Matched (35 page)

I race forward and fall down around him with my arms wide open, holding him not even a conscious decision. He doesn’t say a word or even move, remaining absolutely still as my arms tighten around him. My fingers stroke through his soft, dark hair, and my other hand is firm against his back, splayed out to attempt an offer of soothing support.

He doesn’t cry—at least, I don’t hear or feel him do so. We sit until his breathing spikes, becoming erratic as he finally yanks himself up, his eyes glossy and frenzied. But there’s no sadness when he looks at me—only pure rage.

He clears his throat, looking away and back multiple times. I stand, allowing him all the time he needs. His mouth opens only to slam shut and his fists pump torturously at his sides, the vein in his neck pulsing more wildly with each sweep he makes across the room.

Seconds trickle into minutes, silence stifling the air surrounding us. With slow, gradual movements, I take a seat on the front pew and wait as he paces, his body wound impossibly tight and frown deepening with every glance in my direction.

“Alport,” he finally grits through clenched teeth.

I want to understand and follow what he’s saying, but I’m at a loss and unsure whether I should ask or let him get out whatever he needs to unleash. When he stops in the corner of the room, his stare penetrates mine and he repeats, more clearly, “Alport syndrome.”

My jaw goes slack, and my brain searches for any recognition but comes up blank. I tilt my head in pained compassion, and he starts back across the room.

“Yeah, it’s rare,” he explains, his back-and-forth stride gaining momentum. “Genetic. Not a fucking thing you can do to stop it.” His hands tug at his hair. “My grandma had it, my father…they all…”

I see the absolute fear darkening his already agonized eyes.

“My father died when I was eight. My mom lost her shit…went crazy…and his brother, my Uncle Jack, stepped in to help out.”

A warm tear bubbles up and slips down my cheek, and he sees it before I can wipe it away. His brows knit together and he’s in front of me in two long strides, staring for a long moment as another unstoppable tear escapes down my cheek. I can’t help it. The thought of Emma and him growing up without a father and watching their mother fall apart, not to mention knowing there’s more to this story, is shattering my heart.

He sits on the pew next to me, and I turn my body to face him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

I inhale a rapid stream of air, stunned by his unexpected words. The pad of his thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping the tears away. I watch, completely mesmerized, when he brings it to his lips and sucks.

My head drops at my confusion. I want him to talk to me—no distractions. “Tell me about Alport syndrome,” I murmur, bravely taking his hand in mine.

He stares down at the union, my fingers intertwining with his. I need him to know he can trust me.

“My Uncle Jack knew Emma was at risk, but my mom refused testing when she was younger. Denial.”

I fight to understand what his mother must’ve gone through, but can only feel pain for the broken man beside me.

“It was Uncle Jack who took Emma in and had her tested when she was about seven. My mom flipped her shit that he’d do that behind her back—that he’d found a doctor to cooperate for the blood tests. It was enough to prove she needed a biopsy, and Uncle Jack wouldn’t let Mom say no to it. The worse part was the results. ”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I was only ten, but I knew what that meant for my sister. I just couldn’t…” His gaze, now vacant, wanders over my shoulder. When it finally returns to me, he’s built a wall, trying to hide his vulnerability further. His explanation continues, albeit robotically now. “I did everything I could to keep her safe. I refused to lose her too. I read every article I could find…made sure she ate well, did light exercise, and didn’t stay up late at night. I did everything…but it never mattered, because there’s no cure.”

“You’re an amazing brother. You have to know that.”

His face is strained. He closes his eyes briefly before ripping his hands from mine and jumping up, beginning to pace again. “No, I’m a selfish son of a bitch!”

“Cruz…” I whisper, starting to stand.

“You don’t get it! No one does! I love Em more than anything, but I couldn’t lose her because of selfish reasons. Don’t you see? I didn’t want to be left alone with a mother too strung out to even take care of us! It scared the shit out of me!”

I can feel his guilt, pouring out in an angry torrent.

“Cruz, you just said you took care of her. You love her. I’ve seen it over and over again with my own eyes.” My tears run wild at the pain distorting his features, but I step closer. “You didn’t want to lose your sister—someone you adore. It’s okay that you were scared, and it’s okay if that’s mixed in with other stuff, but I see you. You’d do anything for her, and she knows it. And I know you’re upset…nothing makes sense…but you can’t blame yourself for any of this.”

His entire body’s shaking. “Uncle Jack moved us into his place when I was thirteen, and sent my mom to rehab. Everything was perfect,” he says quickly, his voice still tight but the tension easing from his shoulders. “Jack had a lot of friends that were always around, who were good to me and Em. He married the sweetest woman I’ve ever met, Melanie. She treated Em like a princess, and I could finally breathe again. They bought me my first dirt bike that Christmas, and that’s all I did—lost myself in the forest behind the house, making ramps, digging channels. It was the best time of my life.”

I attempt a smile, but it’s short-lived as he swallows hard and shakes his head slowly.

“My uncle was always up front with me about what Emma faced; vision issues, trouble hearing, and what killed my father—kidney failure. But Em had been perfect! Not a fucking sign of it. I stopped looking for it after a while. Started to live again, traveling on the circuit when I was sixteen, and at first I’d call her every night. She was so happy; making friends, having sleepovers, that eventually I stopped calling so much, just checking in on the weekends.”

He blows out a ragged breath. “I got the call from Aunt Mel last year when I was halfway across the country, exhausted and celebrating a win.” He looks away in thought. “Uncle Jack never said anything. Guess he thought he was protecting us. I didn’t know until it was too late that he’d been diagnosed at the same time as my dad. He hid it all those years. He passed away, and everything turned to shit again.”

“Cruz…” I reach for him, but he dodges me. My hands fall helplessly to my sides.

“I got a condo near Emma and tried to convince her to go to college, and that’s when they told me everything. Emma had been sick for a while. It’s her kidneys, just like my father’s, just like Jack’s. Her hearing’s been pretty good, and she can see great with contacts. Doctors say she can live a functioning life if…”

“She needs a transplant,” I say, understanding the guilt and gravity.

He nods. “I’m not a match, and neither is Melanie, or Adam, or…”

“I saw Adam and Emma hugging.”

“He was Uncle Jack’s best friend. Always been like family to us.”

I take his hands, relaxing when he doesn’t pull away, and lead us to sit again.

“She collapsed. What does that mean now?” I ask, holding my breath.

“Doctors are saying dehydration. They ran some tests, and are sending the results back home to her regular physician. I want to get her out of here, but of course she’s refusing. She’s not high enough on the transplant list, and says she’d rather die in paradise than back home in her room.” He falters, sucking in another deep breath to control his emotions.

“I’m so sorry, Cruz. For you, for her.” It hits me then. “Wait, what about you? If it’s genetic, why weren’t you ever tested?”
Oh God, or
was
he?

He shakes his head quickly. “My dad knew it ran in his family—he refused to have kids when they got married. I’m adopted, Harlow.”

“What?” That’s impossible. He and Emma look so much alike.

“My mom’s cousin got knocked up and couldn’t raise a child, so my parents took me in as their own. I didn’t find out till my dad told me a few weeks before he died. Emma, well…he said my mom wanted another child, so they started down the adoption path, but she gave up after a year of waiting and stopped taking her birth control since my dad wasn’t showing any signs. I guess she thought maybe a baby wouldn’t have it either—that there was a chance. Dad said he was furious but he loved Emma…called her his angel. It would’ve killed him all over again to see her going through this.”

I clutch his hands tighter, blinking back more tears.

“In a perfect world,
she
would’ve been the adopted one. Our mom’s side of the family doesn’t have it. I can’t stand to see her suffering. She’s spent her entire life cooped up, trying to live…and when she found out I was invited onto the show, I couldn’t refuse her.” He laughs faintly. “She drove me crazy—begged me every five minutes until I agreed to bring her.”

My thumb caresses his palm, and I smile. And for the first time all night, his lips pull up into a hint of one as well, his eyes colliding with mine.

“Adam’s father owns the network. I asked him to swap with another producer. Took him off a serious show about the Amazon, but he agreed…for her.” His jaw tightens. “She deserves to live.”

Our shared silence returns; no words needed. I can’t control the intensity between us—the connection guiding my hand to his cheek, stroking the pain from his handsome face. He captures my hand there, his deep-blue eyes locked on mine as he brings it to his mouth and places a lingering kiss to my palm. My eyes flutter shut, and when they reopen, they’re met with a fiery hunger. Not one of lust, but something deeper…something I’ve never seen before. Something so primal and adoring it feels inherent.

The door in the back crashes open, and our heads snap toward it as Adam rushes inside. “It’s Emma!”

Cruz looks at me again, panic-stricken.

“Go,” I say, but he’s already running out of the building after Adam, leaving me there alone to pray for a miracle.

Confessional: Miles Newman

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, and the conversation got boring…because there’s no one here to tell us anything!

“I’m not complaining that all the exes are gone—thank you for that—I’m talking about the people who matter. Jas—er, Miranda. Where is she, exactly? Missing? Kidnapped?

“And Emma? Can we please get some kind of information on her status? We endure all the instigated drama of this place, but sometimes we accidentally start to give a shit about some of those around us. Seems like a fair trade for you to keep us informed.

“If you’re even listening.”

Chapter 25

I wait in the hall outside Emma’s room, my thoughts jumbled, tears festering in my eyes. She needs a new kidney, needs to go home to her regular doctor…and above all, she needs her brother.

Everything’s topsy-turvy in my head when the door creaks open. I leap to my feet, desperate for any information. Court steps out, his face ashen and eyes thick with pained contemplation as he shuts the door behind him, Cruz and Adam still in the room.

“How is she?” My whisper’s as tense as my body, terrified of his reply.

He regards me deliberately, as though I asked about a mathematical theorem. “Tired. Angry. Stubborn. Beautiful.” He inhales his frustration and starts to walk away, across the courtyard.

“Where you going?”

“To find her some magazines or somethin’ to keep her distracted.”

My focus returns to her closed door just in time to jump out of the way when Adam storms out, yelling over his shoulder, “Empty threat, Cruz! The decision’s final.”

“Decision?” I block him and encroach upon what I’m sure is a private discussion, but damn it, I need answers!

He checks his watch, ignoring me, and pulls his cellphone from his pocket. One push of a button and it’s to his ear. “Cancel the plane. She’s staying.” His gaze fuses with mine as he hangs up and tucks it away. “It’s almost 3 a.m. You should call a cab to take you back to the house.” He reaches to retrieve his wallet.

“I’m not leaving her.” My protest is as adamant as I intend.

His lips curl and he nods, slipping his wallet away. “Well then, do me a favor and try to keep Cruz out of her room. She needs to rest, and if he stays in there, they’ll fight till she passes out again.”

“He wouldn’t—”

“She isn’t going to change her mind—trust me.” He rubs a hand across his scruffy jaw. “She’ll stay on this island until the end of the show, and whether I like it or not, it’s her life and her choice. I’m sure you can understand why Cruz is having some issues accepting that.”

“Yeah, but if she stays—”

“We’ll know more later this afternoon after her doctors go over the test results. Until then, her say goes.”

“You son of a bitch!” Cruz slams the door shut as he bursts outside. “You couldn’t just fucking back me, could you?”

“Lower your voice,” Adam growls in a slow, intimidating simmer.

“Fuck you!” Cruz snaps, moving closer. “She needs to go home to an American hospital!”

“Her doctor will have the results—”

“Not the same thing, and you know it! If something happens to her here, they won’t be able to…they don’t have…” He can’t complete the scary thought, his face twisted in a litany of emotion with terror at the forefront. “Damn it, I won’t let her die here!”

“Cruz,” I dare lightly, touching his arm.

He recoils. My hand falls away, leaving me uncertain until his rueful eyes snap to mine and plead, needing understanding that I give instantly. I reach for him again, and this time he clasps my hand halfway, interlocking our fingers while he looks to Adam.

“I’m not leaving her here, so don’t even ask me to go back to that house without her. And when the results come back, if anything is off, she’s going home whether she likes it or not.”

“Fine,” Adam pacifies him.