Chapter 31 – Clay
“Where is she?” I demand as I race into the emergency room and am greeted by Chief Hollister who holds out his hands, trying to calm me from attacking the triage nurse.
“She’s in a room, being assessed. They think it was an acute flare.”
“I don’t understand. An acute flare of what? What happened?”
He takes a step back, assessing me carefully. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?”
Now I’m furious.
“TELL ME WHAT?!” I shout, my voice booming across the emergency department.
Heads whip in my direction, and one of the nurses shoots me a warning glare, but I meet her stare with fire. I don’t care about any of these people and their opinions of me.
I only care about Maggie.
“Where the hell is my girlfriend, and what’s going on?” I growl, my voice low and dangerous now.
Chief Hollister shakes his head, looking at me with an expression that I despise—pity.
It drags me back to the day I stood here for Savannah after her accident, the day her parents and I found out about her affair.
The same helplessness bubbles up inside of me, the same desire to tear everything apart, burn down the world, if someone doesn’t give me answers now.
“Sir, please take a seat before we call security. You can see Ms. Hollister in about twenty minutes, once the doctor’s finished speaking with her,” the triage nurse says, her voice calm but firm.
Chief Hollister places a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, son. Let’s talk. I’d hate to have you be escorted out of here when Maggie needs both of our support right now.”
Even though my instincts scream for answers, for action, I let him guide me to a chair in the waiting area.
I sit heavily, my leg bouncing with nervous energy as he sits across from me, his hands folding and unfolding in his lap.
My eyes shift towards the hallway where patients are taken back.
If he doesn't give me answers soon, I'm bolting and finding her myself.
Finally, he exhales a long breath and looks me square in the eyes. “Maggie has lupus.”
I blink. “Okay…” The word feels hollow in my mouth, but I know what lupus is.
An autoimmune disease. A condition. I’ve heard the term before, but it doesn’t compute—not when it’s Maggie that we’re talking about.
Not when we're talking about the woman that I've fallen in love with. Vibrant, happy, healthy, Maggie.
“She manages it well. Has routine blood work done, exercises, eats appropriately, manages her stress. But the specific type of lupus that she has can affect multiple organs and systems, causing them to break down over time.”
“Ok…”
“It looks like her kidneys have been damaged because of the disease,” Chief Hollister explains, his voice steady but grim. “She’s had an acute flare-up, and the doctors are assessing her for end-stage renal disease.”
My chest tightens. “What does that mean?”
He leans back in his chair, locking eyes with me. “It means she’s going to need to be placed on dialysis until she can get a kidney transplant. Her kidneys are only functioning at about ten percent.”
I inhale sharply, dropping my face into my hands. “No”. This can’t be happening. I roll my head in my palms, trying to wipe away this morning.
“No,” I say again, my voice quieter but firmer this time. “She’s way too young for dialysis.”
His hand settles on my shoulder, grounding me in the moment. “It’s not a death sentence. With a transplant, she could go on to live a full life with no further complications.”
“Then let’s get her a new kidney,” I snap, desperation creeping into my voice.
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. Finding a match takes time, and there’s no guarantee there will be an available donor right away.”
I’m still in shock, still trying to process this. The nurse reappears at that moment, breaking the heavy silence.
“You can go see Ms. Hollister now, Mr. Cameron.”
Chief Hollister stays seated, fixing me with a steady gaze. “Go ahead. I’ll give you two sometime to talk.”
I follow the nurse down the hall, my steps feeling heavier with each one. When I enter Maggie’s room, she’s turned away from the door, staring out the window with a sad expression across her face.
Seeing her like this—so small and fragile in that hospital bed—is a gut punch. Just this morning, she’d looked so peaceful in my bed, full of life, healthy and now... this. The contrast stings and I realize I must have missed the signs.
Was it the way she often rubbed her wrists as if they were aching?
Was it the days she mentioned her shoes not fitting properly because of swelling?
Maggie never complained. I never noticed her pain, and the realization that she’s been keeping this from me hurts.
I’ve opened up to her about everything over these past two months—my mother, my reasons for picking up fighting, my insecurities and fears around always appearing happy in this town, my ambitions and dreams. But she’d kept this from me, hiding something so huge that greatly impacts her life until it’s forced to come out in the most painful way possible, and it hurts that she didn’t trust me with this more than I want to admit.
It’s a forceful reminder of just how differently we see each other’s roles in our lives.
Have I not made it clear that I’m here for her, no matter what?
But maybe I’m pointing fingers in the wrong direction. Maybe it’s me she didn’t trust enough to open to.
That thought stings.
I perch on the edge of the bed, and though I know she’s aware of my presence, she doesn’t turn to face me.
“I thought it was just the usual symptoms,” she says, her voice soft and heavy.
“The doctor said it can feel like that—just general fatigue, feeling unwell. I had some swelling last night while I was working at the hospital, but that happens sometimes. I take all my meds, I’ve been going to that new Pilates studio and working out, eating right…
but no matter what I do, my kidneys are still failing. ”
She finally turns toward me, and the look on her face shatters me—a sadness so deep it makes me want to change everything, to fix it all for her.
“I had dreams, you know,” her voice wavers as she looks down.
“After my mom died, my dad always said, ‘Set goals, make plans so that you have something to look forward to; so that you don’t get stuck thinking about what you’ve lost.’ So, I did.
But then, this autoimmune condition blindsided me as a teenager, and I had to set new goals, new dreams—just to keep going.
But Clay…” Her voice cracks as a tear slips down her cheek, and my hand instinctively reaches out, wiping it away.
“I’m so fucking tired of setting dreams I may never reach. ”
“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. This isn’t the end. We’re going to figure this out. Your dad said you can get a donor.” I pull her into my chest as she chokes out a sob, and then I feel it—the warm, wet tears soaking into my shirt as she weeps against me while I hold her.
“I’m sorry for not telling you,” she sobs.
“I was supposed to leave for school in a week, and now… I’ll be here in the hospital, starting on dialysis.
I won’t finish my program. I won’t get the job I’ve been dreaming of.
I’ll just be…” She pulls back, her face streaked with tears, her hair sticking to her cheeks.
I carefully tuck the strands behind her ear as she exhales shakily.
“I’ll just be the sick girl again. A burden to my dad.
I barely even remember my mom, but I wish she were here.
I know she’d be a comfort. But I don’t even have that. ”
“Stop. Don’t talk like that,” I say softly. “You still have your future. You still have me.”
She shakes her head and turns toward the window.
“You know, I always wanted to be a mom. I know I’m young—probably too young by most people’s standards—but my mom was twenty-one years old when she had me and that was a dream of mine,” she sighs heavily.
“And now, the doctor says there’s only a one percent chance I’ll be able to get pregnant while on dialysis.
” Her voice drops lower as she shakes her head, “Guess there’s another dream I’ll have to give up. ”
My heart clenches as I listen. She’s always been so full of life, and now, everything feels… fragile.
She turns back to me, eyes searching my face.
“I didn’t keep this from you to hurt you, Clay.
I didn’t want to feel like I needed to rely on anyone.
I just wanted to feel… normal. To be a woman, not someone you had to take care of.
To be strong and independent in my own right.
But I knew if I told you, you’d look at me like this.
” She gestures toward my face, and I know she’s right.
I’m looking at her with fear, with sorrow now—but I can’t help it.
Because I love her. And I can’t live without her.
And this… this is tearing me apart.