Rally (Treasure State Wildcats Book 3)

It was heartbreaking to watch someone you loved shut down. Shut you out. Heartbreaking and wholly frustrating.

Faye had withdrawn so far within herself that she was like a walking ghost.

She moved silently through the house and had barely spoken a word in the past two days.

Ever since Dusty had “fired” her. Ever since her mother had shown up at the diner.

She’d become Zombie Faye.

“Where are you going?” I asked from the kitchen as she pulled on her coat. It was Friday morning. There was no reason for her to go to campus this early, not when her only class today didn’t start until one. And she wasn’t working at the diner until three.

She swallowed hard but didn’t answer. Though her silence was answer enough.

“I’m going with you.” I abandoned the piece of toast I’d been buttering, leaving it on a plate as I crossed the living room for my own jacket.

“I need to go alone.”

I pulled on my boots.

“Rush—”

“I’m going with you, Faye.” No arguments. If she was going to go and see her mother, I’d be there too.

“You have class,” she said.

“Then I’ll miss it.”

After Wednesday night, I wasn’t letting Faye anywhere near Brynn without my company.

Not because Brynn had been rude or cruel. But because she was dying.

Faye might have a difficult relationship with her mother, but Brynn was still her mother nonetheless. The way she’d retreated, pulled away, was terrifying me.

I knew my girl’s heart. It was big and open and more vulnerable than she’d ever admit.

Whether she was close to Brynn or not, her death would hit Faye. Hard. And when that hit came, I’d be there to make sure she didn’t take it alone.

“I don’t . . .” Faye shook her head and a sheen of tears glistened in her eyes. It was the first real emotion I’d seen from her in two days.

I hated to see her in pain, but anything was better than Zombie Faye.

“Don’t what?” I stood in front of her and pushed my fingers into her hair. At least she didn’t shy away from my touch. She might have gone quiet, but at least she let me touch her. And at night, she let me hold her close.

“I don’t want you to see where I lived,” she whispered.

I kissed her forehead. “You either let me go with you now, or I’ll get the address from Dusty.”

“She won’t tell you.”

“No, but Gloria will.”

Her eyes lifted to mine, narrowing. I’d suffer that tiny glare a thousand times. It was only a hint of the spitfire who had my heart. “You don’t have Gloria’s number.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket, scrolling through the contacts until I hit her sister’s number. Then I held it up so she could see. “I’m going with you.”

“Fine.” She sighed.

That was easier than I’d thought it would be. Either because she knew there was no winning this argument, or because deep down, she was shredded. She knew how hard this visit was going to be.

When she had boots on her own feet, she grabbed her backpack from the dining room table, then followed me outside.

“I’ll drive,” I told her, unlocking the Yukon.

She wordlessly opened the passenger side door, climbed inside and fastened her seat belt.

The storm from earlier in the week had passed and the sky was clear and blue. The sun had already chased away the morning chill and was working to melt the snow. Water dripped from the gutters and the roads were covered in slush.

Faye gave me directions as we weaved through town, and as the homes became older, rougher, her hands stroked nervously at her belly. “It’s not a nice place.”

“So?” I reached over and took her hand, lacing our fingers together. “I don’t care where you lived. All I care about is where you live now.”

She nodded, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she pointed with her free hand for me to turn left. Then her grip on my hand tightened as she stared through the windshield, down the narrow lane.

Old cars and rundown homes filled the block. We passed a house with every window and door boarded with plywood. Someone had sprayed DO NOT ENTER in orange on the front wall. There was yellow caution tape lining the yard.

It was what the authorities did for meth houses that would need to be demolished and the land itself treated for harmful chemicals.

“That one. Brown.” Faye nodded to the place right beside the meth house.

I schooled my features, hiding any reaction, so that my face stayed impassive. But fuck. This was where she’d grown up?

The home was small, about half the size of our place. It was two stories with siding falling off in some areas. The overhang on the porch looked one more heavy snow away from collapse. The roof upstairs was caving in on a corner, and like its neighbor, a few of the windows were covered in plywood.

I parked on the street, glancing around to the other homes.

Brynn’s seemed to be in worse shape than most. A few had newer cars parked outside. One looked to be in the middle of a remodel.

Faye got out of the car and walked down the unshoveled sidewalk.

I followed, hands ready to catch her in case she slipped, but she took it slow. Was that because of the ice? Or because she didn’t want to go inside?

She stopped at the mouth of the driveway, staring at the house with a blank expression. Then she pointed to the boarded-up window. “That was my room. The window broke when I was in eighth grade. She had that board put up instead of getting new glass.”

Was that why she never wanted the blinds closed? Damn.

What did I say? How did I make this easier?

“I didn’t think I’d be back here,” she said, more to herself than to me.

My hand clasped hers.

There were two cars crammed into the driveway. One was covered in this week’s snow and looked like it hadn’t moved in months. The other was a dry, navy minivan with Mission Hospice written in white on the sliding door.

It was the same van that had brought Brynn to the diner on Wednesday.

“Does she know you’re coming?” I asked.

Faye shook her head. “I didn’t want to promise.”

Even if it was to a woman who’d been a monster to her daughter, Faye wouldn’t make a promise she might break.

I loved her.

More and more every day.

Faye inhaled sharply, then squared her shoulders and walked to the porch.

I gave the sagging roof a wary glance as I stepped up beside her while she knocked.

Brynn hadn’t told her much on Wednesday. Only that she was sick. No, dying. She’d been specific in her word choice. She was dying.

Gloria knew about the cancer. It was the reason she’d been pressuring Faye to call their mother. But Brynn had made Gloria promise not to tell Faye the truth. Brynn didn’t want Faye calling her out of guilt.

She must have realized that Faye wasn’t going to speak to her again. That if she wanted to see her oldest daughter, she’d have to take that step. So she’d come to the diner on Wednesday in the middle of a snowstorm, driven by her hospice nurse, to extend an invitation.

If Faye was willing, Brynn wanted the chance to talk.

The door swung open with a sharp squeak. A heavyset nurse with short, white hair dressed in rose scrubs gave us a warm smile. “Hello. You’re Faye.”

Faye nodded. “I am.”

“Your mom talks about you all the time. You’re as pretty as she says.”

Faye’s hand twitched in mine, a moment of shock at the notion of a compliment from her mother, no doubt.

Gloria had promised Faye that Brynn had changed. Maybe it was true.

“Come on in.” The nurse waved us inside.

We shuffled in, Faye’s hand slipping free of mine as we followed the nurse down the short entryway to a living room. There was a candle burning on the coffee table, the scents of vanilla and sugar filling the room.

“She’s in her bedroom,” the nurse said. “Let me tell her you’re here.”

Faye spun in a slow circle as she took in the space. “It’s clean. It never used to be clean.”

I kept my gaze locked on her, searching for a hint of what was going on in her head, but she was blank. Zombie Faye was back.

“Come on back,” the nurse hollered.

Faye wrapped her arms above her belly, hands clutching elbows, and walked through the house, down a skinny hall that passed a staircase.

The nurse nodded, gesturing us into Brynn’s bedroom.

“Hi.” Brynn was lying in bed, blankets tucked around her body. Her pale face lit up at the sight of her daughter. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I, um . . .” Faye gulped and rubbed at the tip of her nose. “I didn’t have class this morning.”

It smelled like antiseptic and medicine and death. The scents burned my nostrils as I stepped past the threshold behind Faye.

The room, like the rest of the house, was clean and tidy.

“Would you like to sit?” Brynn nodded toward an empty chair in the corner. “Forgive me for not getting up. I’m wiped today. After treatments, they give me a good steroid. Those days, it’s easier to move around. But when it wears off, I’m not much use to anyone.”

She must have had a treatment on Wednesday then, because she’d looked awful that evening, yet ten times better than she did now.

I’d never seen someone dying before, but without question, Brynn was not long for this world.

Was this what Maverick had in store with his mom? Would he get to sit bedside and watch Meredith wither to skin and bones?

Faye didn’t move. She simply stared at her mother, frozen in the space between the door and the bed.

“Please.” Brynn tried to smile again, but it barely turned up her mouth. “Sit with me.”

There was a plea in her voice, like she knew that if Faye walked out of here, it would be the last time she saw her daughter.

I put my hand on Faye’s lower back, not pushing, not pulling. Just a touch so she’d know I was here.

She leaned against me for a moment, stealing whatever she needed, then walked to the chair and sat on its edge.

I shifted toward the wall, standing beside a five-drawer dresser. There was a framed photo on top, the picture faded and aged with yellow.

The woman was laughing into the camera. I didn’t do a double take, thinking for a moment it was Faye. But it was of Brynn, young and healthy from years past.

Faye looked so much like her mother it was uncanny.

“Gloria told me about the baby.” Brynn’s tired eyes flicked toward Faye’s belly—her frame was mostly hidden by her coat, but there was no mistaking she was pregnant. “A boy?”

“Yes.” Faye nodded.

“I hope he gets your hair. You have such pretty hair.”

Faye stared at a spot on the old carpet.

“Thank you for coming.” The crack in Brynn’s voice came with a wash of tears. Then came the coughing, so hard and loud it seemed to tear her body in two.

The nurse rushed in, moving to Brynn’s side until the fit was over. Then she gave her a sip of water, helping her rest once more against the pillows.

“It’s hard for her to talk much,” the nurse said.

As in, make this short.

“I’m okay.” Brynn’s tone was ragged and rough.

The nurse gave her a sad smile, then eased out of the room.

“I’m sorry, Faye.” Brynn breathed hard, like every inhale was a labor.

It probably was, considering she had lung cancer. Terminal lung cancer.

Her treatments were simply to draw this out, but there was nothing they could do. She’d told us on Wednesday that she’d waited too long.

“I just wanted to say that to you.” Tears slipped down Brynn’s face. “While I can.”

Faye’s chin quivered as she bit her bottom lip, fighting tears of her own.

I walked to her side and held out my hand.

She took it without hesitation, squeezing it so hard that my knuckles cracked.

“Do you have names?” Brynn seemed desperate for conversation. For any reply from her daughter.

But Faye stayed quiet, so I answered for her.

“Not yet,” I said. “We’re still tossing around ideas.”

“I texted Gloria a list. Did she send it over?”

I gave her a sad smile. “Yeah, she sent it.”

“You don’t have to use them.” Brynn wheezed, the noise in her chest so loud and miserable it filled the room.

“Harry?” Faye looked up, her hand still clutching mine.

“No. Jason?”

She shook her head.

“What about Gannon?” Brynn said. “Use your last name? Maybe not as his first, but it’s a good middle name. Kind of unique.”

Faye’s gaze shifted to her mother. The blankness faded. And my girl, my strong fucking Faye, gave her mother grace. Whether Brynn deserved it or not, Faye’s heart was big enough for them both.

“Good idea, Mom.”

“Thanks.” Brynn hummed, her eyes fluttering closed. “I like it too.”