فصل بیست و چهارم

CHAPTER 24

WILL

“What’s your dream place to live?” I ask her as we walk slowly back around to the footbridge, her gloved hand resting inside of mine.

We wipe away the fresh snow on the bridge’s railing and hop up, our legs swinging in time with one another.

“Malibu,” she says, setting the oxygen concentrator next to her as we look out at the pond. “Or Santa Barbara.” She would pick California.

I give her a look. “California? Really? Why not Colorado?” “Will!” she says, laughing. “Colorado? With our lungs?” I grin, shrugging as I picture the beautiful landscape of Colorado. “What can I say? The mountains are beautiful!” “Oh no,” she says, sighing loudly, her voice teasing. “I love the beach and you love the mountains. We’re doomed!” My phone chirps, and I reach into my pocket to see who it’s from. She grabs my hand, trying to stop me.

I shrug. “We should at least let them know we’re okay.” “Some rebel you turned out to be,” she fires back at me, trying to snatch my phone from my hand. I laugh, freezing when I see my screen filled with texts from my mom.

This late at night?

I pull Stella’s hand off to see every message is exactly the same: LUNGS FOR STELLA. GET BACK NOW.

I swing my legs around, jumping up, excitement filling me from head to toe. “Oh my god! Stella, we have to go right now!” I grab her hand, trying to pull her off the railing. “Lungs—they have lungs for you!” She doesn’t budge. We need to get back ASAP. Why isn’t she moving? Doesn’t she understand?

I watch her face as she stares off at the lights, completely unfazed by what I just said. “I haven’t seen the lights yet.” What the fuck?

“You knew?” I ask, shock hitting me like a tractor trailer. “What are we doing out here, Stella? These lungs are your chance for a real life.” “New lungs? Five years, Will. That’s the shelf life on them.” She snorts, glancing over at me. “What happens when those lungs start to fail? I’m right back to square one.” This is all my fault. The Stella from two weeks ago would never be this stupid. But now, all thanks to me, she’s about to throw everything away.

“Five years is a lifetime to people like us, Stella!” I shout back, trying to get her to see. “Before the B. cepacia, I would’ve killed for new lungs. Don’t be stupid.” I pull my phone out, starting to dial. “I’m calling the hospital.” “Will!” she shouts, moving to stop me.

I watch in horror as her cannula tubing catches again on a gap in the stone footbridge, her head jerking back as she loses her balance. She tries to grab the slippery railing ledge, but her hand slides right off and she goes plummeting down.

I try to grab ahold of her, but she slams onto the ice, landing on her back, the concentrator landing with a plunk next to her.

“Stella, shit! Are you okay?” I shout, about to launch myself over the side to her unmoving body.

And then she starts laughing. She’s not hurt. Oh, thank god. She’s not hurt. I shake my head, relief filling my chest.

“That was some—”

There’s a loud crack. I see her scramble, but there’s no time.

“Stella!” I call out as the ice shatters beneath her, sucking her in, the dark water swallowing her whole.