obnoxious little shit. “I’m aware of that, dude.”

“Are you?” He looks at me for the first time since I came to this room. Maybe for the first time since we had that fight in Chile.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at. If you have something to say, stop being cryptic and say it!”

“I’ve already said it. You just don’t want to hear it.” He turns back to the TV, actually does something with the controller this time that has the noise on-screen getting infinitely louder.

“That’s it.” I stand up, slam the off button on the TV. “I’ve given you a hell of a lot of leeway, but it stops here.”