The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(34)

I’m living so many story lines I didn’t plot when I began my day.

Man, I’m so beat. Dalma too. We’re squeezing together on this examination bed while Valentino talks to Scarlett and nurses make some insurance calls on behalf of Dr. Emeterio, who is busy trying to reach the board. Instead of passing out, I’m dreaming while awake. Not just about how my life is going to change but for Team Young too. Dalma won’t have to spend another night in a hospital because of me. Her family won’t have to cut another vacation short because of me. No one’s life will be interrupted again because of me. I can’t tell you how much lighter that makes me feel.

“I can’t believe this night,” I say while staring up at the bright ceiling lights like they’re stars.

“Me either,” Dalma says.

“Everything’s changing because of Valentino.”

“What do you give a guy who’s dying for you?”

“He’s not technically dying for me.”

“Obviously.”

“Why is that obvious? Maybe he would die for me.”

“Are you on your side or my side?”

“Neither and both.”

Dalma elbows me, and we laugh.

The door opens, and Valentino lets himself in. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are red.

“Hey,” he croaks, then clears his throat. “Hey.”

I hop off the bed, embarrassed that we’re in here laughing while he’s going through it. “You good?”

Valentino shakes his head, then nods, and it’s like he’s glitching. I’m no stranger to conflicting-ass emotions. I’ve been feeling them pretty hard ever since I found out that I’m going to live because someone else is about to die.

“Is Scarlett good?” I ask, nervous as hell that she’s not.

“She’s alive,” Valentino says.

It’s the best answer, I bet. His sister clearly wasn’t going to take that news well.

“She’s signing up for Death-Cast and then headed to the airport and should arrive around nine.”

That’s not bad. Just got to keep Valentino alive for the next seven to eight hours. That means lifting his spirits too. “Is there anything you want to do while you wait for Scarlett? Get something to eat? Maybe your favorite meal?”

“Makes me feel like I’m on death row,” Valentino says.

I want to swallow my whole fist. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, I get it. Besides, I don’t know where we’d find linguini at two in the morning.”

“Oh, dude. There’s a million twenty-four-seven diners in New York.”

“We can order something, or pick it up for you,” Dalma adds.

Valentino drops down into a chair with zero grace for someone who’s a literal model. “I finally move somewhere where I can find food after midnight and . . .” He shrugs. “I probably can’t eat before the surgery anyway.”

I’m instantly spiraling.

His death shouldn’t be about me, but it’s feeling like that with every passing second. So what, Valentino isn’t supposed to eat whatever the fuck he wants on his End Day? All because of a surgery he wouldn’t even have on the brain if luck hadn’t thrown us together?

“That’s a devastating good point,” Dalma says.

“Nope, it’s not,” I say. “Valentino, if you want some motherfucking linguini, I’ll find you some motherfucking linguini.”

“No, really. I’ll live,” Valentino says. Then he pauses as he hears himself, now haunted by his own words. It’s wild how a simple sentiment takes on a new life when you’re dying. He brushes it off, something he’s going to have to do often if he’s going to make it through his End Day—I imagine. “I just want to go home and rest. Prepare the place for Scarlett. Then go to my photo shoot in the morning. My first campaign is a cool way to be immortalized.”

“Still got to throw some linguini into that plan,” I say. “Maybe some legit New York pizza if you’re into that.”

Dalma’s eyes are closed as she’s breathing into her cupped palms. She’s not keeping herself warm in this chilly room; she’s keeping herself shut. But her words break free. “I don’t want to sound heartless—”

“Off to a bad start,” I interrupt.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” Dalma talks with her hands a lot, and right now as she’s quiet and processing her next words, her hands are frozen in the air, just up until she’s going again. “Believe me, Valentino, I hate myself for saying what I’m about to say because this is such a gift you’re giving Orion. He’s my family, and I’m so protective of him so I got to say . . . I got to say that I’m really scared that you’ll jeopardize this operation if you leave the hospital. If something happens to you, then . . .”

Valentino’s head drops, like he’s being scolded. “I understand.”

“Obviously, we’ll hold off as long as we can for you to have time with your sister, but the most logical thing we can do is keep you here for the next few hours.”

Someone wanting to save my life has never felt so horrible.

“Dalma, I love you, but hard no on all this. We’re not giving Valentino deadlines on his End Day.”