Page 179 of A Little Complicated

My tears fall freely as I squeeze my eyes shut, praying to whatever god might be listening to bring him back. To let me take his place. To fix this. Fuck, I’d give anything to fix this. It isn’t fair. He deserves the life he’s built. The life he’s worked so hard for. The one he’s cultivated with his blood, sweat, and tears, while I’ve been throwing my own away, welcoming my impending expiration date.

“I know you see the irony here,” I choke out. “How we spent our entire lives bitching about being interchangeable, and now here we are. My body. My mind. Your fucking heart.” My voice breaks. “I don’t want it. I don’t want your heart, man.” I take my opposite hand and set it on his chest, feeling the steadythump-thumpagainst my palm through the thin, white, hospital sheets. “It was supposed to be me, Archer. I’m supposed to be the one in this hospital bed. The one dying. The one in the fucking casket.” I wipe beneath my nose with the back of my hand. “You’re the good brother. The one who has his shit together. The one with his head on straight. The one with a plan. A fucking future. I can’t…I can’t do this without you.” My shoulders heave. “I can’t take this. I can’t take your heart, man.”

Fuck!

I want to yell. I want to scream. I want to say it isn’t fair. Because it isn’t. No one with a heart would say this was fair. That my own twin’s life would have to end so I could have mine.

“I can’t do this, Arch. You were the one who was supposed to be here. Who was supposed to help Mom and Dad through losing their son. You were the one who promised to take care of Ophelia after I’m gone. You promised. You fucking promised, man.” Blood explodes in my mouth as I dig my teeth into the inside of my cheek, desperate to wake up from this fucked-up nightmare and the fallout looming ahead of me no matter what I do.

“I know you,” I add. “I know you’re laughing at me somewhere, finding way too much fucking humor in this, but it isn’t funny, man. None of it is. Mom and Dad need you. Rory needs you. Lia needs you. Fuck, I need you. I need you, brother.” I sob harder, clinging to his limp hand like it’s my only lifeline.

Itsmy lifeline.

Nothe’smy lifeline.

Because he’s gone.

Archer’s gone.

My brother’s gone.

And I can’t even grieve for him properly because the fucking clock on the wall keeps fucking ticking, mingling with the fucking heart monitor, reminding me of the fucking choice I have to make while knowing there isn’t one in the first place. If there’s an afterlife. If there’s a single fucking chance I’ll see him again and have to look him in the eye and say I rejected his heart out of grief and guilt, he’ll never forgive me.

But the idea of this gift. This fucking bitter gift. Of me accepting it and everything that comes with it. It’s more than my weary soul can bear. More than it should ever have to.

I’m tired. So fucking tired.

“I love you,” I rasp. “I love you so much, brother, and I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry the roles can’t be reversed. Sorry I can’t take this from you and won’t be the one in the coffin.” My forehead falls to the bed, and I shake my head back and forth, letting the itchy material rub against my skin. “Fuck, I can’t even say thank you, Arch. Do you have any idea how pissed I am at you right now?” A strangled laugh slips out of me. “I’m so fucking pissed.” I press his knuckles against my eyes, letting him feel my pain. My agony. “You know Ophelia’s gonna keep you on a pedestal forever now, right? Probably gonna wanna name her firstborn after you.”

My chest squeezes even tighter as the words fall out of me, and the realization hits me. He’s never gonna be an uncle. Or a dad. He’s never gonna get married. Never gonna rule the world like I knew he could. He’s never gonna do anything, but because of him, I get to. My body wracks with another sob, and I grip his hand even tighter. “Fuck, man. I wanna beat the shit out of you right now.” Another lump catches in my throat, but I force it back. “And I wanna hug you again. One last time.” My voice cracks, and I weep even harder. “Thank you, brother. Thank you.”

56

OPHELIA

Maverick was wheeled into the operating room four hours ago. Dr. Scott said the surgery could take anywhere from six to twelve hours, and I’ve been counting down the minutes.

I’ve never been more terrified in my life. Everyone’s in the waiting room. Maverick’s family. Mine. Aunt Kate and Uncle Mack. Everyone except Tatum. When I asked my mom where she was, she shook her head and said we all grieve differently.

I didn’t push it.

A heavy somberness is in the air. It swallows conversation. Hell, even small talk ended within minutes of everyone arriving. Red-rimmed eyes surround the space. I’m not sure if it’s because of lack of sleep, Maverick’s unstable future, or Archer’s…

I grab another tissue from the box in front of me and wipe beneath my eyes. My mom pulls me against her, rubbing her hand up and down my arm while my dad sits on my opposite side. As soon as they heard the news, they brought me a change of clothes and a sandwich. Both are sitting untouched on the coffee table beside the almost empty box of tissues.

“It’s gonna be okay,” my mom whispers, but I only shake my head.

I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe Maverick’s in surgery. I can’t believe my entire world—everyone’s entire world—was flipped upside down and torn to pieces, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake. A chaos I can’t wrap my head around. A new normal I don’t want to embrace. An agonizing hope I refuse to take for granted.

Please make it through this, Maverick.

Pressing the tissue against my swollen eyes, I remind myself to breathe. Dylan and Finley sit on my mom’s opposite side. Both are as silent as the rest of us while the clock on the wall mocks me with the minute hand. I swear it’s moving backward. Like I’m frozen in time. Frozen in this hell. Not knowing if or when or who will make it out of this hospital by the end of the day. Twisting the shredded tissue in my lap, I glance at the heavy double doors Maverick disappeared through. Where the doctor promised to keep us updated. They’re still closed.

Reeves offers me a cup of coffee, but I shake my head, refusing to take it. I should. My exhaustion has morphed into something deeper since we got the phone call about Archer. It’s heavier. More consuming. More convincing. Like if I close my eyes, I’ll be able to slip into oblivion. I’ll be able to escape. I’ll be able to believe none of this is real, and I didn’t just lose my best friend and potentially my boyfriend within twenty-four hours of each other.

“Caffeine’s good for the soul,” Reeves murmurs.

I shake my head again. “I’m okay, thanks.”

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