POWER BACK

Chapter 21: Fade Into You

Fade Into You

November

I try to read her expression in the shadows, and even though her eyes are closed, I know they have that haunted look about them. And now I know why.

I ease myself down beside her, propped up on my elbow so I can see her face. "How did he die?"

"Cancer," she whispers.

"That can't possibly be your fault, Peyton."

"It's complicated. I wasn't the reason he got sick, but I was the reason he didn't get better."

"I don't understand."

She looks up at the night sky, studying the moon and the stars. "Yeah, it's kinda fucked up. Ever since we were little, my dad pitted us against each other, like in competitions. And I always wanted to win...to prove how tough I was. To show my dad that even though I'm a girl, I could beat my brother. I had to be better than him at everything, to make up for the fact that I wasn't a boy."

"You've lost me..."

She takes a deep breath. "Pax was the only boy in the family—for some reason, my dad's hopes and dreams were all wrapped up in him. I was like an afterthought, you know? An accessory. We grew up playing football together—doing just about everything together. And my dad would use my successes to motivate him to try harder. The shame of losing to a girl and everything. How fucked up is that?"

"That doesn't make you responsible for his death."

She shrugs. "He complained about his leg, and my dad told him to suck it up. Dad thought—we both thought—it was just an excuse...because he couldn't outperform me. And that shamed him into silence. He didn't want us to think he was weak."

"The cancer was in his leg?"

"Yeah. Turns out he had a tumor in his femur. Ewing Sarcoma." She sniffs.

"Jesus."

"By the time he got diagnosed, it was too late. Nothing worked. They wanted to amputate, but my dad kept insisting the chemo would fix everything. It didn't."

"How old was he?"

"They discovered the cancer when we were fourteen. But he'd had it for a long time, they think. Looking back, he'd had the pain since seventh or eighth grade." She shakes her head with her eyes squeezed shut as if the memory itself is physically painful.

I lie there feeling helpless, not knowing what to say or do.

"He lived for about a year after the diagnosis. They eventually amputated. After that, he didn't have any fight left in him."

"But you gotta see that's not your fault, right? I mean, your parents must carry a lot of the guilt."

"Yeah, my dad does. That's why he drinks. He drinks to forget. To drown the grief."

"What about your mom?"

"She just sort of faded away for a while. Losing a child and not having anyone to turn to for comfort—I think the pain was too big for her to face. So she just checked out."

"She couldn't share her burdens with your dad?"

"No. No...she blamed him. How can you turn for comfort to the one person who, deep down, you hold responsible? We all did, on some level. But then, recently, after all the shit with Cash and the team, I started to see the truth. Looking back, I saw the chain of events that led to where we are, and I realized my role in them. How I was the catalyst for all of it."