For This Life Only Read Online Free

know that you’re on theright side of things. You always are. You’re the good one, remember?”
    I tried not to sound bitter. I mean, that was the deal with being half of a whole. Most of the time, what you were was in comparison to someone else. If one of us was good, the other was bad, simply by being less good.
    Add to that the lore surrounding the children of ministers—you were either an innocent, naive angel or you were hell spawn, sent to test your parents’ patience and dedication—and our roles were pretty much set. And yeah, okay, I’d made it my mission to make sure that my reputation wasn’t exactly unearned.
    Eli made a frustrated noise and braked to slow down as we crossed the bridge over the creek that ran through Zach’s parents’ land. “But that’s just it. I don’t know if I am. Have you ever . . .” He shook his head. “I guess sometimes I wonder if the—”
    Before he could finish his thought, the car gave a weird but distinct shimmy that made my stomach sink. Having put the car in the ditch once last year, I recognized the sensation instantly: the wheels had lost contact with the road.
    Panic rose over me in a cold rush.
    The moment slowed down to a crawl as we started to slide sideways. The antilock brakes kicked in with a horrible grinding noise, and Eli struggled with the wheel.
    â€œWait,” he said, panicked. “Wait!” I wasn’t sure who he was talking to.
    â€œTurn into it!” I reached, for him, for the wheel. Both, maybe.
    But it was too late for either.
    The back end of the car hit the guardrail with an enormously loud crash of metal on metal, and then the guardrail gave. I felt the lurch of regular gravity retracting, abandoning us to our fate.
    The sound of my heartbeat filled my ears, muting the chattering of the radio and the shriek of tearing metal as the Jeep rolled, turning our world upside down.
    A bright blue umbrella, neatly folded and in its carrying sleeve, flew up from the floor somewhere with a rain of dirt and old receipts. The smell of burning plastic and oil was chokingly thick.
    My body lifted up and out of the seat, in that sickening defiance of physics that felt familiar from roller coasters, and then I was thrown forward and sideways, with no restraint.
    When my elbow connected with the dashboard, I heard a distinct crack. That’s bad. That’s bad!
    And then I caught one last glimpse of Eli, his eyes wide and his face—our face—pale in the dashboard lights, as he spun away from me.

CHAPTER THREE
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    THE BEEPING—DISTINCT, RHYTHMIC, AND from somewhere on my left—came first.
    â€œOkay, Jacob, take it easy,” someone said, the voice low and soothing. “You’re coming out from under the meds, and it’s going to be a little disorienting. But you’re in the hospital, and you’re safe.”
    I didn’t recognize the voice, which scared me, and the beeping sound accelerated.
    â€œThe noise you’re hearing is the heart monitor. Can you open your eyes?” he, the voice, asked, and I realized belatedly that it was dark around me.
    With an effort that felt like swimming up through layers of mud, I tried to blink.
    A sliver of bright light broke through on one side,and I winced, tears running down the right side of my face. But the left side felt puffy and numb.
    I blinked again, managing to keep my eyes . . . my eye open for a few seconds longer. Enough to see my mom, her face chalky white and pinched with worry, holding my hand. Sarah was perched on the plastic-looking recliner with her, watching warily, with Patsie, her worn stuffed dog, in her lap.
    â€œHi, baby,” Mom said, tears filling her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. She squeezed my right hand carefully, avoiding the IV needle stuck in the back of it.
    My dad was at the foot of the bed, his reading glasses pushed up and lost or forgotten in his