Tally’s right. I still have my mother. While the bonding has been sorely lacking, there’s a chance for us to make up for what we’ve missed. The prospect rests on my ability to rouse her from the coma I unwittingly placed her in at birth.

Tally nudges me. “Did you want me to go in with you?”

My hand’s frozen on the hospital room door. All the adrenaline-fueled confidence I gained from speed walking across the parking lot was lost during the short elevator ride to the third floor. What if I squib? “Nah, I’m cool. Thanks, though.”

Tally’s the last person in the world I want to witness me fail. I wouldn’t go so far as to say her opinion is the new defining light of my existence, but she has as much emotional stability riding on the outcome as I do. I could let all three of us down. Is a hat-trick loss a thing, or is that strictly for wins? Loser in triplicate suits.

Finally getting the nerve to enter the room, I shut the door swiftly. Hospital security policies don’t allow the added benefit of a lock, which would award me more time to collect my thoughts, develop a game plan, and initiate a flawless victory. As it is, my extended family let me leave the house with Tally, but they won’t be far behind us. Tally’s divestiture in the parking lot used up any preparation leeway. Predictable.

My mother is lying detached from reality. The air around me feels more alive than she does, and that’s really saying something, as it’s antiseptic heavy. Hmm. That’s probably why I haven’t attached a scent to her despite her being a Sumair. I wonder what she smells like outside this place. Cinnamon like me?

I clench my fists at the same moment my traitorous tears spill from my eyes. I’d give anything for Supermom to dole out one of her chiding go-ahead statements or tell me to leave well enough alone, but she’s been suspiciously radio silent since Mom OG last opened her eyes. Correlation? Likely. Is Supermom being purposely silent, or did I disrupt her flow? If she’s invoked a communication embargo as punishment, I can live with that. Losing her entirely? Not okay. If I misfire, I may lose them both. Yeah, I’m labeling this one problem number one.

Problem number two is more theoretical. I’ve already decided I don’t have a margin for running disaster scenarios, but there’s one thing I do need to narrow down. How will I convince the shell of my mother it wants to be used again? It wasted no time evicting her.

I shake out my hands, where clenching them was causing cramps. No firework fingers. Problem number three is my fire fuel reserve. It’s resting on the heavy side of empty. How will I succeed without the needed energy to get her motor running? I’ll give her all I’ve got. Fingers crossed, it’ll be enough.

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Problem number four is moot. It’s how this augmentation will affect me. Ryan would give me his most forlorn frown for calling that problem moot. Sorry, Ryan. Time’s ticking here. Regardless of the potential dangers to me, it’s my duty to help her. I’m the only one who can.

Look, I’m not overcome by a childish notion we’ll find a happily-ever-after-family-forever if this works. I’m not naïve enough to believe that’s possible. I do realize, however, caring for someone with every available resource stops one’s brain from functioning logically. My loyalties are directly related to a single person. Remember those heartstrings I mentioned earlier? About how we shouldn’t let them lead us around like a puppeteer? Guess I’m dutifully discarding my own guidance. Good job, me.

There’s a split second, barely enough to register, I literally feel my fear become something greater. I’ve never been overly fond of interaction, but my disassociation stemmed from my need to protect people. I’ve made it this far by being selfless, and attempting to help my mother, irrespective of my role in putting her in the coma, is totally selfish. No one matters except her. If I can’t save her, the fate of everyone and everything is irrelevant.

I place my palms on either side of her pale, motionless face and let go of all the pent-up feelings I’ve trapped inside my tinder heart. All my anger for her absence, my guilt for sending her away, my hope for her return, my love for my father and my newfound friends and family…for Derry. I let her have it, content to give it all to her. I mean to give her every piece of me, anything she needs to find the strength to pull herself together.

When her topaz eyes lock on mine, my hands shake. Her immediate terror lashes like a thousand internal whips. There’s no instant recognition of family ties, only a helpless wheezing sound, a body thrashing beneath me, and unadulterated fear. She thinks I’m killing her again.

Tears splash onto my vibrating arms, hissing as they connect with my heated skin. Both of us are bound to burn if she can’t take what I’m offering her. My life has been segmented into choices, each having its own horrifically unappealing finality. Exactly how many times can one person be solely responsible for the life or death of another while still swearing lack of intent? I’m killing her if I do nothing, killing her if the reconnect backfires, and she might not survive if the connection succeeds.

I need the end. I can think of no more penitent act than trading my life for the one she’s selflessly given me. This outlandishly off-key song, strummed by the fingers of fate on my brittle, out-of-tune heartstrings, is not a victorious melody. It is failure’s fiery snake, feeding from the boiling blood in my veins, and with every dissipated tear falling from my eyes, the weaker part of me begs for it to consume me.

Time slows to savor the exchange at play. A life for a life. I’m flying through the air, time stopping completely when my body meets the wall with the propelling force of a battering ram. My shield of indifference is obliterated. My emotions are exposed, raw, and unforgiving. I welcome the thick, black blanket of unconsciousness. With any luck, it’ll suffocate me.