Page 25 of Kiss To Salvage

Falling asleep in his arms.

My eyes snap open as my heart kicks into overdrive. I turn my head to the side, expecting to find Prescott’s sleeping face next to me, but the bed is empty.

Disappointment slams into me as I run my hand over the cool sheets.

“He left.”

He left like a thief in the night, the only sign that he was even here was his faint scent still lingering on the bedsheets.

Another alarm starts to chime, signaling that I really need to get going if I don’t want to be late for my appointment. Pushing the thoughts of Prescott to the back of my mind, I get to my feet and quickly go to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and rushing down the stairs. Letting the door close behind me, I fish inside my bag for the key to Grace’s car. She didn’t think twice when I asked her if I could borrow it. Now, if only I could find the damn…

“There you are,” I mutter to myself as I find them conveniently—of course—at the bottom of my bag. Keys clutched in my hands, I look up and stop in my tracks when I see my brother leaning against the hood of his black BMW.

“What are you doing here?”

I’m still pissed at what he did the other day. He had no right to get into it with Prescott. None whatsoever. Especially after I specifically asked him not to.

“You can be angry with me all you want, Smalls.” Nixon pushes off the hood and opens the driver’s side door. “But you’re not doing this alone.”

“I already have a ride.” My fingers clench around the key in my palm, the cool metal digging into my skin.

Nixon looks at me over his shoulder. He works his jaw, teeth grinding. I expect him to protest, but he closes the door. “Fine. You can drive then.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

I didn’t want anybody to go with me. It felt easier to go on my own and face this on my terms, but I also couldn’t deny that a part of me felt relief at seeing Nixon here.

Nixon looks around. “Where’s the car?”

Letting out a shaky breath, I walk toward him and pull the key out of his hand. “I guess this will do,” I mutter as I go to the driver’s side.

“Of course it will,” he groans but doesn’t try to stop me. Instead, he goes to the passenger’s side and slides inside while I finish adjusting the seat.

We don’t say much on the drive into the city. My whole body is tense, fingers gripping the steering wheel as I navigate the car through the busy Boston streets. Although I’ve managed to get a few peaceful hours of sleep with Prescott’s arms holding me last night, I’m still bone tired. Keeping busy is a good diversion; I need all the distractions I can get so I don’t overthink about what’s to come.

As soon as we get to the hospital, I’m hit by the scent of antiseptic and sickness. My stomach clenches with nerves, bile rising in my throat as the memories of all the times I’ve been here in the last two years come back to haunt me. So many appointments, needles, tests, and trials. All for nothing.

Forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, we make our way down the hallway to the doctor’s office.

I’m not sure how long we wait until the door opens, and they call my name.

Nixon gently places his hand on the small of my back. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers.

He’s wrong, though.

After today, nothing will ever be the same again.

CHAPTERNINE

JADE

“I have your results.” Dr. Hendriks enters the room, a file in her hand. She’s in her late fifties, I think. Her light blonde hair, streaked with grays, is pulled in chignon, and glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose. She had been Mom’s doctor as she fought cancer.

Fought and lost,a voice reminds me.

With a shake of my head, I push it back, not wanting to go there. Not yet. Not until I find out what’s hiding in that file.