Page 6 of Immortal Throne

CHAPTERTHREE

“You’re late,” Becca said, not even looking up from her drink as she gulped it down. “Like, later than what’s typically late for you.”

With an hourglass figure squeezed into a form-fitting dress, flawless skin, ash-blonde hair and expressive blue eyes, Becca could’ve been a pin-up model, porn star, or hell, whatever she wanted to be. And what did she choose as her profession?

Heartbreaker.

And men paid her for the honor.

Still out of breath, I fumbled to hang the strap of my bag on the back of the chair. When I sat down, my knees bumped the table, rattling the silverware and knocking over the salt. I ran my sweaty palms over my denim shorts and offered my friend an apologetic smile.

Without missing a beat, Becca picked up the shaker, poured some salt into her hand, and tossed it over her left shoulder, before setting it upright on the table. Any other day, I’d tease her for her beliefs in ridiculous superstitions, but since she was already pissed at me for leaving her hanging, I kept it to myself.

“I’m sorry—”

She held up a hand to stop me. “I don’t want to hear it, Sloane. I really don’t. I’ve known you for what? Five years now? And every birthday dinner, every mid-day meet-up, every nightclub outing, it doesn’t matter. You’re always late. I’ve come to expect it now.”

“Then why do you sound so annoyed with me?” I asked. My back stiffened and my skin prickled. I didn’t need the guilt trip.

Did I deserve it? Absolutely.

But did Becca need to lay into me right now? No.

“You should know by now that this is just who I am as a human being,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I hadn’t meant to be this late. I got tied up on an important phone call.” Which was true. I had. One that involved finding Chupey a possible new home for when I was gone. Just thinking about how quickly my life had spiraled and had turned into an all out dumpster fire stabbed at my heart.

She scoffed and started collecting her sunglasses and purse, about to leave. “I wish I could be as inconsiderate and selfish as you and not care that I left my friend sitting here for forty-five minutes. I have things to do, Sloane. I have places to be. I can’t just sit around here all day waiting for your irresponsible ass to show up. It’s rude and—”

“I’m dying.”

The words fell from my mouth. Part of me wished I hadn’t blurted the news. At least not like this. But the other part was relieved to have the truth out. When Becca went off on me, she could go on forever, and how else was I going to explain my extraordinary lateness today? Everything else she’d see as an excuse.

She blinked rapidly. Confused, of course. I did just drop a bomb on her.

“Wait…what?”

Sitting still and forcing my shoulders and arms to remain relaxed, I tried to appear cool as a cucumber, but my hands shook. “I’m dying.”

She plopped her stuff back on the table and leaned forward. “You’re fucking with me,” she whispered.

“I wish I was.” I sighed heavily. “Remember me telling you about my random fainting spells. Well, I went to the doctor yesterday to talk about my test results…”

Her gaze searched my face for a long time, waiting for the “ah, gotcha” moment, but when she saw it wasn’t coming, she paled. “Wait a minute. What’s going on? You wouldn’t lie about—not something like this.”

“I’m not lying.” I never lied. Sure, I wasn’t perfect. I had faults, but lying wasn’t one of them.

She shook her head, refusing to believe it. “No way. You can’t be… You can’t be dying. What did the doctor say exactly? Cancer like your mom? That stuff can run in families, right? There are cures, treatments—”

“Not cancer. They don’t know what it is, but my body is shutting down. If things continue shutting down at this rate, I don’t have a lot of time left. My doctor thinks I only have a month or two…”

“A month or two!”

Other restaurant patrons turned our way, and I hushed her sharply. “Is there an echo in here? Yes, that’s what I said—whathesaid, I mean.”

“I-I don’t believe it. I don’t.”

“Well, believe it or not, it’s true. The doctor prescribed me a handful of pills to swallow every day, but so far they do nothing but make me lose sleep and want to throw up. I can barely focus on anything too long, and I’m worried when I fight—”

“Don’t tell me you’re still going to the Underground,” she snapped, cutting me off mid-sentence.

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