The only person she’d really talked to was Dawson. Her cheeks flushed. He’d made the empty seat beside her in art his home and proceeded to drill her with questions about Nevada and her old school. Gym was boys vs. girls ping-pong, so no talking there. But there was a lot of smiling and that—
The slow, uneven footsteps cut off her internal swoon-fest. Looking over her shoulder, she turned off the water. Her slim, frail uncle appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Skin grayish and pasty, he was bald, and the flannel robe hung off his shoulders.
He looked like death.
And she felt like a tool for even thinking that. Drying off her hands, she hoped her face didn’t convey what she was thinking. But then he looked at her. Dark shadows surrounded bloodshot, pale eyes.
He knew. Sick people always knew.
Diverting her eyes, she went over to Phillip and pretended to be engrossed in whatever he was jabbering about. Honestly, she was still surprised her mom had packed up everything and moved out here. She’d never been close to her brother or her family, given that the whole teenage-pregnancy thing had been frowned upon. But that was her mom. Blood was thicker than water. Her brother—her perfect, MD-carrying brother was sick with some kind of blood disease, and she’d rushed to his side.
Her mother spun around and let out a startled gasp. Rushing over, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him to the table. “Will, what are you doing out of bed? You know you’re not supposed to be walking around after one of your treatments.”
Uncle Will sat stiffly. “It’s chemo, not a bone marrow transplant. Moving around is good. It’s what I need to be doing instead of lying in a bed all day.”
“I know.” Her mom hovered over him. “But you look so…tired.”
His hairless brows shot down. Wrong words. Bethany shook her head. “You look better,” she said, and poked Phillip’s belly, loving the sound of his giggle. “The treatment helped?”
A brittle smile appeared. “It’s working like it should. I’m not terminal.”
Being a doctor and getting sick must suck. You’d know all the statistics, the treatments, the side effects, and prognoses inside and out. No escaping the truth behind the disease or cushioning what was to come.
And Bethany hated being around it. Did that make her a terrible person? Uncle Will was family. But death had never really touched her life. Neither had sickness outside of a cold or flu.
Uncle Will was staying with them while he went through his treatments. Once he was feeling better, he’d move back into his own house, but they’d still stay here. The close call with death had her mom yearning to make what was left of her family close-knit.
Mom buzzed around Uncle Will some more, making him a cup of hot tea while he asked about school. Bethany excused herself as soon as she could. Giving Phillip one last tickle, she bolted from the kitchen and headed upstairs.
The top floor had once been nothing but a loft. Now it had three bedrooms and two baths. She went down the narrow hall and nudged open her bedroom door.
It was a sad bedroom.
No posters. No real personal effects except the canvas and a small table full of paints by the large picture window in the corner. A desk was beside it, holding a laptop she rarely used. Internet was spotty at best here, and she’d rather be spending her time painting than lurking on the net. A TV sat on the dresser. Another thing she rarely messed with.
The fact that she wasn’t big on TV shows or movies usually made it hard for her to connect with other people her age. She couldn’t tell anyone who the hottest new singer was or the name of the teen heartthrob sweating up the silver screen.
Bethany didn’t really care.
Head in the clouds was what her mom always said.
Rolling her stool toward the easel, she tugged her hair up into a messy bun and sat down. An empty mind was always best to start with when she wanted to paint. Let whatever came to her flow to the paper. Except it wasn’t happening today. When she closed her eyes, she kept seeing one thing. Well, one person.
Dawson.
Bethany wasn’t boy crazy. Sure, she had her moments of wanting to skip around like a demented puppet when a cute guy showed interest, but guys didn’t really affect her. Not to the point that a name brought a flush to her cheeks. Even Daniel—ex-boyfriend extraordinaire—hadn’t made her feel this way, and they’d almost gone all the way.
Sorry, Mom.
But there was something about Dawson. More than just how good he looked. When he talked to her in art class, he seemed…in awe of her. Had to be her imagination, just like her reaction to him, because she didn’t know him and an attraction of that magnitude just didn’t happen. Not at first sight, and not in real life. Stress—it had to be stress.
Picking up a sharpened pencil, she shook out her shoulders. She wasn’t going to let herself get obsessed with a boy.
Without giving much thought to what she was doing, she stared at a blank piece of canvas, and then started to sketch the outline of a face. A face she would eventually fill in later. Glancing at the table of paints, she frowned, knowing there was no way she’d get that hue of green right.
Yep, not obsessed at all.
Chapter 3
He was obsessed.
Dawson stared up at his bedroom ceiling, flipping in and out of his true form like someone was throwing a switch. The room was dark…and then whitish-blue light bounced off the walls. On. Off. On. Off. Unable to keep form was a sure sign of agitation or a severe distraction.
And his distraction had a name.
Bethany Williams.
In his human form, he rubbed the heels of his palms down his face and groaned. There was no reason why he’d spent the last three hours thinking about her. Ha. Three hours? Try the last ten hours.