CHAPTER SIX
1473 Words
ROCHELLE
“NO!! NO! NO!!” I scream, flinging the contents of the dining table to the floor. Plates smash, cups shatter, and coins scatter like fallen stars across the cold tiles.
I collapse into a crouch, clutching the handful of scattered dollars, eyes clenched tight.
This can’t be happening.
At this pace, Becky will never get the treatment she needs—deserves.
The tears threaten to spill, raw and relentless, but I choke them back. I haven’t felt this powerless since the streets swallowed me whole—those dark days I fight to forget.
“Darl, I hate seein’ you like this...” A soft, familiar country drawl soothes my ears.
I look up. Becky’s kneeling before me, her hands wrapped around my fists, her eyes begging me to release the storm inside.
“Becky, I’m so sorry,” I sob, pulling her into a tight hug, letting the cash slip through my fingers onto the floor.
“It ain’t your fault, pumpkin,” she whispers, tracing gentle circles on my back.
“You’ve done so much for me. And now, when you need me the most, I’m helpless,” I cry into her shoulder.
“Don’t say that. You are my family,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“I don’t want to lose you, Becks,” I choke out, tears blurring my vision.
She hugs me tighter. “You won’t. I promise.”
I stare deep into her warm brown eyes. “Promise?”
She nods, offering a fragile but genuine smile.
---
“Good afternoon, The American Cancer Society. How may we assist you?”
Her voice is calm on the other end of the line, but my throat tightens, choking me into silence.
“Anyone there?” she asks again.
“Sorry...” I whisper. “I... I have a problem.”
Are they really going to help? I’ve lived my whole life surrounded by cold rejection. Nobody ever just helps for nothing in return.
Except Becky. She’s been my only angel. She helped me without question—without strings.
I have to do whatever it takes now.
“Are you still there?” the voice asks gently.
“Yes,” I say quickly.
“Let’s make this easier. Are you the patient?”
“No,” I murmur.
“Okay. Patient’s name?”
“Rebekkah Sutherland.”
“Male or female?”
“Female.”
“Age?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Ailment?”
“Stomach cancer.”
Silence stretches long and heavy. Then a weary sigh.
“Apologies, Ms. Sutherland...”
“Apologies? What—what is it?” My voice breaks, tears burning my cheeks.
“Gastric cancer is unfortunately beyond the scope of our assistance program. We’re unable to help.”
I stare at the phone, anger and despair twisting inside me.
“I see,” I say sharply, cutting the call before she can say more.
---
“Darling, your tutor called—said you haven’t been attending lectures.”
Becky’s voice trembles as she walks down the stairs, fragile in her loose nightgown.
The vibrant woman I knew is fading fast, replaced by a pale, hollow shell.
My heart shatters. The one time I found family, life is trying to rip her away.
“Rochelle?” she asks, resting a weak hand on my shoulder. Her touch is cold.
“My fee expired two days ago,” I whisper, forcing a smile and placing my palm over hers, trying to transfer what little strength I have left.
“Why didn’t you renew it?” she asks, sitting beside me.
“I can’t. The money has to go toward your treatment,” my voice cracks.
“I’m working double shifts at the café—and I got a part-time job at the store too,” I say, hugging her tightly.
“I’m sorry I’m putting you through this,” she sobs.
“Don’t you ever apologize,” I say firmly, wiping her tears.
I stand, steadying her frail frame. “Come on, I’ll take you back to bed. I gotta go to work.”
I support her up the stairs and tuck her in, feeling the weight of helplessness suffocating us both.
---
KIERAN
“Okay, be specific. What kind of woman do you want to marry?” Ethan asks, dead serious.
“Someone not rich. Someone I can control,” I shrug, downing my bourbon.
“I can’t believe you got the family to let you choose your wife,” Ethan laughs.
“Technically, I’m their best option for running the company. If they didn’t agree to my terms, we’d be at a deadlock.”
He smirks. “Wanna do something crazy?”
With that look, I’m forced to decline. “No thanks.”
“Come on, man!” He whines, wiggling his eyebrows like a damn fool.
“Fine, what the hell.” I gulp the rest of my drink, grab my jacket, and follow him.
---
“A hard drug recovery group?” I scoff, eyeing Ethan in disbelief.
“How could that possibly be fun?” I roll my eyes, starting the car.
“Chill,” Ethan says, grabbing my arm.
“This place has some pretty girls—might find your future wife,” he smirks.
“Fine. We go in. I scope it out. If no one’s worth my time, we’re out, clear?”
I kill the engine, and we climb the stairs to the entrance.
HOW TO OVERCOME HARD DRUGS. I groan.
“Cringe,” Ethan laughs, pushing open the door.
Inside, the dimly lit hall holds more people than I expected—young faces, some hopeful, some broken.
I almost feel pity. Some still fighting the demons. Some who’ve fallen and are trying to get back up.
Not everyone’s lucky like you, Trustie.
I chuckle darkly to myself.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice snaps behind me.
I turn, stunned by the bluest, purest eyes I’ve ever seen.
I freeze, captivated.
“You’re in the way!” she snaps, breaking me out of my trance.
I step aside, still dazed.
“That one’s feisty,” Ethan mutters, crunching a cookie in my ear.
“What are you eating?” I glare.
He grins. “Where’d you think?”
I shake my head, trying to focus, and head toward the circle where a certain hazel-eyed girl sits.
ROCHELLE
“Hi, everyone. I’m Rochelle.” My voice wavers, tears threatening.
“Hi, Rochelle,” they respond kindly.
“I know this is a place to talk about your journey from addiction, but...” I break down, sobbing.
“My sister... Becky, she’s so sick. I can’t keep up with school. I’m working double shifts. I need the money, you know?”
“It’s just too much... Everything was perfect before. Why did this happen?”
Tears stream freely.
“Sometimes... I’m tempted. Maybe the high will help me forget. I’m just so tired. I can’t...”
I’m lost in my pain, but a few hands pat my back gently.
“That was beautiful, Rochelle,” the therapist smiles warmly.
---
The session ends. Some leave. I stay for tea and cookies.
“I can fund your sister’s treatment,” a voice says, startling me.
I turn to find a man with piercing emerald eyes, jet-black hair, and an aura that feels almost unreal.
“Are you with an NGO or a cancer group?” I ask, skeptical.
“Depends on your definition,” he shrugs, chewing a cookie with a slow, deliberate grace.
How can someone make chewing so... intoxicating?
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll cover all your sister’s expenses,” he says bluntly, “and you’ll do something for me.”
“All expenses?” I whisper, disbelief thick in my voice.
“Down to the hospital gown.”
“What do you want?” My heart races, ears pricked for this golden chance.
“Walk with me.”
He takes my teacup, places it on a stool, and guides me outside, his palm warm at the small of my back.
Outside, a sleek luxury car waits.
“Is this yours?” I ask, eyes wide with awe.
“Get in.”
I don’t understand the pull, but I follow, buckling into the passenger seat.
His scent floods me—manly, intoxicating. I close my eyes, imprinting it on my memory.
The car door slams behind me, yanking me back to reality.
“Hey.”
I spin around, startled by a handsome curly-haired man in the backseat.
“I’m Ethan Kauffmann,” he says, extending his hand.
“Rochelle Sutherland,” I reply, my tiny palm swallowed by his.
“You’ve met Ethan. Perfect.” The stranger smirks, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief.
What have I gotten myself into?
- Writer
