Page 92 of End Game

“I know, baby, I know.”

“How are you holding up? Did you find him? How long was he—”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” She sounds weary, exhausted. “I should go. I want to see him before visitor hours are over.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later. I’ll send you and Aunt Jo my train info.”

Mom sighs. “Thanks, baby girl.”

Chapter 27

Diana

I turn up on Barrett’s doorstep like a woman possessed. Tears stream down my face. I’m sure I look like a hot mess right now. I don’t care.

Wes answers the door and blinks at me. With a questioning grunt, he beckons me inside and holds out his hand. It takes me a second to realize he’s trying to take my damp raincoat.

“Thanks, Wes.”

“You okay?”

I take a deep breath. “No. Not really.”

He frowns.

“Is Barrett here?”

He nods, lifting his chin towards the stairs. Slowly I trudge up the quick flight of stairs, making my way to my best friend’s room. I knock on the door.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.”

“Dee?” He wrenches open the door, his face going slack as he takes me in. He’s shirtless, his big hairy belly on display, wearing only a pair of dark jeans and socks. I can see the waistband of his boxer shorts above the line of his jeans. “What’s wrong?”

Let’s get to the more important question here. “Do you still have that vodka?”

“Come on in.” He holds the door open to me. As he passes his bed, he pulls a t-shirt off the bedspread and shrugs it over his head en route to the mini bar set up in the corner. He retrieves a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

He steps closer to me, until he’s close enough that he can run his thumb beneath my eye. He comes away with a mess of tears, mascara, and concealer. “Whatever has you crying.”

“Vodka first.”

He pours each of us a shot. I take mine and clink the glass against his before I down it. When I see he hasn’t taken his, I take it out of his hand and down the second shot. I don’t even need a chaser.

“Shit. It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“My dad…” I can’t say the words.

Barrett pulls me into a hug. His strong arms wrap around me and envelop me in his warm and familiar scent. His breath ruffles against my freshly washed hair. “What happened?”

I screw my eyes shut and bury my face in his neck. “He’s in the hospital.”

He pulls back. “What? How? We just saw him last weekend. He was doing so well. Has the cancer spread?”

“It’s not—not that,” I assure him quickly, because I know he cares for my father. “He was in a car wreck. Broke his leg and did something to his ribs and might have a concussion.”