I stomped away from Layla’s house, my heart hanging in shreds from the gaping hole in my chest she’d torn with her words. My emotions were leaking out of it, and I felt like I was losing control. I couldn’t let myself be vulnerable, so I yanked on a coat of armor, protecting my heart with a hard, metal shield.

I didn’t need Layla’s approval, or anyone else’s for that matter. No one knew what it was like to be me — first, a poor, rejected kid, then a successful businessman that everyone wanted something from, but nobody cared about. For one short moment, I’d thought Layla might be different, but she still couldn’t accept me the way I was.

I drove to the hospital, hoping to stop them before they hemorrhaged any more of my money with unnecessary procedures. They probably took one look at my black Amex and decided to run every expensive text they could think of, just to milk me. I parked and got out then stalked inside, ready to tear into them for using my credit card without my authorization.

Before I got to the receptionist desk, though, Dr. Morris intercepted me. With mussed hair, bloodshot eyes, and his tie askew, he looked like he’d been up all night.

“Mr. Montgomery, I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you about your brother. Will you come with me?” He took my elbow and led me over to a waiting room. Not the main one by the front doors, but a small, private room off to the side with a few chairs, some magazines on a coffee table, and a small TV hanging in the corner. He sat down in one of the chairs and probably expected me to, as well, but I stayed standing. It made me feel more in control.

“About that. My assistant brought him here last night and asked you to run a bunch of tests. She didn’t have the authority—”

He interrupted me before I had a chance to complain about the use of my credit card. “Yes, I was reluctant, but she insisted. And we can be glad she did.”

I’m sure he was glad to spend my money. I knew the medical business was just that — a business — with the primary goal of turning a profit. I wasn’t so keen on being the primary source of it.

“Your brother presented with vision trouble, coordination problems, weakness, difficulty speaking and understanding—”

I nodded. “He was drunk. I saw him earlier last night. He’s like that a lot of the time.”

Morris straightened his tie then ran his hands down his thighs. “Yes, well, I thought the same thing. Those are all common effects of intoxication, but they can also be symptoms of other problems. Layla was concerned because she witnessed an event that sounded like a seizure. While seizures might be caused by alcoholism, they’re more commonly caused by other things.”

“So, did you run the tests? Is there something wrong with him?”

“We let your brother sleep awhile so he could sober up some. But he didn’t wake up. In fact, he slipped into a coma. We did a lumbar puncture and ran an MRI. I believe your brother has a brain tumor.”

I sank down into one of the chairs and clutched the wooden arm rests. They were worn like a thousand other people had done the same thing before me. “A brain tumor?”

“Yes, the MRI showed a mass that’s concerning to us. We need to do some more tests to confirm the diagnosis.”

“Is he going to die?”

Dr. Morris leveled his gaze at me, and I was impressed that he looked me in the eye. Most people didn’t. He tried to hide it, but I could see the concern clouding his eyes. “It’s too soon to say. But unfortunately, he let the symptoms go on much longer than he should have. The prognosis would be better if we’d caught it sooner.”

Guilt slammed into me, knocking me to the back of the chair. Memories of the last time I’d seen my brother came rushing back. He’d complained that he’d lost his job for calling in sick. He was too proud to ask for money, but he’d asked for a job, specifically one with benefits. Did Steven suspect there was something seriously wrong with him? Could he die because he didn’t get treated soon enough?

I didn’t much like my brother. He was a jerk, a con man, too lazy to do anything to better himself. But that didn’t mean I wanted him to die, especially from lack of medical care.

He was my brother, but Layla had cared more about him than I had. Could what she said be true? I thought I was just protecting myself, but maybe I was being cold and heartless.

“Mr. Montgomery?” Dr. Morris’ voice interrupted my soul searching. “I know it’s a lot to absorb. I’m sure you’ll have questions later, but for now, would you like to go see your brother?”

I nodded and forced my limp, guilt-laden body out of the chair. “Yes, please.”

He led me out of the waiting room and into a private patient room where Steven lay in a narrow, railed bed, clothed in a hospital gown and covered with a thin blanket, with a monitor beeping beside him. He looked small and weak, barely recognizable so out of his element. Emotion welled up inside me, making it hard to breathe. It reminded me of how I felt around Layla.

He was asleep, or still comatose, I wasn’t sure which, but I felt bad that he was all alone in there. There was a chair in the corner, so I pulled it up beside his bed and sat down next to him. I needed to call my father and brother so they could be there, too.

But first, I turned to the doctor. “Do whatever you need to do to help him. I’ll cover all the expenses.”

Layla was right about that, too. I had more money than I could spend in a lifetime. Why was I so selfish with it? I could spend a million dollars on my brother’s medical bills and barely notice it was missing.

The next several days were a blur of anxious waiting between tests and procedures, punctuated by bits of news from the doctor. My father and Jeremy came, and the three of us camped out in Steven’s room, alternating between worried silence, petty arguing, and the occasional sharing of a random memory.

Not everything about my family was bad; I did have some good memories. My family was flawed in many ways, but they were still people, and they cared about each other in their own way. I realized I cared about them, too, even if I didn’t always like them.

I tried to call Layla a couple times. I was still hurt by the things she’d said, but I was starting to see the truth in them. If nothing else, I thought she might want to know about Steven, but she never answered my calls. I figured the town gossip chain had filled her in.

I didn’t know if she was planning to show up at the resort, or not, so I called a few other employees and asked them to look after things till I could get back. I still had a ton to do before we could open, including sorting through all the applications we’d received during the party. Normally, I couldn’t stand to leave something undone for so long, but I was so wrapped up in Steven’s crisis, I didn’t care about the resort anymore.

I contemplated selling it after I got it up and running. I’d built it, wanting to rub my success in the faces of all the people who’d mistreated me, but at the same time, I thought it would earn me their respect. Instead, all I’d done was make things worse for myself. I had no desire to stay and live in this town where everyone resented me.

A few days after Steven was admitted, Dr. Morris came into the crowded room where my family kept vigil over my brother. None of us had left since we got there. He wrinkled his nose against the foul odor of nervous sweat, engine grease, cigarette smoke, and unwashed clothes, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Steven needs to have brain surgery. If we act now, there’s a good chance we can remove the tumor. It’s risky, of course. But as it is, it’s our only option.”

I glanced between my brother and father, but they just shrugged and looked at me like they wanted me to decide. None of us knew anything about medicine, so we had to trust the doctor’s opinion. And I’d already said I’d pay whatever it cost to help Steven get better.

I looked back at Dr. Morris. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning, if possible.”

“Okay.” I nodded. As soon as the doctor left the room, I turned to my family. “There’s something I have to do. I’ll be back before the surgery.”

I left the hospital for the first time in days and drove straight to Layla’s house. I was a mess physically — dirty, unshaven, still wearing the suit I put on the day I last went to Layla’s, stinking up my Maybach — but I didn’t care. It was my mental and emotional state that needed the most attention. I needed Layla.

I pulled into her driveway and rang her doorbell, scraping my greasy hair back with my fingers. Her mother answered the door a minute later and gave me a disapproving once over.

I opened my mouth to ask for Layla, but Mrs. Emerson beat me to it. “She’s not here. She’s gone back to Hollywood.”

Of course she had. What did I expect? I knew it was over between us the last time I saw her. Layla might have cared for me, she might even have loved me, like she said, but in the end, there was too much difference between us. I still wasn’t good enough for her. I needed to accept that.

I nodded and turned around, and Mrs. Emerson shut the door behind me. I sat in my car and pulled out my phone. I didn’t think there was any chance of winning her back, but I had to tell her a few things.