Unthinkable: (Unstoppable - Book 2) (The Unstoppable Series)

by Danielle Hill

  Riley groaned. “You didn’t, Liss?”

  I sat up higher on the bed and laughed. “Course I did. Bunch of nosy bastards. Is there no mystery anymore? No, you little twerp, you don’t need to know the day I got my first period. Fuck off.”

  “Jesus,” Riley muttered. “Making friends, then?”

  “Sure. The best kind, the ones that don’t talk to me. Exactly how I like them.”

  “Lissa!” I could almost hear her head shaking in despair. “What about your roommate? Do you at least talk to her?”

  “I say hi. In my own way.” More of a grunt of acknowledgement.

  Riley growled. For real, growled. “Don’t make me come down there, Alissa. Talk to your roommate and stop scaring people. I mean it.”

  I lifted a hand and brushed a wisp of hair off my forehead. She was right. I knew that. I needed to be less… Liss-like. Might be tough, though. I could count on one hand the number of people I’d let into my life in the past ten years and still have enough fingers left over to flip everyone else off. I just… didn’t see the point. Plus, I didn’t like small talk or pleasantries, all that get to know each other stuff. I was a straight-talking, cut the bull-crap kind of girl. But despite the nickname, I wasn’t cold, more discerning. It just didn’t always come off like that, and I didn’t care to correct it.

  “Fine.” I huffed.

  “Ok, good. I’ve gotta run. Unlike you, I’m not trying to terrify the crap out of well-meaning freshmen. I’m going on a study date with a few girls from my dorm.”

  I whistled through pursed lips. “Calm the fuck down, Van Wilder.”

  “Shut it, you!” She made a mwah sound. “Love you, babe, and speak soon. Make friends, Liss!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Back at ya’.”

  Two minutes passed by before I caved. Dragging the laptop across the comforter, I lay down on my stomach and pushed open the lid. The screen blinked to life.

  Don’t do it. Don’t you do it…

  Shit. I did it.

  I jumped up and crossed my legs, staring down at the laptop as a montage of images filled the screen.

  And there he was. In all his glory. A pillar of blonde-haired, blue-eyed testosterone.

  Pretty Boy.

  I barely even balked at my reaction to him these days; I was used to it and he was a safe distance away. I could look my fill without fear of judgement. Well, other than my own.

  Damn, he was hot. Too hot. And at a party. With girls draped around his neck, and a cocky smirk adorning his face. My lips twisted. The ball of fire forming in my gut was enough to give me heartburn. I scratched at my forehead, as if I could scrub away the irritation, or maybe the pictures that had now embedded themselves into my brain. A glutton for punishment, I scrolled lower, and lower. Another girl. Another smirk.

  Lower. Same goddamn thing. The fire in my stomach climbed like a blazing vine soaked in gasoline, burning my chest and throat. My teeth crunched together.

  What the fuck did this asshole do with his life other than socialise with a harem of octopus-armed hussies? Nothing, apparently. Pretty Boy was just living the dream up there in Claremont. I’d heard he was working construction all summer. Those long hours outdoors, soaking up the sun and lifting bricks, had done absolutely nothing good for that out-of-control god-complex. Jesus.

  I punched my finger against the pad and the screen went dark.

  Inhaling slowly, I closed my eyes and dropped my head back. I could count the heartbeats pounding in my head. This was ridiculous. With a gentle shake of my head, I placed my hands on my bent knees and inhaled.

  Bradshaw could do whatever the hell he wanted. His whorish antics and cheesy-assed, big-toothed mother-fucking grin would not bother me. I was fucking zen.

  “Hey. Who’s the hottie?”

  My eyes flung open, shooting to the sound of my roommate’s voice then back to the screen where a dozen Leon’s and a gazillion hoes stared back at me. Damn, it must have come back to life. I narrowed a glare on all of Leon’s smug faces, then lowered the lid. “Hugh Hefner’s even hornier protégé, apparently.”

  Olivia, the roommate I’d admittedly made next to no effort to get to know, tucked a section of chestnut brown hair behind her ear and smiled. “Do we have some history with baby Hef?”

  My eyes rolled back as I stood and crossed the room, snatching the half empty bottle of Gatorade up from the desktop. “Nope,” I said, before taking a healthy swig.

  Olivia clucked her tongue and lifted a brow. “Boy’s living rent-free in your head, huh?”

  I turned and tossed her a withering glare, fitting the cap back on the bottle.

  Her wide blue eyes crinkled at the corners and she shrugged out of her jacket, then moved to hang it up in the closet. “I don’t mean to pry—”

  “Pah!”

  She tilted her head to the side and dropped to sit on her bed. “If you want to talk about it, I might know what you’re going through, is all.”

  She looked a little hurt, and I felt a nugget of shame. Man, I really was a dickhead.

  Riley’s parting words echoed in my brain. Make friends.

  Go on, then… be fucking nice.

  My lips flattened, and I blew out a breath, eyes rolling skyward. Perching on the edge of the mattress, I rubbed my palms over my thighs and looked over at Olivia Pierce. Pale porcelain skin, long brown hair, and sapphire blue eyes. She curled her fingers around the sleeves of her moss green sweater and curved up a brow as I carried out my assessment.

  “Ready?” she finally asked with a half smirk.

  “As I’ll ever be,” I replied with a deep sigh.

  Her head tipped to the computer. “Is he an ex?”

  I snorted, then shook my head. “An ex-pain in my ass.”

  “Wow. You’ve got it bad, Alissa.”

  “It’s just Liss,” I muttered, trying to ignore her comment and its stupid fucking accuracy. I was busting my ass here, trying to maintain a level of courtesy otherwise alien to me, and that kind of negativity wasn’t helpful. I already knew I was pathetic; she didn’t need to call me out on it.

  But the girl beamed like I’d tossed her a hundred-dollar bill instead of allowing her to address me by a shortened version of my name. Clearly, I was more of an asshole than I’d realized.

  “Call me Liv,” she offered in return.

  “I’ll call you something a lot more colorful if you ever say anything like that to me again, Liv.” I threw her a pointed look, and she held up her palms, grinning.

  “Okay. Okay. It’s a sore subject. I get it.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Yeah?”

  Some of the mirth gleaming in her eyes dissipated, and she glanced away briefly. Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug as she swung her head back. “Sure. I don’t mind sharing in the interests of getting to know each other. Want the whole nine yards, or the cliff notes version?”

  I cocked my head and raised my brows. “I feel like you know enough about me to guess which.”

  Her head drew back a little as she laughed and tucked her legs under her body. “Cliff notes, it is.”

  I widened my eyes. “Would you look at how much we’ve bonded?”

  “I knew we’d be friends, Liss. You’re just a little stubborn. Anyway, short story… I’ve been in love with my next-door neighbor, a guy named Matt, since I was seven years old. He’s a year older, but he finally noticed me when my twin sister started dating his friend. We dated for a couple of years, and they were probably the best two years of my life. Then he went to college, stumbled along sorority row, and the rest, as they say, is history. That was last spring. I’d like to say I’m over him, but… it’s a work in progress.”

  She squeezed her hands together in her lap and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  I blinked. “Sounds like a dick. Want me to have him killed for you? I could.”

  Her lips spread out into a wide smile. “You know, there is a rumor going around that you’re an assassin or have mob connections.”r />
  My smile mirrored hers. “Who says it’s a rumor?”

  “Then I better not tell you to kill Matt. He’s a big jerk, and he hurt me, but…”

  I nodded and looked down, picking a stray piece of lint off the comforter. “Yep,” I agreed quietly.

  But…

  Leon and I didn’t have anywhere near the history Liv and Matt did. We were barely even a thing. I should have long since repressed the memory of that kiss.

  I shouldn’t think about him. I shouldn’t want to look at his social media. I shouldn’t want to know what he was doing; how he was doing. I shouldn’t want to stab holes in the obviously fake boobs of every girl who’d put their hands on him over the past few months.

  I shouldn’t care at all.

  But… I did.

  FIFTEEN

  LISS

  Being home for the holidays after experiencing the sweet freedom of college was probably like escaping prison, then being dragged back in handcuffs kicking and screaming a few days later. Christmas had been quiet, just the three of us, but Riley came home for a few days, so I visited with her and her mom.

  By New Year’s Eve, I was about ready to ditch the whole scene. My mom had been acting strange the whole time I’d been home. My Aunt Bree and her husband Jim were coming in from West Virginia. Their flight had arrived ahead of time, and my mom was running around the kitchen like a basket case, putting some kind of feast together. Bella, who was the same as ever, except even more of an asshole, had gone to a friend’s house for a birthday party for a couple of hours and I was glad for the reprieve. She’d be back with her sunny personality and pleasant conversation soon enough.

  And I’d holed up inside the house and refused to leave, lest I bump into anyone I didn’t want to see; someone I might accidentally throat punch for being a philandering man whore and mind invader. Since violence wasn’t in keeping with the season, I’d decided to remove temptation.

  I glanced up from the kitchen table, cereal spoon halfway to my lips, when my mom made a low sound of frustration. “Everything okay, Mom? Do you need my help?”

  She stood with her back to me, her blonde hair swaying around her neck as she shook her head and stared down at an open binder laying on the counter.

  “I can’t find the recipe for Grams’ oatmeal cookies. I know I wrote it down. I know I did. I wrote them all down and put them in this binder.” She dropped her hands and snatched up the binder, rifling through the collection of papers again, her movements agitated. Then she spun to face me, her delicate features drawn tight. “Did you take it out? Did you move it?”

  My eyebrows descended over my eyes as I placed my spoon back into the bowl with a soft clink. “No.” I rose to my feet. “I didn’t move it. What even is that?”

  I frowned and stepped toward her, taking the folder from her hands. My confusion mounted as I flicked through the pages. Recipes. Dozens of them. Mixed Bean Chilli. Red Velvet Cake. Spaghetti and Meatballs. She’d been making this stuff for years without a recipe. She knew them by heart. Her grandmother taught her when she was a kid.

  My narrowed gaze travelled back to my mom. “Why are you so worked up about this? Why do you even need these?”

  Pale blue eyes cut to mine, and my mom blinked a few times. The motion seemed to clear her gaze, and she ran the tips of her fingers over her forehead. “Just in case I forget.”

  The crease between my brows deepened. “Why do you need it now, though? You know how to make Grandma’s cookies.”

  She gave a heavy sigh, gaze shifting. “Liss. There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. Bree will be here soon; it’ll be better if we wait for her.”

  My heart gave a strange jolt at the look in her eyes, unease trickling up my spine. Whatever it was, it wasn’t easy for her to say. I ran the tip of my tongue between my lips before tucking it back inside. “What do you want to talk about, Mom?”

  “Bree will be—”

  “I don’t want to wait for Bree,” I cut her off, only noticing that the edges of the binder were cutting into my palm when a sharp pain shot up my arm. “Just tell me now.”

  She inhaled and exhaled slowly, then lowered herself into a chair. “A while ago, I started forgetting things. Words, names. Routine tasks. Simple things that I did day in, day out without thought.” She dropped her eyes to the table-top and swiped a hand over the small collection of crumbs that had accumulated. “I’d put things away in random places and not remember where. Struggle to keep up with conversations. I brushed it off, put it down to stress, tiredness, getting older. But then I made a pretty big error at work and a customer filed a complaint. When the manager brought it up, she mentioned that a few colleagues had raised concerns about my work.”

  My chest vibrated with each rapid thud of my heart as little incidents came back to me. Bella’s dance class, the post-it note pinned by the washing machine, Mom repeating questions she’d already said. My eyes trailed to the large notice board above the table, with its array of lists, schedules, reminders, letters; dates highlighted in yellow. The binder in my hand, with its recipes.

  “So, I saw some doctors. They initially dismissed it, the same way I had. But it got worse, to the point I knew something was wrong. Eventually, they ran some tests, and I underwent screening.” She cleared her throat. “They finally diagnosed—”

  “Diagnosed?” The word wheezed from me, my brain spinning. A diagnosis meant an illness. It meant something was wrong with her. A heavy weight settled on my chest, my lungs stalling as I blinked at her.

  She tipped her head to the side with a small nod. “I have Alzheimer’s disease, Liss.”

  “Alzheimer’s?” I parroted, frowning. “That’s…” I shook my head. “Isn’t that something that affects elderly people?”

  “It’s much more common in older people, but it can affect younger people, too.” She held my gaze, hers somber.

  “That’s crazy,” I scoffed, jerking my head side to side, convinced there’d been some kind of mistake. She was only forty-six years old. She couldn’t have Alzheimer’s disease.

  “It’s known as young onset when it affects people under sixty-five.”

  Young onset? I stared at her, trying to wrap my mind around what she was telling me. “So, what does that mean for you? What happens now?”

  She placed her palm to her chest, her fingers rubbing the soft fabric of her cornflower blue sweater. “I’ve learned to live with it for now, Liss. I’ve been able to modify my role at work, so I can continue working for a while longer. I’ll keep to my usual routine as much as possible until—”

  She paused, looking away, and a dull ache formed between my brows. I reached up and pressed two fingertips into the space to try to ease it. “Until?”

  Her hand closed around mine. “It’s a degenerative disease, honey. My memory will continue to deteriorate over time; my mental ability, cognitive function, all of it. I won’t be able to do a lot of the things I used to.”

  Pain erupted across my forehead, and I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling. “Okay. Okay.” I opened my eyes and met her gaze. “So, how do we fix it? Is there a pill, treatment, or…?”

  The edges of her lips contorted into a sad smile, and my heart sank at the pained expression on her face. “I’m on medication, which is helping to alleviate some of the symptoms… but it won’t stop the progression, Liss. There’s no treatment,” she said, her voice fading to a whisper, “Alzheimer’s disease is incurable.”

  Incurable.

  My eyes widened, and the folder dropped to the floor with a short clatter as understanding dawned. I backed up a step, my lower back bumping into the counter. “You’ll die from it, won’t you?”

  She pushed up from the table and took hold of my shoulders. “We don’t need to worry about that right now. People live full lives for years, Liss.”

  “How many years? How long until you forget everything?”

  Moisture pooled in her eyes and her head dipped to the side.
r />   My throat clogged. I swallowed three times and couldn’t clear it. “How long, Mom?”

  Pain radiated from her eyes. “It differs from one person to the next, Liss. I’m still in the relatively early stages. I could have another eight to ten years.”

  Eight to ten years?

  My stomach rolled, a void opening up inside my chest and swallowing my heart whole. Because she’d said that like it was a good thing. Like that was the best we could hope for.

  Eight to ten years.

  It wasn’t enough.

  My head throbbed, and I pulled out of her grip, driving my fingers through my hair, trying to quell the uprising of what felt like an angry mob of questions and fears. My heart was beating too fast for my brain to keep up. I closed my eyes, trying to count the beats, but I didn’t even know where to begin.

  I ground my teeth as my vision spun, looking for an escape from the emotion threatening to suffocate me, and then my fists flexed as a surge of irrational anger flooded my veins. Somewhere deep down I knew it wasn’t the right reaction to have, but I couldn’t seem to figure out how the fuck to feel, and this one came easiest.

  My foot snagged the edge of the binder on the floor when I shifted, pulling my gaze down.

  She couldn’t remember how to bake fucking cookies.

  I never cared about the cookies. Didn’t even like them. But I wanted my mother to be able to fucking bake them. She wasn’t even fifty, for fuck’s sake. How could she have Alzheimer’s disease? How could she be facing the prospect of forgetting everything? It was fucking crazy.

  And she hadn’t told me. She’d written her notes and recipes and instructions and reminders, but she’d known, and she hadn’t fucking said anything to me. She’d let me go on living in a bubble of ignorance, knowing my life was going to blast apart. Knowing she wouldn’t know my goddamn name in ten years or less.

  “You don’t even know how to make cookies.” The words seethed from me, a bitterness I failed to disguise spilling into the air between us. It swirled like a black cloud, poisoning my mind. My head came up, and I fixed my hardened glare on my mom’s pale face. “What dance class does Bella take, Mom?”