Demanding Ransom Read Free Page A

Dad’s voice remains chillingly
monotone. The walls in the room feel much closer than they did moments ago.
“They’ve found a tumor, Mags.” His voice catches. “Mikey has a brain tumor.”

 
    CHAPTER THREE

 
    “Will you stop that?” He groans and chucks his
pillow at me. I catch it easily in my lap since I’m seated in a wheelchair, and
I lob it back at him with all my upper body strength, which honestly isn’t
much. The pillow hits him upside the skull—probably not the best choice
in landings based on the information we’ve just received.
    “Stop what, dork?”
    He folds the pillow behind his back and settles
in, his thick neck craning upward and his broad shoulders relaxing slightly. He
looks way too massive for the tiny hospital bed, like those circus clowns
crammed into tiny cars. “Stop looking at me like I have some kind of disease or
something.”
    I cock my head to the side. “Well, you sorta
do. You know, cancer and all.”
    “Shut up, stupid.” He groans again. “They’re
not even 100 percent sure it’s cancer. It could just be a tumor. A lot of times
that’s all it is.”
    “It’s not a toomah,” I imitate, channeling my
best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice possible.
    Mikey cocks a brow. “Kindergarten Cop?”
    I nod, fingering the edge of the bed sheet in
front of me. There’s a loose thread that I wrap around my finger until it
breaks off and creates a threadlike ring around my index knuckle. “Yep, that
one’s a classic.”
    “You realize that came out before we were born,
right?” Mike seals his eyelids shut. I don’t think he’s slept at all in the
last twenty-four hours. The purple bags hooked under his eyes clearly give that
away.
    “That’s what makes it a classic. You can’t call
a movie a classic if it came out during your lifetime.”
    “What about Titanic? That’s a classic and we
were around for that one.”
    I lift up the Diet Coke can from the bedside
tray and take a swig. The fizz tickles my nose and I scrunch it up to bite back
the tingling sensation that gathers at the bridge of it. “Okay—I take
that back. Anything involving epic, historical disasters can be considered
classics.” I take another gulp of the soda and my eyes burn from the
carbonation. “So in that case, the footage from your game against Westmoore
last week counts, too.”
    Mike laughs a deep, pained chuckle. “That
hurts, Sis, that hurts.” His hazel eyes stretch open, and then soften slightly.
“How’s your leg?” Mike’s voice embodies an uneasy tenor that I’ve never heard
out of him before. I don’t like it. And I don’t like that it sends shivers up
my spine.
    “My leg is fine.” For all I know, the injury
could be the size of a splinter. I’ve yet to actually see—or
feel—the real damage. They have me so hopped up on drugs and it so
carefully wrapped that if it weren’t for the fact that I’m in a hospital
wearing this ridiculous, backless frock, I’d think my leg had just temporarily
fallen asleep.
    “I wanna see it.”  
    I shake my head. “I have to keep it covered up
until they come around to change the bandages later. But I’ll take a pic with
my phone for you if you want.”
    “You don’t have a phone anymore, Maggie.”
    Damn. He’s right. Apparently, during the crash
my cell, previously perched delicately on my thigh, was sent through the
windshield and crushed into a million pieces under the tread of a passing semi.
Better it than me though, I suppose.
    “Let me borrow yours. I’ll take a pic and you
can use it as your background wallpaper.”
    “Gross.” Mikey crinkles his nose in disgust.
“Did you not get the memo that you’re supposed to be a girl?”
    I roll my eyes at him, deliberately slow so he
can get the full effect of my annoyance. “I got the memo. There just were too
many instructions so I decided not to follow too closely.”
    “At some point you’ll have to turn into a
woman, you know. Nineteen sounds like a good age,