I open the door, walking down the hallway and into the kitchen. Mom’s at the sink, washing her hands. On top of the stove is the prepared turkey, ready to be placed in the oven. She’s decked it all out with citrus fruits and onions.
Wade grins, grabbing an olive from one of the small bowls on the counter. “Hey there, beautiful.”
“Hey,” I say, walking over to him.
Mom turns around, catching my eye. She quirks an eyebrow—her silent question coming across loud and clear. I tip my chin slightly in return. The smile on her face broadens and she walks to the stove, pulling open the oven door.
“Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m looking forward to a proper turkey dinner,” she says, placing the beastly pan inside.
“I’m just excited to be a part of a family dinner,” Wade says, smiling softly.
Instinctively, I place my hand on his back, rubbing it back and forth. I’d forgotten how little family experiences he’s had. He was on the street since he was fifteen—just after his dad died. With his mom out of the picture, what did his holidays look like? God, they must have been so sad.
Suddenly, the idea of being pregnant takes on a new meaning. It’s the exact thing Wade’s always been searching for. And here I am, scared to death of it being true.
Mom’s right. This might not be perfect timing, but it might still be perfect.
A strange rush of excitement flows through me and I reach for the test in my pocket.
“Do you smell that?” Wade says, scrunching up his nose.
I raise my nose, sniffing into the air. All I can smell is the turkey cooking in the next room.
“What do you smell?” I ask.
He frowns, his eyes distant as he shudders. “It’s like…something’s burning.”
Mom chuckles. “Well, I know you haven’t eaten here often, but I assure you, I know how to cook a turkey.”
Wade shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s something else. Something horrible. Like burnt hair and flesh.”
My eyes widen as I look around the room. The panic button inside me instantly goes off. “Are you sure? I don’t smell anything like—”
Suddenly, Wade clutches at his chest and arches backward on his stool. Before I can stop him, he twists back, falling from the stool and crashing to the floor.
Chapter 11
Breathe
Before I even reach Wade, Mom is on the phone behind me, sputtering out words like “ambulance” and “hurry.”
I scramble off of my stool, dropping to my knees beside him. “Wade,” I cry out, pressing my hands to his shoulders.
He groans in agony, clutching at his chest as the rest of his body writhes on the tiles.
“I don’t understand. How can I help you? What’s happening?” My words tumble out in a higher octave as I try to calm him down, but I don’t know how to do that when I can’t calm myself.
He groans incomprehensibly, and his silver eyes widen, begging me to stop whatever’s tormenting him. Reaching up with his left hand, he tugs at his t-shirt collar, exposing the upper part of his clavicle and chest. The mark left by his father is clearly evident, but dark spidery lines emanate from the jagged circle, spreading outward across his chest and snaking their way up his neck.
Out of shock and terror, I pull my hands back. “Oh, my god, what is that?”
Still clutching the phone to her ear, Mom drops down beside me. She pulls back the fabric from Wade’s chest, eyeing the mark and its new infection with the expression of a surgeon.
“Is this the mark he was given?” she asks, turning her concerned gaze on me.
I nod frantically. “But it shouldn’t look like this. There’s something wrong.”
Wade’s body clenches forward, and he gropes again at his chest.
“Do you smell that?” he repeats, trying to reach out for me. His pupils are fully dilated and wild with panic.
I press my hand to his forehead, trying to soothe him. “No, Wade. I don’t smell anything.” Turning to Mom, she meets my gaze with uneasiness clear in her eyes.
Setting the phone down on the counter, she presses her hands to his chest and closes her eyes. I hold my breath, watching her.
After a moment, she releases her hands and sighs. “I don’t know what this is. It’s obviously a reaction to the mark—but I’m not sure what’s caused it. The ambulance is on its way. Hopefully, the doctors can find more to go on.”
“No, no doctors,” Wade sputters, shaking his head.
“Honey, you’re not dying on my kitchen floor,” Mom says, pressing his head back down to the tile. “Now, just relax for a minute, okay?”
“Dying?” I cry.
Mom shifts her hazel eyes to me, holding my gaze for the longest minute of my life. Finally she says, “Something is very, very wrong here. He’s treading a thin line… Can’t you sense it?”
My pulse skyrockets and tears swell in my eyes. “No—he doesn’t even know…” I shake my head. “Absolutely not. Do you hear me, Wade. You stay with me.”
Suddenly, there’s a booming on the front door and Mom is on her feet, racing to open it.
Two men the size of tanks rush in with a stretcher in between them. As they enter, they drop the stretcher and it clangs loudly on the tiles. One of them kneels on the floor beside me while the other one places a gentle hand on my shoulder. He asks me something, but I have no idea what. All I know is I’m suddenly being tugged to my feet.
I reach out for Wade, not wanting to leave his side. Tears stream down my cheeks and I’m acutely aware that my own words are incoherent.
Mom wraps her arms around me, holding me close as the two men assess Wade on the cold, gray tile. Her presence radiates, and I can’t help but lean
