Page 85 of Reclaim Me

Once I’m done unpacking, I grab my keys and hop in the car, deciding to hang with Will for the weekend. He was more than happy to entertain me last month when my trip got canceled, and I’m hoping he’ll be even more understanding this time around when I tack myself onto all of his weekend plans because missing Rae is a little bit easier when I’m doing it with him. He feels her absence, but he’s not destroyed by it. It’s like he’s perfected the art of loving her and letting her go. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to do that.

As I turn on Will’s street, taking note of the flashing lights of an ambulance in the near distance, it occurs to me that maybe I should figure it out. That maybe truly supporting her doesn’t look like just encouraging her to fly but actually giving her space to spread her wings. Before I can determine whether I’m being wise or ridiculous, the whoop of the ambulance draws my attention again. And it’s only as I’m approaching the house Rae and Will grew up in that I realize how close it is to where I’m going.

No, that’s wrong.

It’s not just close to my destination, it’s at my destination. The large red and white vehicle with the siren still wailing is parked haphazardly in the driveway, right behind Will’s car, and so I’m left with no choice but to park on the curb by the mailbox. To run across the grass to the open front door screaming Will’s name while my brain tries to work out what the fuck I’m going to tell Rae.

Someone stops me with a hand on my chest right inside the door. “Sir, you can’t be here.”

I glance down at the woman, barely seeing her or the EMT uniform she’s wearing because I’m too afraid, too angry at being stopped when I need to be moving, need to be helping, need to be figuring out what the fuck is going on.

“Wilson Prince,” I tell her. “The guy who lives here. Where is he?”

“Are you family?” she asks, her voice stern, blue eyes serious.

I don’t hesitate, don’t think about the fact that there’s not a drop of blood between us, that a random, injured ankle stole my one chance to make us family officially, I just answer. “Yes, I’m his brother.”

31

RAE

Then

“Cancer?!”

Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow it back down, determined not to get sick in the middle of the practice studio. It’s already bad enough that the other dancers are staring, their eyes filled with concern and opportunity as they wonder if that one small word is going to take me out of the game the way Aaliyah’s ankle took her out.

Not a chance in hell.

I think the words even as doubt swoops in, forcing me to face reality, to acknowledge the quiet tugging sensation in my gut as concern and fear draw me back to New Haven.

“Cancer?” I repeat, disbelief wrapped around the word.

“Yeah, Sunshine,” Hunter breathes, his voice full of sorrow and apology. “The MRI revealed a mass on his prostate. The biopsy confirmed that it was cancerous.”

I shudder, hating that I don’t have any questions or confusion around the process. It’s all so familiar to me, an echo of my experience with Mommy’s diagnosis.

“Rachel, do you need a moment?” Marcelo asks from across the room. He’s standing by the speaker, having stopped the music when I told him I needed to answer my phone. I’ve been waiting for this call from Hunter and Will all day, desperate to get some answers about the back pain that sent Will to the hospital a week ago. And now that I have it, I don’t want it. I don’t want the answer. I don’t want a moment. I just want to dance, to lose myself in the predictability of the choreography, and leave the uncertainty of life to everyone else.

But I can’t do that, so I look at Marcelo and hold up my hand, asking for five minutes. He nods and shoos me away, and I go, conscious of the fact that the remaining girls in the room huddle up as soon as I turn my back to them.

Fucking vultures.

When I step into the hallway, I lower myself to the floor and press my back against the wall, taking the time to rest because I’ve been at the studio all day, trying to perfect the timing of the pas de deux in the scene where Romeo and Juliet confess their love for each other.

“What stage?” I ask finally, closing my eyes as one lone tear escapes.

I know it’s not going to be good when Hunter sighs heavily before he says, “Three.”

“Fuck.” I pull my legs up to my chest and hug my knees, images of the past few months rolling through my mind. All the signs were there. The weight loss. The lack of an appetite. The back pain. It was all right there in front of me, and I just ignored it. “Fuck.”

“Don’t cry, Rae Rae,” Will says, his soft voice ensuring that I do exactly what he’s just asked me not to. The tears come hot and fast, and I can’t stop them. My brother is sick.

He’s sick, and I’m not there.

He’s sick, and I’m scared.

He’s sick, and it’s not fair.

---