Page 45 of The Breaking Point

I fumbled around for my sunglasses. Grace handed them to me with a raised eyebrow.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Your mom?”

I shot her a glare. “You’re annoying. You know that, right?”

She just smiled. “I know I am, but what are you?” She poked me in the arm. “Come on, Mr. Grumbly, tell me all your secrets.”

I nearly choked. God Almighty, the last thing I was going to do was tell Grace my deepest, darkest secrets. She’d hate me for all eternity if I did.

“She’s sick,” I said, my tone flat. “I told you that.”

“You said she’s dying. Can she get a liver transplant?”

I snorted. “You have to stop drinking to get somebody’s nice, shiny organ. And my mom isn’t about to give up her favorite thing in the world.”

Grace’s expression turned somber. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine being so addicted to something that you’d choose death.”

“Well, my mom isn’t exactly thinking straight. She’s convinced the doctors are wrong and she’ll get better. Or she won’t die, at least.”

I stared out at the bright-blue sky of the horizon, not a cloud in sight. “And she’s not wrong,” I said slowly. “She has survived against all odds. Hell, I remember her doctor telling her ten years ago she had months to live if she didn’t stop drinking. Yet she continues. It’s amazing what shit you can put your body through.”

“I wonder if she’d live much longer, even with a transplant,” Grace said quietly.

“The rest of her body is a wreck, too. Pancreas, kidneys, stomach. She throws up blood all the time from stomach ulcers.”

I realized I was probably horrifying Grace. I didn’t need to unload all this onto her.

“I wish I could say something beyond ‘I’m sorry,’” Grace said. She touched my arm and squeezed it. “But I hope you know that it’s not your fault. Your mom makes her own choices.”

I knew that. I knew that, yet ... that small voice inside me still whispered that if I’d just tried a little harder, I could’ve saved her.

I shook myself. “This is getting fucking depressing. I need something to distract me.”

Grace didn’t argue. Her eyes brightened as she suggested the game Never Have I Ever, only because she knew she’d win because she was such a good girl.

“Never have I ever had a threesome,” Grace said, holding up her hands and starting the game off with a bang. She looked over at me.

I sighed and put down a finger.

Her jaw dropped. “You slut! Brady Carmichael. How many times?”

I glanced at her. “I’m not telling you that. And you’re a cheater, virgin.”

Grace just giggled.

Now, it was my turn. “Never have I ever ...” I thought a moment. “Eaten sushi.”

“What? You live in LA! And that’s so boring.”

I shrugged. “It never appealed to me. Besides, I knew you loved it.” I grinned.

“I need to take you to eat sushi ASAP. You’re missing out.” But Grace still put down a finger, her nose wrinkled.

We were tied by the time the game got near the end.

Grace didn’t look at me when she said, “Never have I ever had drunk sex after Brady Carmichael took me home when I was smashed.”

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