Page 6 of Reclaim Me

“Thank you for the advice, Dr. Dee.”

“Dr. Dee,” she muses. “I like the sound of that.”

“I bet you do. It makes it sound like you’re about to write a prescription for some dick.”

“Rachel Renee Prince! Are you actually making dick jokes while your brother is on his deathbed?” She gasps, and I can practically see her hand on her chest in false indignation.

Cutting the ignition, I grab my purse, keys and the duffel bag full of clothes I didn’t wear in New York and hop out the car.

“He’s not on his deathbed,” I remind her, double-clicking the lock button on my key.

“Exactly. That’s exactly right. Now make sure you remember that when you see him.”

I stop short just outside the entrance and push out a calming breath. “I’ll try. Bye, Dee.”

“Bye, babe. Text me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Ending the call, I rush inside the hospital, bypassing the information desk and heading straight to the elevator because I wouldn’t let Will hang up with me until he gave me his room number. The seventh floor is pretty quiet, which I guess is technically a good sign as far as hospitals go, but it still gives me the creeps. Will’s room is lively, though, buzzing with conversation and positive energy that flows between my brother’s hospital bed and around the room, looping through the small spaces left between the bodies of the group of men and women standing shoulder to shoulder around his bed.

I pause just inside the threshold and place a hand on my hip. “Are you seriously running a meeting from your hospital bed?”

Everyone turns to look at me. None of the faces are familiar, but I suppose that’s the point of Narcotics Anonymous—the anonymity.

“That you, Rae Rae?” Will asks, humor making his voice light. The group of people surrounding his bed part like the Red Sea, creating an unobstructed path of sight that allows me to see the large smile stretched across his face. Annoyance rolls through me in a fierce wave. Seconds ago, I was worried about him dying, and now I’m contemplating killing him myself.

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that, Wilson?”

“Wilson? Will is short for Wilson?” One of the men asks, hiding a smile behind his hand when Will glares at him. The glare shuts the man right up and puts an end to the meeting. One by one, the group of recovering addicts say their goodbyes and filter out of the room, leaving Will and me on our own.

We’re used to it.

Since Mommy died, it’s been that way. Me and Will watching TV on the couch, neither of us brave enough to sit in the recliner she loved so much. Will and me eating dinner at a table set for six. Two orphans holding each other close after having everything else ripped from their hands.

“Stop looking at me with those sad eyes, Rae. I’m not dying.”

I drop my duffel on the floor beside the chair I’ll be sleeping in tonight and climb onto the bed. There’s not enough room for the both of us, but Will still moves over so I can curl into his side. His arm loops around my shoulder, and he holds me close, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.

“How was New York?”

I slap his leg, and he laughs, which makes me smile. “Tell me how you ended up in the hospital.”

“My appendix burst. They had to remove it.”

“When?”

“Friday night. I was running a meeting and nearly passed out from the pain.”

“And no one thought to call me? You didn’t think to call me?”

He squeezes me tight, pulling me in closer. “I didn’t want you to cut your trip short.”

There’s no point in telling him I wouldn’t have because we both know that would be a lie. If he had called me to say he was in the hospital, I would have dropped everything to get to him as soon as possible.

“When are you going to be discharged?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, as long as I get through the night without running a fever.”

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