The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(29)

And here’s where it gets real, and why I got all this on my mind.

“May I cut in?” the elder asked Death.

Blinded by the golden heart, Death turned away. “No. He’s my dance partner.”

“I was hoping to dance with you,” the elder said.

“No,” Death echoed. “You’re too bright with life.”

Having lived with dreams fulfilled, the elder reached into his chest and ripped out his shine, aka his heart, because the darkest fairy tales get real bloody like that. He handed it to Orionis, the glow so bright it warded off Death, pushing him into the elder’s arms. Together, the new dancing partners swayed like a tree shedding its leaves, and once they hit the ground, they vanished in Death’s shadow.

Alone, Orionis swapped out his gray, crumbling heart for the radiant golden heart and lived happily ever after.

There’s so much about that story that always felt like a fantasy to me, especially the promise of a longer life, but now I’m being offered that reality.

Valentino wants to give me his heart.

This isn’t some romantic Valentine’s Day card shit either; this is literal.

I stare at Valentino for one minute or one hour, I don’t know. I’m speechless at his ridiculously beautiful and generous gesture, though there’s no way this is serious. I’m lucky, but there’s no way in hell I’m this lucky. Also, Valentino hasn’t given this any thought, and that’s exactly what I tell him: “You haven’t given this any thought.”

“There’s not a lot to think about,” Valentino says. “At the end of the day, you’ll need a stronger heart and I’ll have one to spare.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing, Orion. You saved my life even though you know I’m dying. There’s no better way to thank you for helping me live longer than by repaying the favor.”

“You get that that’s not why I saved you, right?”

“Of course I know that. You’re not some vulture.”

Seriously, swapping my heart for his hasn’t crossed my mind once. Since Valentino got his End Day call, I’ve been too busy dodging bullets and surviving a massive heart attack and mourning a friend-in-the-making while he’s still alive to even selfishly think about what this could mean for me.

“Just say yes,” Valentino says.

“Look, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever wanted to do for me, but it’s not that simple. First, we need to be matches for blood type and—”

“I’m your match,” Valentino says like he has access to my medical records. “I have blood type O.”

So that makes him a universal donor, aka he’s technically everyone’s match.

“No one ever knows their blood type,” I say. I didn’t even know mine was A+ until I was constantly in and out of the hospital. Seriously, I was so ignorant that the first time I saw that A+ on paper I didn’t read it as A-positive, I thought it was A-plus, like my blood got dope grades even though I have a failing heart. “Why do you know yours?”

“I was preparing for the worst after Scarlett’s accident. I told the doctors I was willing to donate organs and blood if it would save her life.”

I’m upset that the world is about to lose this extraordinary human.

“Okay, but let’s say everything else is good to go for the transplant,” I say, really trying to get it into his head that this is complicated stuff. “It’s not like we’re trading Christmas presents. This is heart surgery. I could—” I shut the fuck up because I don’t need to tell someone who’s about to die that I’m nervous about losing my own life.

“Death-Cast didn’t call you,” Valentino says, shrugging off my stupidity. “If we—or, well, you and the doctors—do this today, then you should be in the clear, right?”

If a cardiologist confirms that we’re legit matches for surgery, then this would be game-changing and lifesaving.

I could finally become a novel instead of a short story.

“This isn’t fair,” I say.

“How you’ve been living isn’t fair either,” Valentino says.

“But that’s not your problem. You deserve to live—”

“I’m not going to!” he shouts, his cheeks flushed.

I haven’t known Valentino for very long, but I didn’t have him down for someone who snaps like that. I can’t get at him, though, he’s the world’s first Decker.

He tugs his shirt, trying to breathe.

“I’m sorry. I was just—”

“You were trying to be helpful,” Valentino says, shaking his head like he’s embarrassed at his outburst. “You can’t save me, Orion, but I can save you. You’re a true survivor who’s made it this far. Let me help you live the long life I won’t . . . I won’t get.”

I wish this were more like my fairy tale.

Valentino should have many decades under his belt before finding peace with passing his heart like a baton to a young person in need.

But unless there’s a miracle, our story won’t have a happily ever after.

It’ll end in tragedy.





Valentino


2:11 a.m.

We waste no time getting started.