The Rivals - Vi Keeland Page 0,62

his chest and traced the length of the faint scar on his abdomen.

“You said this was from a kidney surgery, right?”

Weston stroked my hair gently. “Yeah, the testing for this surgery was actually the day after our prom.”

“It was? I don’t remember you mentioning anything about an upcoming surgery.”

“We didn’t do so much talking on prom night, if I remember correctly.”

Thinking back, I smiled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. What was wrong that you needed surgery?”

Weston was quiet for a moment. “Nothing. I donated a kidney to Caroline.”

I turned my head to look at him, propping my chin on my hands. “Oh, wow. I had no idea. That’s amazing.”

Weston shrugged it off. “Not really. Three years after the transplant, she started showing signs of rejection. At first, we thought she had the flu. But it wasn’t. The doctors tried to stop it by giving her immunosuppressants, but all that did was weaken her immune system. She struggled with being sick off and on for years. Eventually, she died from an infection because the antirejection drugs she was taking for my shitty kidney made her susceptible to so many things.”

I felt an ache in my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault.”

Of course it wasn’t. But something told me he did place blame on someone. “You know it’s not your fault either, right?”

Weston looked away. “Sure.”

“No.” I touched his chin and tilted his face back in my direction. “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

“I had one job in life, to make my sister healthy. And I couldn’t even do that.”

I searched his face. He was dead serious. Shaking my head, I said, “It wasn’t your job to make Caroline healthy. I think it’s incredible that you donated a kidney. But I’m sure you did it because you loved her, not because you felt obligated to.”

Weston scoffed. “No, Soph. It was my job. I’m a savior baby.”

My brows drew together. “A savior baby?”

He nodded. “Caroline was diagnosed at a year old. My parents conceived me through in vitro fertilization. Only zygotes that were genetically compatible to my sister and free of all genetic diseases were implanted into my mother. I was a walking inventory of spare parts.”

My mouth hung open. “Are you serious?”

“Three bone marrow transplant donations and a kidney.”

I had no idea what to say. “That’s…that’s…”

Weston smiled sadly. “Fucked up. I know. But it is what it is. I honestly didn’t think anything of it growing up. When my sister was sick, I had to stay in, too. I thought my mother was just nervous that I’d bring germs into the house and make Caroline sicker.” He shook his head. “But she wanted to make sure I didn’t get sick so if my sister needed another transplant, I’d be healthy.”

“You and Caroline always seemed so close. I remember seeing you walk home from school together and studying in the library all the time. I was always kind of jealous of your relationship with her because all I had was my dumbass half-brother.”

“We were close. I loved Caroline more than I loved myself. If there had been a way for me to be the sick one, instead of her, I would’ve changed places with her in a heartbeat. She was an amazing person.”

I tasted salt in my throat. “That’s beautiful. It really is. But that shows you didn’t help Caroline because it was your job; you did it out of love.”

Weston looked at me. He seemed to search my eyes before speaking again. “When I was born, my grandfather put five-million dollars into an account for me. I thought he did that for all of his grandchildren. The night of Caroline’s funeral, I found out I was the only one with that kind of a trust fund. He’d set it up to compensate me for being Caroline’s donor.”

I blew out a ragged breath. “That’s screwed up.”

“My mother calls me twice a year—on Caroline’s birthday and the anniversary of her death. She hasn’t called me on my birthday in ten years.”

“God, Weston.”

He smiled and brushed a hand over my hair. “You thought your family was fucked up? They don’t hold a candle, sweetheart.”

I thought about how he’d gone on a downward spiral after his sister’s death. What he’d just shared made the reasons so much clearer.

I dropped a tender kiss above his heart. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Not for your loss—although obviously I’m sorry for that, too. But I’m sorry I judged you for so many years