Please Stay for Me (The Brotherhood Series)

by M. W. McKinley

  A few moments pass before I quietly say, "I don't like taking chances. It never works in my favor."

  Katherine doesn’t speak right away, but she closes her magazine. She finally says, "Because of your dad?"

  That’s the second time she’s asked about him, and I give her question real thought this time. "Because of everything that happened since I turned twelve." I just want control over a major decision in my life for once.

  "I guess you don't buy into the whole 'with greater risks comes greater rewards' idea? It's my dad's favorite mantra."

  I meet her gaze. "I wish I could permanently delete words like chance and risk from the dictionary. All I think when I hear those words is there's a fifteen percent chance of survival. Or risks associated with this drug trial are high." In the beginning, Mom tried every new treatment and drug available before finally deciding the side effects weren’t worth it.

  After four years, my voice no longer cracks when I speak of Mom. At least the worst part is over. For the first year after she died, the grief would hit me so hard at the most random times. When the smallest thing reminded me of her, it was as if the breath was knocked out of me. I remember too many times collapsing against my bedroom wall and sliding to the floor as the feeling of being smothered took over. I would wrap myself up in her favorite cardigan and cry until my face was puffy.

  Trinity says I’m stuck in the anger stage of grief now. I don’t believe in stages of grief. Grief is just grief.

  "Will you still go with me to their show this weekend?"

  I almost laugh in relief. Either Katherine can tell I need a change of topic, or she’s just that self-absorbed. "Yes, I'll still go. I didn't say I wouldn't spend time with Liam, at least as friends, I'm just not sure about traveling to the other side of the country with him."

  She stands up. "You make it sound like we're in Russia or something. You realize it only takes like five hours to drive across England."

  I give her a look. "Katherine . . .”

  "Okay, okay. Well, I would travel across Russia with Eric in a heartbeat."

  I carefully put away my camera. "I'm sure I'll hear all about it on the next murder mystery episode."

  Katherine walks to my door. "If they say anything about me buying Cheetos, you'll know it's a lie."

  I smile. "Goodnight, Katherine."

  "Night, Avery.”

  There’s an open table in the corner calling my name. I dump my bag on the surface before someone else can steal it. Not that the library is packed during the summer, but I still don’t want to share a table. I purposely spread all my belongings out so it looks as uninviting as possible.

  My gaze follows the nearby window as it almost touches the ceiling. It’s a ceiling that’s the same color as a clear blue sky with oversized crystal chandeliers hanging down like icicles. Opposite the windows are walls covered in built-in bookshelves that continue all the way up to a second-floor balcony. The only sounds around me are hushed voices and the occasional quiet flip of pages.

  After brushing away leftover eraser bits from the desk, I open my laptop and go to the same website I check every day. I want to see what photos Brotherhood picked, but I have no idea when they plan on updating their website.

  When the black and white photograph of their standing against the mural comes into view, I do a little dance in my chair. There’s my name credited at the bottom of the photograph.

  After spending way too much time looking at pictures of Liam—I mean, the band—I check to see if I have a new email from Meme. Her last email gushed over all the Oxford pictures I sent her. It also mentioned that J.R. seemed to come over more often to check on her which made me smile.

  Instead of an email from Meme, there’s one from Dad. I knew Meme gave him my email address a while ago, but this is the first time he’s used it. My heart rate picks up as I move the cursor over his name. I can’t bring myself to click it. I just move the cursor over each letter. Then, I glare at the blank subject line. If he couldn’t even decide on a subject, what was the point of sending an email in the first place.

  I should just delete it. I’ll delete it. The little trash can icon by the message is just an easy click away. Literally, one click, and I can pretend it never happened.

  After ghosting him for a few months when I first moved in with Meme, I had finally taken his call where I pretended everything was fine. After that, he called once every few weeks, and we spoke of nothing that really mattered.

  What did he want to say over email that he couldn't say on the phone? He’s had every opportunity to say something important when he calls, but he never does. He can’t erase the past three years of whatever our relationship has become, but he can at least say something that matters.

  At the last second, I bypass the trash can and open his email. My eyes absorb the first sentence, and then I slam my laptop shut.

  "Everything alright?"

  I look up when I hear the familiar voice, but it takes me a moment to respond. "Rob . . . hey."

  His concern is obvious as he looks back down at my laptop. "The tech department can probably help with that."

  I can’t suppress my brief yet hysterical laugh. "Unless they're equipped to deal with worthless fathers, I doubt it, but thanks." I jam all my belongings into my bag as quickly as possible. "See you at your next show," I say as a goodbye.

  I push my way out of the library front doors with way more force than necessary, but it feels good to expel some tension. I made a mistake. It’s the only sentence I managed to read from Dad's email before most likely breaking my laptop. I made a mistake. A mistake is when I lock my keys in the car enough times for Meme to buy a spare set to keep in the house. A mistake.

  "Avery, wait up!"

  I turn just as Rob catches up to me. "I know worthless fathers."

  My brows knit together. "What?"

  "The tech department might not be able to help you, but I'm kind of an expert when it comes to worthless fathers."

  I can feel it all rising to the surface. Usually, I force it right back down, but I’m too caught off guard this time. "Imagine your mother dies of breast cancer when you're thirteen. You're heartbroken. Like someone reached in your chest, took out your heart, and crushed it. You only have your father left. He just needs time, right? He's just sad like you. But he says nothing when your grandmother flies across the country to collect you because she's worried about neglect. For the next three years he does nothing to get you back. And then, one day, out of the blue, he sends an email saying he made a mistake."

  I start walking again, following the neat pathways crisscrossing pristine and freshly mowed grass.

  Rob is beside me step for step.

  "A mistake?" I make a sweeping gesture with my hand. "Maybe he could say that after the first day I was gone. Whoops, I made a mistake. Let me fly across the country and get my daughter using my frequent flyer miles. I would have understood. But to say it now. It's like crushing my heart all over again."

  "Avery," Rob says.

  I abruptly stop walking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dump all that on you." I try to draw in a slow, steady breath to calm myself.

  "I asked you to," he says.

  "Right. Your father?" I’m not sure what I’m asking but taking the spotlight off me right now would be awesome.

  "Is an abusive drug addict. He was careless one day by leaving a bruise where a teacher could see it. That's how I met Liam. Through the revolving doors of foster care."

  He says it all so nonchalantly that I have to go over it again in my head to make sure I heard him correctly.

  "Now we're even. You dumped. I dumped," he says.

  I think about Liam. "Liam doesn't know." Will he be upset I told Rob first? Assuming I’m going to tell Liam in the first place, which I probably am. Maybe.

  "It's your business. My lips are sealed unless you say otherwise."

  I want to believe him. "Thanks."

  Rob pushes strands of sandy brown hair away from h
is eyes and then adjusts the straps of his backpack. "He would understand, though." He reminds me of Liam by the way he holds eye contact as much as possible during a conversation, hardly ever looking away like most people do—like I do.

  "I know he would." Liam has been nothing but understanding and patient since I met him.

  "That's not the problem then?"

  I shrug and give him an apologetic smile. "It's complicated."

  "Regardless of what's going on with Liam, I'm always around if you need to talk. Here, let me have your number." He fishes his phone out of his back pocket and hands it to me.

  As I hand it back, a girl with striking red hair in black leggings and a Brotherhood t-shirt comes up beside him. "Sorry to interrupt." Her tone is friendly, but she puts a hand on Rob's shoulder clearly marking her territory.

  Rob pulls her into a side hug and bends to kiss her cheek. "Meet Avery.” Then, he looks back at me. “Avery, this is my girlfriend, Emily."

  Emily instantly brightens. "Liam's Avery? Nice to finally meet you!" She detaches herself from Rob and pulls me into a hug.

  "Just Avery," I say while awkwardly patting her back.

  "I've been so jealous that everyone else has met you.” She finally lets me go. Up close, her eyes are emerald green and completely hypnotizing. I can already tell she’s the type of person who’s friends with everyone she meets.

  "Well, here I am," I reply lamely.

  Rob shifts a little uncomfortably next to her. "We could skip class and spend the day distracting you. Emily’s an expert at finding random yet brilliant things to do at any hour of the day."

  Emily suddenly looks concerned but nods in agreement. "It's one of my superpowers."

  "Thanks, but I'm just going to head back to my dorm." I really need to be alone.

  I can tell Rob wants to convince me otherwise, but instead he asks, "See you at the show this weekend?"

  "We'll be there."

  We say our goodbyes, and when I’m a safe distance away, I jog the rest of the way to my dorm with the word mistake blaring on high volume in my head.

  I stop by the vending machine for some much-needed chocolate. As I lean my head against the cool glass case and wait for my treat to fall, the image of Dad leaning against a vending machine at the hospital flashes through my mind. It was one of the many times Mom had been in the hospital.

  That particular time, an old episode of Gilmore Girls had been playing on mute. The television was small and placed high in the corner of the room as if they didn't think anyone would really watch it, which was silly. What else was there to do? The occasional beeping from various machines was the only background noise as I watched Mom sleep.

  That's what she did back then. She slept —a lot . I was all for sleep if I thought it would actually heal her body. But sleep obviously wasn't helping since we were in the hospital again. The chemo didn't help. The orange bottles of pills she could barely keep down most days didn't help. If nothing would help, then I wanted her awake.

  I wanted her awake so we could talk about everything and nothing at all. I wanted her awake so I could see her gray eyes that were so unique there couldn't possibly be another soul in the universe who had the same eyes. Except there was, because she gave them to me. And I wanted her awake just to prove she was still alive.

  Even though I knew if she was dying machines would go crazy, codes would be called, and nurses would push me out of the way, I didn't believe she was really alive until she was staring right at me.

  My legs were stiff as I tried to move around in the uncomfortable chair. Didn't they know we would be sitting by her hospital bed? Maybe they thought we would only be here a few days so why not cut costs by ordering cheap chairs. Didn't they know those weren't days to us? Days were hours, minutes, and even seconds to us. Three months to live sounded like no time at all. Seven million eight hundred and ninety thousand seconds sounded much better.

  "You need to stretch," Mom said in a hoarse voice. "You'll get stuck like that."

  I scooted my chair closer to her bed. "I'll stretch later." I breathed a little easier as her eyes danced all over my face. Even if she was looking for bags under my eyes or any other signs of sleep deprivation, she was looking at me, and that’s all that mattered.

  "Where's your dad?" She messed with a tube connected to her hand.

  I shrugged. "Probably somewhere scaring off more staff. I'm surprised you have any nurses left."

  Mom struggled to laugh, and it came out like a wheeze. I tried not to wince. She normally had such an infectious laugh. "He's just upset he has to rely on other people. There's not much he can do as a cardiologist."

  "Other than complain ," I replied.

  Mom gave me a look and took my hand. "Be easy on him, Avery."

  I knew she was right. Dad had killed himself over those last few months studying everything on breast cancer. But even if he was the top oncologist in the world, I knew there was nothing he could do about her stage five diagnosis. He just wouldn't admit it to himself.

  “I'll go track him down."

  My eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lighting as I closed the door behind me. The sterile white hallways bled into one another as I searched for Dad. When I turned another corner, I found him at the vending machines.

  His knuckles were almost white from how hard he gripped the side of the drink machine. He was slightly hunched over, and his whole body radiated tension. He was so occupied with his thoughts, he jumped when I touched his back.

  "We both know you're going to choose Diet Coke," I said.

  "What? Oh, right." His mind was obviously somewhere else.

  "Dad?" I moved my hand up to his shoulder.

  "How about that doctor, huh? You know the medical school he graduated from isn’t even in the top ten? Maybe we need another opinion?” His back was still to me as he spoke.

  I ducked underneath his arms, so I was between him and the vending machine, which forced him to look me in the eyes. "This is already the fourth opinion," I replied gently. "I'm not sure any of us can handle hearing Mom is dying for a fifth time."

  Dad squeezed his eyes shut and slowly lowered his forehead against mine. "I should be the strong one, not you," he whispered into the space between us.

  "How about we take turns? I'll be strong today, and maybe you can be strong tomorrow. We'll take it one day at a time."

  "One day at a time sounds good."

  We stayed that way for a few minutes with just our foreheads together. As long as I had him, maybe I would survive losing her.

  But the reality is I don’t have him. I don’t have either of them. I reach down to retrieve my Toblerone candy. I touch the vending machine one more time wishing it were a time machine instead. I would give anything to rewind and catch Mom’s cancer sooner. I imagine a different reality, a reality where they would both be there to pick me up at the airport at the end of the summer. An impossible reality.

  Chapter Nine

  Liam

  Meeting Avery has been brilliant for my songwriting. I have pages of my notebook filled. My nearby bin is lacking the usual overflow of crumpled paper. I’m so focused on getting my thoughts on paper, I don’t hear Rob come into my room.

  When I look over at my bed, his body is stretched out like Beethoven when he’s ready for a nap. "Just admit my bed is better than yours," I say.

  "No way, mate. I just didn't want to disturb your process or whatever." He grabs a cushion from the top of my bed to stuff under his head.

  "I have never called it a process. That sounds really pretentious."

  He shrugs. "That's what happens when it all starts going to your head."

  I lean over and yank the cushion from underneath his head. "Is there an actual reason I have the pleasure of your company right now?"

  Rob rolls onto his stomach so he can see me better. "I'm in a bit of a precarious situation."

  I sit up straighter. "Did the agency call about your father again?"

  "Nothing
like that." He brushes hair away from his brow, which is absolutely one of his nervous ticks. "I know something that I can't tell you, but you would most definitely want to know that I know. So, I'm telling you now that I know."

  I blink a few times. "Are you taking those sleeping pills again?" While I just let the nightmares happen, Rob is known to down melatonin since it helps him skip dreaming altogether.

  He groans and throws his hands over his face. "I'm perfectly sober and completely serious right now."

  "Let me get this straight. You know something I would want to know, but you can't tell me?"

  "Correct. And only because I was at the right place at the right time. I saw her in the library. I was just going to say a polite hello and tell her how brilliant the photos were."

  I stand up from my chair. "This is about Avery?"

  He sits up and looks completely apologetic. "It was obvious she didn't even mean to tell me. You know, like word vomit. It just came out because she was upset, and I happened to be there."

  "She was upset?" All I can think is I should have been there.

  Rob lets out a frustrated noise and stands up. "I already said too much. Maybe just text her or something. Emily showed up towards the end of our conversation, and I suggested the three of us could go do something, but she just wanted to go back to her dorm. I'm a little worried about her."

  I grab my phone off the desk. "Thanks for telling me what you could. I guess I can't make her want to confide in me."

  “I don’t think that’s the issue.” With those cryptic parting words, he gives me one last nod before leaving.

  I look down at the phone in my hand having no idea what to do. Rob obviously caught her in a vulnerable moment she didn’t necessarily want to share. I guess it's family related. She only mentioned a grandmother back home.

  I fall back on my bed and open a text message just to say hello. When she doesn’t respond immediately, I grab the book off my bedside table and try to pick up where I left off last night.

  It’s a full five minutes of my staring at the same page before she replies with a simple, “Hey.”