Within These Walls (Within These Walls #1)(37)

Her eyebrows rose.

I quickly pulled my hand out from under the blankets and lifted it to silence her rebuttal. “I know what you’re going to say. He was a friend. That’s it. I know you think because I’ve been in this bed and behind these walls for the majority of my life that I am innocent about the ways of the world, and to some extent, you’re probably right but not about this. Friends, I swear.”

She made a garbled humph sound in her throat and pulled her arms to her chest. “And now? That parting display of affection I saw on his way out? That wasn’t how you say good-bye to a friend, Lailah. I might be a little out of practice, but I do remember that.”

That stung a little. I knew she didn’t mean it to be harsh. My mother was direct, demanding, and straightforward, but she was never vicious or vindictive. Her personality came from necessity. I didn’t know much about her past, but I knew she’d been abandoned by the one person she thought she could trust—my father. I didn’t think she’d ever gotten over it. Since then, she’d fought for everything in life, and I knew my illness had only made that ten times harder. She’d spent her life caring for me, so she could never fit in a love life.

“And now, we’re more,” I simply answered, not knowing exactly what to call Jude and me.

The word boyfriend did sound nice, but he hadn’t said it, and I certainly wasn’t going to go around calling him that without audible proof from him. Friends with benefits just sounded dirty, and we definitely weren’t there yet. Flashes of his lips on mine while his hand had moved up the back of my shirt danced around in my head, and I felt my cheeks redden. While I was hoping for more than friends, I was looking forward to the benefits part.

My mother shook her head in frustration before leaving the room. I was sure she was going to find Dr. Marcus to have another one of her secret meetings that I wouldn’t be privy to. We wouldn’t want to talk about my own health in front of me.

I let the annoyance melt away, and I snuggled back down in my bed, allowing my thoughts to drift back to Jude. Whatever our label was—friends or something else—I wanted it to continue even though I knew that I shouldn’t. I was selfish for not pushing him away. My life was at a crossroads. Who knew which path I would end up traveling on? Was it fair to ask him to walk either of those roads with me? Even if I were lucky enough to get a transplant, there would be no guarantees it would be successful.

But were there ever any guarantees in life?

I’d told Jude that I believed a normal life was about the good and the bad. The ups and downs, not knowing where our lives would eventually end up—that’s what made us human.

Isn’t that what I want—a normal life with no guarantees?

If I’ve been living from one bad moment to the next with very little good in the middle, couldn’t I just take Jude as my wild card? Couldn’t he be my savior from all the bad I’ve had to endure?

But a normal relationship was about give and take.

If Jude were my replacement for all the bad in my life, could I be his?

But what if I were the opposite?

That one single question kept repeating through my thoughts as I tried to catch a few quiet moments of rest before my mom returned. I tossed all the blankets off of me and then promptly tugged them back around me several minutes later when I became ice cold. When I gave up on the notion of sleep, I instead pulled out my laptop and entered the one name doing laps in my head.

Thousands of search results popped up on Google. Many weren’t specifically related to Jude but rather the family as a whole. I found financial reports and glamorous photos of who I assumed were his parents at charity events and other elite social gatherings. I scrolled down further and found an old article entitled “The Cavanaughs Find Gold Mine in Youngest Son.”

Looking around the room, I felt like I was betraying some sort of secret trust between Jude and me. Why do I feel the need to do this? Shouldn’t I just ask him?

But my finger pushed down on the touchpad, and I pulled up the article.

I scanned the text, pulling out the bits of information I found relevant, and my mind skidded to a halt about a third of the way down after the introduction where the journalist had written about the vast accolades and accomplishments of the Cavanaugh family.

Jude was smart, like really freaking smart.

He’d also been groomed from nearly infancy to take over the family business.

According to this article, after showing a love for math at an early age, his parents had sent him to the best schools money could buy. From the time he was in kindergarten, he was privately tutored. The journalist commented that the money had been wasted because all the tutors in the world couldn’t teach Jude the one thing he’d possessed since birth—instinct. From the age of thirteen, rather than partaking in after-school activities, Jude had helped his father make major business decisions.

A knock at my door startled me from my reading, and I quickly slammed my laptop shut in shame.

Grace breezed through my door like a breath of fresh air in autumn. “Good morning, sweets. Heard you had a rough evening. You’re not trying to leave me again, are you?” she asked with a wink.

“Ugh, not anymore.”

The mask over her face hid her smile from me, but I could see the crinkles around her eyes, so I knew it was there, buried under that ugly disposable covering.

“Well, no matter. We’ll get you out of here soon enough.”