3. Distraction Tactics

3

Distraction Tactics

Dax

Tuesday, May 9 th

8:20 a.m.

Approximately one hundred and seven deaths take place every minute.

And I'm about to add to the statistics.

"Aren't you supposed to be studying?" I ask as I slide into the booth across from my younger brother, annoyed he insisted I meet him this early at his favorite diner.

We could have gotten this whole thing over with last night if he hadn't locked himself away in his room. Either the urgency for me to meet him this morning means this isn't as bad as I think, and he's hoping I won't overreact because there are people around, or it's worse.

It's one lab test—for fuck's sake—one explanation.

I'm hoping what I presume about the results is wrong and things aren't as bad as I fear.

I'm all too aware that fear is about perception. I have a fear of dying. I have a fear of losing my brother. I have a fear of being out of control. And it's the fear of the unknown that gets me.

"My brain needed a break." Liam glances at me over his phone, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

I set my hand on top of his wrist and press it down until the phone no longer covers his face. "Perfect. Start talking."

He sets the phone on his open psychology book, using it as a bookmark, and closes it as he leans back in the booth and crosses his arms over his chest with a sneer.

He knows exactly how to get on my nerves. And his silence is at the top of the list. I could force my hand, play the I'm the parent card on him, or wait him out. There's no quicker way to get him to clam up and shut down than to force his hand when he's not ready.

But my patience is wearing thin. My mind is spinning, and I start catastrophizing. My thoughts slip further away, and a growing wave of irritation washes over me. I don't want to take it out on Liam, but it's about to boil over. I play the what-if game as a distraction while I pretend to glance over the menu and ignore the elephant in the room.

And wait.

Until the silence is too much for him and he finally speaks.

"My blood work is off," he says, finally breaking the silence.

"What does that mean?" My fingers tighten along the edges of the menu. I don't want to give away that I need more than that, with the off chance that he'll stop talking.

"I need more tests."

"What?" My heart skips an entire beat as if it's trying to remind me to breathe.

His lips are moving in combination with wild hand gestures, but I continue to stare, overcome by the sound of my pulse rushing through my ears.

"Earth to Dax, you in there?" He waves a hand in front of my face.

"You need more tests?"

He drops his head back. "Were you listening to anything I said? I have an appointment at nine at the hospital."

"Today?" I underestimated just how bad this is. Anything requiring a visit to the hospital can't be good.

Liam sets his menu on the edge of the table. "It's just to get more information."

"And?"

I have a million questions, but none I can turn into cohesive sentences. There's a new sense of urgency. This is ten times worse than my imagined worst-case scenario.

Liam averts his gaze. "It's gonna be fine. I'm gonna be fine." Liam's never the one to reassure me, especially if the topic has to do with him. He absentmindedly rubs at his hip—the source of all our problems.

I was right. This is bigger than I thought.

Ever.

"Why do you need to be seen today?"

He shrugs and glances around the diner. Smiles and waves at someone passing by. He's stalling.

"Because Dr. Gibbons doesn't specialize in this sort of thing." He nods at someone behind me and offers them a wide smile.

"What sort of thing?" I need answers before we're interrupted, and struggle to keep the disbelief out of my voice. My mouth goes dry when our eyes meet. He surveys my face for a reaction, and I can tell he's trying to figure out the best way to break it to me.

Why won't he give me the details? Get it over with? Shoot me in the heart and let me bleed out?

I can't do this.

I can't bring myself to ask him outright. Because once he tells me, there's no going back. And what if I can't handle the truth?

He swallows and averts his gaze as he shifts his weight in the booth, his nonchalant answer accompanied by a cautious grin. "Bone cancer."

The buzzing in my ears intensifies, and I can't focus. "What's the appointment for?"

He shrugs.

"You know you have to tell me eventually, right?"

I get another shrug.

"Liam, come on. Talk to me," I plead, trying to keep the tremor from my voice.

"It's for more testing, a CT scan, some lab work . . . I don't remember what else."

"But why the hospital?"

"Could you do me a favor?" he asks as he leans over the table. His unexpected question jars me from my train of thought.

"Depends."

"It's not a big deal."

"Name it."

"Will you stop worrying about this? You're starting to freak me out."

I frown, leaning back in the booth, knowing exactly what he's referring to. I don't have the best track record of how I handle things. After our parents passed away, the overwhelming responsibility of trying to fill their shoes was too much for me to handle, and I figured the best way to deal with it was by becoming best friends with a bottle of Jack. Unfortunately, Liam took the brunt of my decision, and he's always held it against me.

I don't blame him. I was immature and, at twenty-four, didn't have any idea what it would be like to raise a fourteen-year-old. But five years later, we're fine. He helped me grow up, and I've learned a lot. One thing is that Jack and I don't mix well. And another is that I won't do that to him again.

"But I am worried."

"It could be nothing."

"What's with the urgency of your appointment?"

"They want a definitive diagnosis." He uses air quotes.

"A what?"

"Dr. Gibbons said the findings aren't conclusive, and he wants a second opinion with a specialist."

"You ready for finals?" Liam's favorite waitress, Crissy, interrupts as she stops next to our table, pen and pad in one hand, the other on her hip. "I need to study for my freaking gen-chem test. These classes are killing me."

Liam's shoulders droop with relief at her interruption. And I wish I could get her to scram.

"Not everyone's cut out for college," I mumble. Liam kicks me under the table. Why don't I ever think before I speak? The last thing I need is for him to be pissed at me because I hurt her feelings. I try to correct my fumble and glance up, meeting Crissy's shocked gaze. Her face sours. I don't get what Liam sees in her. Hot, sure. Legs for days, absolutely. But her lack of inhibition concerns me. I no longer see the appeal of college girls, even if they make for good distractions.

"I guess not," she says, her smile quickly dissolves.

I have a chance to fucking redeem myself, but I couldn't give two shits about Crissy or how I should treat her.

Liam studies me for a beat and shoots a look at me that says I need to choose otherwise.

My brain screeches to a halt. "I went for a while. Wasn't my thing," I say, trying to thaw the situation.

Liam gives her a sheepish, apologetic grin and hands over his menu. "I have time tonight if you want to study. This psych test is my last one for the semester."

Her body relaxes at his offer. "Seriously?" She scoots into the booth beside him, cupping her chin in her hand as she settles her elbow on the table. "I haven't even started. You have time tonight?"

He shrugs, devoting all his attention to her as he shoves his books and pens out of the way. "Yeah, I have nothing else going on. I took that last semester. It's still pretty fresh in my brain."

She narrows her gaze with an observant grin and rubs her hand over his upper arm. "You're going for the PT program, right? How many more semesters do you have after this one?"

He shakes his head and offers a quiet laugh. "I'm going for my doctorate in physical medicine. They're basically the same thing."

"Only four extra years of college," I mumble under my breath.

"Do you have plans Friday night?" Crissy asks Liam after she shoots daggers in my direction, pulling her pouty bottom lip between her teeth.

"Not that I'm aware of. What about you, princess?" He directs the question to me.

Crissy tenses and gives an awkward giggle, not wanting me in on the invite. "A bunch of us are going to celebrate the end of the term at Kappa Sigma's on Friday night if you're interested."

Liam waits as I try to decide whether or not I want to pretend I have something better to do. "I'm free," I say as a definitive answer—unless something better comes up—it's not like he needs me to accompany him. I'm too old for frat life, but I can always appreciate when he's looking for a designated driver. Plus, it may be an excellent distraction to get my mind off things.

"Need a ride?" Liam directs the question to Crissy, and I lose track of their conversation.

Small talk is normal. It's what normal people do on normal Tuesday mornings.

But today isn't normal.

It's anything but.

Liam knows he's testing my patience and doesn't seem to care. I glare at him from across the table, wanting to pretend their conversation is endearing, but I need her to get lost so I can get him to talk. I fold my menu and offer it to Crissy across the table. "We'll take the norm. Can you add a side of hash browns?"

Crissy takes the extended menu with a tight-lipped smile, irritated with me for butting in. "Mixing things up?"

"I like to keep things interesting." I cross my arms over the table and lean closer to her. Our eyes meet, and she swallows, accepting the look I give her as her official dismissal.

"Extra crispy?"

The side of my mouth quirks up in a derisive smile. "You know me so well."

"I'll be back before you can miss me." She turns her attention to Liam and winks.

I doubt it.

Liam's face could crack from how hard he's smiling as she walks away. "Why do you chase them off like that?"

"Who?" My sad attempt at keeping my frustration under wraps is about to boil over. If he doesn't talk soon, I'm gonna lose my shit.

"Waitresses, bartenders, clerks at the grocery store—women, Dax, women ." He enunciates the last word before dropping his gaze to his book. He pulls the phone free from between the pages and shakes his head, brushing off our conversation. "You being a model has perks you don't use to your advantage. It's a shame."

I kick him under the table at his underhanded comment. His annoyance with the way I use women as a means to escape has been a topic of conversation on more than one occasion. I don't care if he doesn't approve of my need to lose myself inside someone. My pointless sex with easy women is none of his business.

"Ouch! What the hell?" Liam massages his shin, and the family behind him continues to pretend they're not eavesdropping.

I pin him with a look of annoyance, but he acts like he doesn't see. Or maybe he doesn't care.

He leans over the table and whispers, "You could get anything you want from women, and you act oblivious to their existence."

"Shut. Up."

His head jerks back like I've smacked him, and he holds up both hands. "I'm just saying, the least you could do is get me anything I want."

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret asking this"—I pull in a deep breath and fail to keep the irritation from my voice—"but what do you want?"

He waggles his brows, jutting his chin toward the soda fountain where Crissy stands, filling drinks. "Her number."

I lean back, draping my arm over the booth. "Then ask for it." I appreciate his ploy at distraction, but I'm not easily swayed. "Wanna know what I want?" I steeple my fingers and settle my elbows back on the tabletop.

Liam groans and returns to scrolling on his phone, ignoring my question.

"Didn't you make plans to help her study?" I wipe a hand down my face.

"Yeah," he says, all of his attention on his phone, "but it doesn't mean I'll get her number."

"Why not?" I lean across the table, plucking the phone from his hands, and take a quick peek at the screen.

It's open to the news, a live cam from the hospital near the south end of Central Park. There are news vans scattered around and a crowd of reporters waiting with their mics out. I slide it back to him as Crissy brings an OJ and black coffee. She sets them on the table, smiles at Liam without a word, and disappears to drop off a bill at another table.

" Bock, bock, bock, bock. Chicken." I glance at Liam and laugh as his eyes grow three times their normal size.

"Shut up. She's gonna hear you."

"That's sorta the point." I grab my coffee and sprinkle in half a packet of sugar and two creams.

"Why do you embarrass me like that?" Liam grabs the phone and leans forward as he stuffs it in his back pocket.

"It's my right."

He slumps in the booth. "What did I ever do to deserve the torture of having you for a brother?"

"Blessings come in awesome packages." I paste a condescending smile onto my face.

"I swear, the world has it out for me," he says as a police car blaring sirens screams past the diner, and he returns his attention to watching Crissy.

"Because you're too chicken-shit to ask for her number?" I cringe as the sirens fade into the background. They bring back the worst memories.

"No, asshat, because it looks like those damn reporters are going to make going to my appointment a pain in the ass. Do you think it has anything to do with my doctor?"

"Wait, what did you say?"

"She's supposed to be the best, and if she's mixed up in this, I don't think . . ."

He swallows and averts his gaze as Crissy makes her way to the table and sets our plates in front of us. "Two Home Run platters, crispy bacon, and a side of extra-crispy hash browns. Enjoy."

Confusion wrinkles Liam's brow seconds before the realization dawns. His demeanor changes, and he shifts in his seat.

I don't take my eyes off him.

He stares at his hands.

To hell with it. I slam a palm onto the table, and orange juice sloshes over the rim of his cup. The sounds of the diner quiet as everyone's attention turns to us.

He remains silent.

"I'll make you a deal. I'll get her number for you if you talk." There's a good chance I overreacted. People continue to stare.

But I don't care.

He clears his throat and keeps his eyes focused on his scrambled eggs. "The reporters are—"

"I heard that part," I interrupt. "What are we going to do?"

He drizzles his eggs with ketchup, pulling off the decorative cilantro before dropping it on the side of his plate. He grabs his fork, the salt, and his napkin.

I'm going to strangle him.

"Your food is not that interesting." Why in the fuck is he ignoring my question?

Crissy returns to the table with another OJ and a carafe of coffee. She slides the cup in front of Liam and refills my mug before she sets our ticket on the table. I lift my hand as she goes to speak, trying to avoid an interruption.

Liam gives her a pitying look as she huffs away from us. He kicks me under the table, and dammit if that shit doesn't hurt.

"We wait."

"After that, Liam. Come on. You know what I mean."

"We could call Grams." He pulls his shoulders to his ears.

"Nope. I don't want to get them involved. After what they did—"

"Not everything is about you." He leans forward across the table, lowering his voice.

Liam glances at the ticket, and a grin spreads across his face. "She left me her number without your help, Mr. Suave," he mumbles through a mouthful, waving the ticket in my face.

He moves his straw from his empty cup to his new one and stirs his OJ. He catches her eye behind me and mouths, "I'll call you."

I rotate in the booth and see her smile at him. She turns once she sees me watching her.

Liam is on his phone again when I spin around and ask, "Did Dr. Gibbons give you any ideas of what the plan would look like?"

"He wants the tests." His eyes bounce across the screen and widen before he holds up the phone for me to see what he's reading. There's a photo of a woman in scrubs with messy brown hair blocking her face as she makes her way through the crowd to the entrance of Mount Sinai West.

I take his phone and read the article as I pull my wallet from my back pocket, throwing a couple of twenties on the bill. As I skim the words, my eyes catch on one thing toward the end: Malpractice that led to a wrongful death.

When I look up, Liam grimaces and asks, "What if it is her?"