Page 32 of Love In The Air

“That’s The Waltons,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Your knowledge of old televisions shows is very intimidating.”

She shoved his shoulder playfully before snuggling into his arms.

Since her studio apartment was so small, they could see her TV from their position snuggled in her bed. Iz clicked on the TV and navigated to the streaming service, clicking on the thumbnail art of the show. He’d never seen more than a few bits and pieces of episodes over the years, and he had to admit the show wasn’t really for him, but watching Iz’s face as she took in each episode, her mouth moving slightly as she recited the lines she’d memorized over years of rewatches, something deep inside him stirred.

The oven beeped halfway through the first episode. Chance got up to take the cinnamon rolls out. Placing a few on a large plate and bringing it to the bed. The show might not be his thing but spending all day in bed with Iz totally was.

“How many seasons of this show are there?” he asked after their fourth episode.

“Nine.”

“Nine?” He hoped she didn’t plan on marathoning into the night. It would take weeks to finish the series.

She rolled over into him. With his head propped up against the backboard, the higher angle allowed him to watch the show and her expression. The later he found far more interesting.

Her nose scrunched adorably as she looked up at him with a small wince. “You’re hating this, aren’t you?”

“No.” He wasn’t, actually. Couldn’t say he cared much for the show but, “I like that you have something that connects you to your sister. Something special you both share. It’s…nice.”

“Do you have something like that with your brother?”

Sharp pain cut through him like it always did when he thought of Cameron. There were days he feared the pain would never go away. And other days, he feared it would. He knew it wasn’t totally logical, but sometimes he worried if the pain disappeared, his brother would too.

“Cameron’s dead.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Chance…”

He felt her small hand directly on his bare chest, over his heart. Her touch was warm, but his entire body felt ice cold. It always did when he thought of Cameron. He never talked about his brother. With anyone. So it shocked the hell out of him when he opened his mouth and shared.

“He got sick when I went to college. Leukemia.”

“Oh, Chance, I’m so sorry.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. He sucked in a sharp breath, allowing himself to take the comfort she offered, even if only for a moment. God, he hadn’t realized how desperately he needed it until now.

“My parents were…well you know.” It wasn’t a secret in their hometown that his parents were the town drunks. They managed enough not to draw the attention of DCFS, but that didn’t mean they were any type of functional, caring parental figures.

Iz nodded, her hands softly stroking him, encouraging him to continue.

“Anyway, Cameron got sick my first year of college. I didn’t even know until I came home for winter break. He looked so…” His throat threatened to close off. Chance sucked back the emotions and pushed on with his story. “I took him to the doctor because our parents were useless fuckers. He was only 15…he should have been worried about passing his driver’s test, not fighting for his life.”

Anger boiled up inside him again, anger at his parents, himself, Anger for his brother and a life lost far too soon. Cameron was a good kid. He didn’t deserve the fate life handed him. It was so fucking unfair.

“Turns out the cancer had spread too much. There wasn’t anything anyone could do. I lost him five months later.”

“That’s awful.”

She pulled him into her, and he went willingly. His head rested on her chest, the steady beat of her heart filling his ears. Iz squeezed him gently, her hands stroking in a soothing manner, and Chance inhaled her scent, taking all the comfort she offered.

“I haven’t talked to my parents since the funeral,” he confessed. “They should have noticed something. If only they’d taken him to the doctor sooner. If I hadn’t gone to school and abandoned him, I could have been there to—”

“No!” She pulled back, cupping his face in her hands and staring down with a hard look. “This is not your fault, Chance. No one can predict when someone will get sick, and you had your own life to start. What happened to your brother wasn’t your fault.”

He knew that. Logically. His friends at school told him, the therapist he went to see told him, everyone told him. Still, guilt was a hard thing to get rid of. Logic had little power over the bleak, all-consuming emotion.

“I would have noticed sooner if I’d been home.”

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