Chapter 2
After Logan had calmed me, I dragged myself upstairs, feeling as if every ounce of energy had been drained from my body.
I collapsed onto the bed, the familiar scent of the sheets a bitter reminder of how long it had been since I’d actually slept here.
The door was ajar, and just as I kicked off my shoes, I heard the soft creak of it opening wider.
Easton stepped inside, his presence both unexpected and grounding. “Joey, where is Dad?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.
I sighed, too exhausted to do anything more than mumble, “He went to a dinner.”
Easton’s weight caused the mattress to dip as he sat beside me. “A dinner? He’s fucking sick,” he said, disbelief coloring his words.
I buried my face in the pillow, muffling the sound of my frustration. “I tried to tell him that. Vaughn went with him,” I muttered, knowing it was a weak reassurance at best.
“Christ,” Easton groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “He is the worst fucking patient.”
I turned over to face him, the raw truth bubbling up inside me. “Easton, he’s dying.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unchangeable. Easton lowered his head, his shoulders slumping under the weight of our shared grief. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I never expected to be an orphan at this age.”
The vulnerability in his voice hit me like a punch to the gut. We had always been the strong ones, the ones who didn’t show weakness. But here, in the quiet of my room, with the truth laid bare between us, there was no point in pretending anymore.
I swallowed hard, feeling the confession rise in my throat like bile. “I love him, Easton,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “I fell in love with him.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Easton took my hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I know,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I see how you look at him. There was a time my mother looked at him that way.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if he had just confirmed what I had been too afraid to admit even to myself. The realization that he understood, that he didn’t judge me for loving Colson was a small comfort in the midst of all this pain.
“Easton,” I began, my voice trembling, “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to watch him die.”
Easton shifted closer, wrapping an arm around me. “We’re all here with you,” he said firmly.
His words, his unwavering support, gave me the strength I didn’t know I had left. I rested my head against his shoulder, letting his warmth seep into me, and for the first time in days, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could survive this.
The clock seemed to mock me as I sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through channels with the remote.
Nothing held my attention, not the dramas, not the news, not even the mindless reality shows.
I was too restless, too worried, every nerve in my body on high alert as I waited for Colson to return.
I knew it had been foolish to let him go.
He wasn’t strong enough, no matter how much he insisted otherwise.
The image of him faltering as he dressed in that damn suit haunted me, his hands shaking as he buttoned up his shirt, the effort it took just to stand.
I couldn’t stop him, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t terrified.
The sound of the front door closing downstairs made my heart leap into my throat.
I muted the television, straining to hear anything—voices, footsteps, anything that would tell me he was okay.
Moments later, the door to our room opened, and Vaughn stepped inside, practically carrying Colson.
The sight of him, so pale and exhausted, made my heart clench with fear.
“Joey,” Vaughn said softly, nodding to me as he guided Colson to the bed.
I rushed to them, my hands trembling as I took Colson’s arm, helping him sit down. He was so weak, so utterly drained. The powerful man I had always known was slipping away right before my eyes.
“Vaughn,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “thank you.”
He gave me a somber nod before leaving us alone. I could hear him softly closing the door behind him, and the room seemed to shrink, filled with the heavy silence of our shared fear.
“Colson,” I whispered, crouching in front of him. He looked at me, his blue eyes clouded with exhaustion and pain. “You shouldn’t have gone.”
He tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “Had to… couldn’t let him see weakness.”
I shook my head, tears threatening to spill. “This isn’t about showing weakness. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
His hand moved to my cheek, the touch so light it was almost as if he was afraid he’d break me. “Joey, I’m okay. Just… tired.”
I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t. “Let me help you get undressed,” I murmured, my voice thick with worry.
Colson didn’t protest. He was too tired to argue. As I unbuttoned his shirt, my fingers brushed over the gaunt lines of his chest, the sharp edges of his ribs. He had lost weight in such a short time. It terrified me.
I eased his shirt off, then helped him out of his trousers, every movement slow and deliberate.
He was a shadow of the man I had fallen in love with, and it broke me to see him like this.
When he was finally undressed, I guided him into bed, pulling the covers up around him, trying to offer some semblance of comfort.
He turned on his side, facing me, and I did the same, lying down next to him. I reached out, cupping his face in my hand, my thumb brushing over his cheek. “Colson,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of my fear, “I’m so scared.”
His eyes searched mine, filled with a sadness that cut me to the bone. “Of what, Joey?”
Tears blurred my vision, but I forced myself to keep looking at him, to say the words that had been clawing at me for days. “I’m scared you won’t live to see our baby born.”
The tears came then, hot and uncontrollable, spilling down my cheeks. Colson’s hand moved to wipe them away, his thumb gently brushing over my skin. “Joey,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, “don’t cry, please.”
But I couldn’t stop. The fear, the helplessness, it all poured out of me. “I can’t do this without you,” I choked out, my body trembling as I tried to hold him closer, to keep him with me for as long as I could.
Colson pulled me into him, his arms weak but still trying to offer comfort. He whispered against my hair. “And I’ll fight to be here, I promise you that.”
His words were a balm to my broken heart, but they didn’t erase the gnawing worry that he was pushing himself too hard, that he was hastening the inevitable. I held onto him, afraid that if I let go, even for a second, he would slip away from me.
We stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, until exhaustion finally claimed us both.
And as I drifted off to sleep, my tears still wet on my cheeks, I clung to the hope that somehow, some way, Colson would find the strength to stay with me, to meet our child, and to hold on just a little longer.
I woke several times throughout the night, each time reaching out instinctively for Colson.
My fingers sought his, finding comfort in the simple act of holding his hand.
He was here, with me, and for those fleeting moments, the fear receded.
When morning finally came, I stirred to the sight of him sitting at his desk, his back to me.
“What are you doing?” I mumbled, my voice still thick with sleep.
He glanced over his shoulder, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just checking the contract for the Svensen deal. Everything seems to be in order.”
I blinked away the remnants of sleep, focusing on him. He looked better—there was a touch of color in his cheeks that hadn’t been there the night before. Relief washed over me, and I pushed the covers aside, stretching my arms above my head. My t-shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of my belly.
Colson’s eyes zeroed in on that strip of bare skin, and I saw the shift in his expression—the sharp, predatory gleam that sent a shiver down my spine. He stood up from the desk with deliberate slowness, his gaze never leaving me.
“You’re beautiful in the morning,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.
I couldn’t help but chuckle as he approached, crawling onto the bed with a feline grace, like a predator stalking its prey. The intensity in his eyes made my heart race, a familiar thrill mixed with concern.
“Colson,” I said softly, placing a hand on his chest as he reached for the waistband of my panties, his fingers teasing the edge, “you need to save your strength.”
His lips curled into a seductive smile, his voice a husky whisper as he leaned closer, “Don’t deny me, Josephine.”
His words sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I felt my resolve weaken. The way he looked at me, the raw need in his eyes, was impossible to resist. But beneath the desire, worry gnawed at me. He was pushing himself, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him overexerting his fragile body.
“Colson,” I whispered, trying to sound firm, but my voice betrayed me, trembling with the same longing that filled his eyes.
He didn’t answer with words; instead, he captured my lips in a kiss that left me breathless.
His hands were gentle, yet insistent, as they roamed my body, rekindling a fire that had been dimmed by fear and uncertainty.
I knew I should stop him, but every touch, every kiss, eroded my resistance until I was lost in him, in us.
His fingers trailed down my side, sending shivers in their wake, and I found myself arching into him, surrendering to the moment. “Josephine,” he breathed against my neck, “let me have this. Let me have you.”
His plea, so filled with desire and something deeper, something almost desperate, broke whatever was left of my resolve. I cupped his face in my hands, looking into his eyes—those eyes that held me captive from the very beginning.
“I’m yours, Colson,” I whispered back, the words carrying all the love, fear, and need I felt for him.
He smiled then, a slow, satisfied smile, before claiming me again, his touch, his kiss, making me forget everything but him.
In that moment, there was no sickness, no fear of the future—only the two of us, lost in each other.
And as he moved above me, I held onto him, praying silently that we would have more moments like this, more mornings, more time.
Life settled into a delicate balance, a fragile rhythm we clung to as we navigated Colson’s illness.
We kept the truth from the staff, though I was certain they noticed the changes.
His once-powerful frame had grown thinner, his presence less commanding.
He worked shorter days, and I could see the curiosity in their eyes, the unspoken questions that hung in the air whenever Colson walked through AFC, his steps slower than before.
We tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy, slipping into the routines we had before, but it was impossible to ignore the way things had changed. On the days Colson had treatments, he returned home utterly drained, his usual vitality replaced by an exhaustion so deep it terrified me.
I’d help him to bed, where he’d collapse without a word, his breathing labored as he fell into a heavy, restless sleep. The following day, he would often need to sleep well into the afternoon, his body demanding the rest it needed to recover.
One evening, after a particularly grueling day of treatment, I sat beside him on the bed, watching as he struggled to stay awake.
The lamp cast a soft glow over his face, accentuating the hollows of his cheeks, the paleness of his skin.
He looked like a shadow of the man he used to be, and it broke my heart.
“Colson,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You should rest.”
He shook his head weakly, his eyes half-open. “I’m fine, Joey,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… give me a minute.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know you’re tired.”
His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, I thought he’d fallen asleep. But then he spoke again, his words slurred with exhaustion. “I hate this, Josephine. I hate feeling weak… I hate that you have to see me like this.”
I reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m here because I love you, not because I expect you to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let go, Colson. It’s okay to rest.”
He sighed, his grip on my hand tightening for a moment before loosening again. “I don’t want you to worry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I don’t want you to see how scared I am.”
Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them away, forcing a smile. “You don’t have to hide how you feel. We’ll get through this… one day at a time.”
Colson’s eyes finally opened, and he looked at me with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “I don’t deserve you, Joey,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I don’t deserve how much you love me.”
I leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Yes, you do,” I whispered against his skin. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
He closed his eyes again, his breathing evening out as sleep finally claimed him. I sat there for a long time, watching him, my heart heavy with fear and love. This was our new normal—navigating each day with the knowledge that time was slipping through our fingers.
I knew we couldn’t keep up the charade forever, but as long as Colson wanted to fight, I would fight with him. Even if it meant pretending everything was okay when it was far from it.
When I finally crawled into bed beside him, I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. As I drifted off to sleep, I clung to the hope that we’d have more time, more moments like this, where it was just the two of us against the world.
But deep down, I knew that hope was as fragile as the man lying beside me.