“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“It wasn’t viable.”
This was what, the fourth time? The fifth time? God, she was tired of this. So tired . . .
Her doctor was still talking, giving her the usual spiel, not to give up, blah blah blah . . . when Eli walked back in.
He had his head down, reading a Cosmo magazine. “Hey, did you know there’s a hundred and one ways to jack a guy off?”
At the awkward silence, he lifted his head and shut the magazine when he saw the doc.
“Interesting,” the doctor said with a small smile. “The benefits of staying well read, I suppose.”
“Thought you were going home to get my stuff,” Kinsey said tightly.
“Saw the nurse on my way out, she said your doctor was heading in, so I came back.” He studied Kinsey’s expression and then the doctor’s, as always sharply intuitive. “Someone needs to tell me right now that today wasn’t another false alarm.”
Kinsey looked into his eyes, and even though she knew that she was losing hope, he never had. But he had to eventually realize the thing she was slowly coming to terms with—that she wasn’t going to get a kidney in time.
Chapter 3
From nine-year-old Brynn’s summer camp journal:
Dear Moms,
I’m supposed to be writing in this journal for myself, but that seems dumb, so I’m writing to you. I miss you.
Wish you could come get me.
It’s very dark here. Everyone goes for a long walk before bed, but I had to stay because I can’t see good at night. Which I get is hereditary, but it’s annoying. Why couldn’t I get something good passed down, like pretty hair?
Also, they make us eat our veggies. Peas, gag. I almost threw up on the mean girl sitting next to me. She yelled at me. She’s also in my cabin. She didn’t feel good and had to stay in from the hike too. She told everyone that I lied about having two moms.
I don’t like her.
COME GET ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Love,
Brynn
ELI FOUND HIMSELF in the waiting room, his gut in knots, while Kinsey dressed and was discharged to go home. Realizing he was still holding the stupid magazine, he tossed it down onto a pile of others on a side table. In what world did people think a magazine could offer hope to anyone in this place? Hope was elusive, and a total bitch.
His phone buzzed with an incoming text from work, asking if he was going to make it in today. He was a marine scientist for a nonprofit out of Morro Bay, and on most days it was the best job in the world. He got paid to study and report on sea life, which involved a lot of boating, scuba diving, endless studies, and meetings. But today his job was the last thing on his mind. He returned the text, saying he’d be in as soon as he could. His stomach growled loud enough to rival Kinsey’s, making him regret handing over everything he’d had in his pockets to a woman who hadn’t even remembered him.
But damn. He’d seen her standing there and his heart had actually lightened in his chest. Fate, he thought. It had to be fate that Brynn Turner had shown up now, today of all days, and for a minute he’d felt such relief he’d nearly hugged her.
But she hadn’t remembered him.
The story of his life.
Shaking his head at himself, he pulled out his phone and googled black market kidneys for what had to be the millionth time in the past decade. There was actually a horrifying array of opportunities to buy an illegal kidney. Yeah, he’d have to mortgage himself to his eyeballs, not to mention break the law, but he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Except that Kinsey flat out refused to let him—or anyone—buy her a kidney. No one was allowed to get tested for a match either. And he got it, she’d already taken a kidney from someone, and to say that hadn’t gone well was the understatement of the year.
So he kept googling.
The last false alarm had been eighteen months ago, and it had nearly broken her. This time, she’d seemed . . . resigned.
That scared the shit out of him. He didn’t have many fears. Growing up the way he had, he’d conquered just about everything bad that could happen to a person and was still alive. As a result, he had only a precious few people in his life who mattered to him, and Kinsey was one of them.
He refused to lose her.
Slowly, he became aware of sounds outside his own thoughts. A quiet murmur, and someone crying nearby. He lifted his head. There were two women, mid-fifties, one dressed as if she were about to attend a board meeting, the other looking like the original flower-power girl. She was sobbing into the other’s arms.
“Raina, honey, this isn’t helping.”
“Our baby could’ve had a heart attack, Olive!”
“But she didn’t. You heard the doctor. He said it was a panic attack, that she’d be out shortly and we can take her home.”
Raina let out a long, purposeful breath, bracelets jingling as she straightened. “Clearly something terrible happened to her in Long Beach,” she said tearfully. “If he hurt her—”
“Then we’ll kill him together.”
Raina sat back in her own chair. “I’m sorry. I just had to let that all out. I can’t hold it inside or it eats me up.”
“I know.”
“You should let it out too.”
“I have,” Olive said.
“No, you haven’t. You’re sucking it all in and holding on to it, and next time it could be you in there.”
Olive shook her head. “I’m too stubborn.”
This got her a snort from Raina, who wiped her eyes and looked around, her gaze landing on Eli.
“Raina,” Olive said softly. “Stop staring at him.”
“I can’t,” Raina whispered. “I can feel his sad energy.”
“I can hear, you know,” Eli said. And what the hell? He didn’t have a damn “sad energy,” but Raina was already scooting over several chairs until she was only two away from Eli.
“Hi,” she said.
Terrific. “Hi.”
She gave him a small smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He didn’t answer, although his stomach grumbled again, speaking for him. The woman nodded, like this made perfect sense to her. “I always need to eat before I talk about things too. I’m an emotional eater.” She pulled something from a purse that was the size of the state of California. “You’re not allergic to walnuts, are you?”
He was about to back away from the crazy lady, but then the scent of something delicious teased him.
“Carrot cake muffins,” she said.
He’d have preferred brownies, but he folded like a cheap suitcase and took one.
In each hand.
“They’re gluten-, dairy-, and sugar-free.”
And . . . he froze. Well, shit.
With a smile, Raina brought one of his hands up to his mouth, and he forced himself to take a bite. But then, suddenly, he had his mouth full of the most amazing carrot cake muffin he’d ever eaten, and was in fact fighting back a moan when she pulled something else from her bag.
“Dab this at the pulse points on your wrists and rub it in,” she said. “It’s a mix of essential oils meant for calming. Bergamot, ylang ylang, lemon, and a few others.” And because he hadn’t moved, she leaned in and did it for him.