“No,” Ezra rasped. “Wy. Don’t. Go home.”
CHAPTER 5: WHAT WE OWE EACH OTHER
Wyatt didn’t go home.
He walked right past me into Room 409, pulled the plastic chair up beside the bed, and sat down. For a long time, neither boy said anything.
Then Wyatt said, “You quit basketball.”
“Yeah.”
“You told me it was for grades.”
“I lied.”
“You lie worse than my mom.”
Ezra laughed, and it turned into a cough. Wyatt grabbed the cup of ice chips off the tray and held it out without being asked, the way he’d been handing Ezra things since they were three.
In the hallway, Dale took one step toward the door.
“Wyatt,” he said. “Son, there’s something I have to ask —”
“Don’t,” I said.
Every nurse at the station looked up. Two visitors waiting by the elevator went still. Renata turned to stare at her husband.
“You don’t get to call him son,” I said. “And you don’t get to ask him for anything. Not today. Not in this hallway. Not with the boy he loves lying right there.”
