Page 98 of Fighting Chance

I shrug innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She all but rolls her eyes as she turns and opens the door, revealing Layla’s bedroom.

I can’t help but suck in a sharp hiss of air.

“It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? She’s managed to cram a book into every free space available.” Charlotte leans over, whispering conspiratorially, “There’s another mountain of books in the attic.”

“Extraordinary doesn’t begin to cover it,” I whisper, awe coating my voice as I step inside what feels like a library.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, a double bed crammed in the middle, but even the bedframe has shelves along the bottom, floating shelves mounted above. The spines are well loved, cracks and creases in almost all of them, and there’s small figurines and decorations neatly and precariously placed throughout.

“It’s just so evident,” I say.

“What is?”

“The love and care she has for her books. I’ve never been able to articulate the love I have for hockey but if I could, it would be this.” My eyes are tracking everything, taking in every miniscule detail. It’s allher. This is Layla’s heart laid bare.

“She’s very special,” I hear Charlotte whisper.

“Very,” I agree.

Feeling eyes on my back, I turn to find Momma Bear Carson leaning against the doorframe, taking me in. I can tell she wants to ask. What boss shows up asking for their employee’s favorite books? But she doesn’t, and I don’t push her to.

“You know, I never said thank you for what you did while she was away.”

The seriousness of her expression, the gratitude in her eyes, ones so similar to her daughter’s, makes me rip mine away and toward the spines as I try to figure out which one is Layla’s most loved book.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do.” She sighs, with weariness, not frustration. “My husband and I don’t know how to repay?—”

Turning to Charlotte. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I repeat, “but if I did, I’d swear on my heart and on Emmy’s that you don’t need to repay a single cent.”

Her lower lip wobbles, her eyes turning glassy. “But it?—”

“Helped,” I cut in. “Ananonymousdonor helped.”

Even Grayson doesn’t know what I did.

Doesn’t know that one day I overheard Bella pushing Layla for information until she cracked and broke down over the phonethat her parents were going to take out a second mortgage on their house to help pay for her treatment in Berlin. That it wasn’t just their retirement they were giving up.

I knew in that moment, in that split second of hearing her desperation and heartache over her parents’ sacrifice, that I had to do something.

Layla’s parents are everything I prayed about having. Every night I’d wish that a lovely couple would come into the foster home, take one look at me, and say,Him. We love him.

To hear such adoring, kind-hearted people suffer, to hear them so willingly put themselves at financial risk…it was a shock to me that people like that even existed.

I couldn’t let their love ruin them.

It’s beautiful, but a secret nonetheless.

“I knew it was you the moment Layla called and said she was selected to receive the funds she did.” Her smile is full of warmth and something else—a mother’s knowing. “That, and all it took was one call to the university to find out there was never an anonymous donor randomly selecting those in the treatment to cover their plan.” She laughs. “My sweet daughter is very naïve sometimes, but I am not.”

I shrug, my heart beating wildly. “Again, I don’t?—”

“Know what I’m talking about.” She smiles at me, finishing my sentence. “Well, if you did, my husband and I—” She chokes on her words before standing taller and giving me a watery smile. “We’re grateful beyond words and we don’t take their generosity lightly. Whoever they are, they’re very special to have done what they did and not take credit.”

My cheeks heat.