When I got back to my uncle, he was eating a red Popsicle and sitting upright in a teal hospital chair. He had his trademark smile on, even in the face of death, but fear knotted my throat.

“Who is paying for your treatment?” I asked.

He slowly lowered his Popsicle. “I can’t tell you that, Story.”

A look crossed his face.

Shame.

I’d never seen the look on my uncle’s face before.

That told me everything I needed to know. Instead of clarifying, it made things murkier. Of course I meant nothing to Gray. It was only because he had a relationship with my uncle.

“I can pay,” I said. “It’s different now. We don’t have to take his money.”

You don’t.

“I’d like to leave you with something, Story,” he said, patting my hand.

Leave me.

I took a seat on a free chair beside him, mustering the courage to ask a question I really didn’t want the answer to.

“How long do you have? Really? Don’t lie to me.”

He exhaled. “A year, maybe two.”

A year.

The answer ricocheted inside me. I was thankful I’d already sat down. A year left with my uncle. A year with the only real family I’d ever known.

He grabbed my hand, and I found his eyes, trying to keep my own from watering. It wasn’t his fault; he shouldn’t have to see me hysterical.

“Miss me one place?” he said.

“Find you another…”

GRAY

“Did you pay for my uncle’s treatment?” Story’s husky, angry voice stopped me in my tracks.

I rubbed my eye. “I don’t see how that’s any of your fucking business.”

Story ran after me, running in front of me, cutting me off. “Did you even notice I was gone?”

Yes.

Every fucking night I went to bed with nothing save the sound of waves. I couldn’t sleep without her. My eyes ached from it. I wondered every moment how Woodsy was doing. I wanted to go check on him, as it had been days since I’d seen Story, but while she cared for her uncle, my family combusted, self-destructed, and I played an integral part.

Hours had passed since my sister Abigail’s birthday party. Another shitshow. Abigail had cut Gemma’s long, trademark hair and screamed something about her taking the damn dog, Theo.

More fucking family drama.

Albeit…a little funny.

I pushed her aside. “Not really.”

Hurt slashed her eyes, and her jaw quirked. I pushed past her, not quite sure where I was headed. I’d just left the library and was in the heart of the house. A few feet in one direction was my mother’s favorite room, the sunroom. I could also go left, or right, and be in either Gemma or Abigail’s wing.