Chapter Thirty-Two
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MCKINSEY
W aiting for death is a mind fuck of epic proportions.
I’ve wanted to get out of here since the moment I was admitted.
It’s now been three days, and I’m ready to climb the fucking walls.
My sinuses feel like they’re inflamed from the biopsy.
I’m grumpy and irritable.
No one is safe from my poor attitude. Even those who deserve it least: Draven, Olivia, my nursing staff.
To be honest, everyone has been fucking wonderful.
And I can’t stand it.
I want to talk about what’s happening to me. I want to be able to break things down so I can start figuring out my next steps. But everyone is handling me with kid gloves.
If I try to talk about the future in any capacity, I’m told not to worry. To try to relax and not get too far ahead of myself until we get some answers.
I can’t handle lying in wait. But as much as I want to get a plan in place, I also feel like I can’t move until the results of my biopsy come back. I don’t think my anxiety has ever run so high before.
“I’m going to go grab a coffee. Do you need anything?” Draven stands from the chair he’s been glued to the last few days. Since the moment he found out I have a tumor, he hasn’t smoked one cigarette. While I’m beyond happy about that, he has two new habits to help him cope. He’s wound up on caffeine and popping nicotine gum around the clock. When he doesn’t get a cup fast enough, he gets a serious case of the shakes.
Witnessing it is fucking irritating.
And then I get mad at myself for getting irritated.
I shake my head, not having the strength to answer him verbally. I don’t even look at him. Whenever I look into his eyes, I see nothing but pity and sadness in them. It reminds me how selfish of a person I’ve been.
Am I happy Olivia didn’t listen to me and told Draven the truth? Yes.
I didn’t realize how badly not having him around would affect me until the relief I felt upon seeing his face when he walked in here hit me.
Am I happy I’m putting him through the same pain and heartache I was just trying to rid him of? Of course not.
And I wish things were different. Very, very different. Not just for me but for him. For us.
“Draven, hi.” Dr. Reeves’s voice floats into my room from the hallway, and my stomach drops.
“Are the test results in?” I hear the fear in Draven’s tone that he works hard to hide when he’s around me.
I’ve also heard it in hushed whispers with Olivia when the two of them thought I was sleeping. I’ve heard it when he’s on the phone with Royce or Atticus or one of his other brothers.
“Yes, I was just coming to see you guys. Why don’t we go into the room and all talk at once?”
When the chatter ceases and I don’t hear any immediate footsteps, I imagine Draven standing toe-to-toe with the doctor, silently demanding for a sign of things to come. Some sign so that he can prepare his reaction. So I won’t be able to see his expression falter should the news not be in my favor.
I don’t know whether or not he gets it, but a moment later, the two of them file quietly into my room.
My chest feels like it’s housing a jackhammer instead of a heart.
I’ve never felt fear like I do the moment Draven sits down and grips my hand in his.
Not when my dad left.
Not when I thought my chances of finding love were over.
Not even when Draven approached me in the dark parking lot the first night we met.
“Hi, McKinsey. How are you feeling today?” Dr. Reeves inquires.
“I’m fine. Do you have my test results?” Read: Cut the shit, and get to the point.
“I do.” She clears her throat. “Your tissue tested positive for GBM or Glioblastoma multiforme. The markers we look for in the cells we test—GSC—were present.”
Sweat coats my palms, and the only sound I hear is that of my own breath and my blood thrumming through my ears. My eyes freeze on Dr. Reeves, who must realize I’ve gone catatonic because I don’t see her mouth moving any longer.
Finally, she breaks the eye contact as her gaze moves from mine over to Draven. I hear Draven’s voice, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. It’s like he’s muted and speaking in slow motion. My eyes find his, and the moment he squeezes my hand, my ears once again fill with the sound of steady beeping and the whirring of machines working around me.
“Someone from radiology will be up soon to take her for an MRI. Once we get the results of that, we will be able to determine whether or not surgery is a viable option. Do you have any questions?”
Draven looks at me to see if there is anything I want to ask before letting the doctor leave. I just lay here, barely able to blink, let alone ask any questions.
“Not at this time.” Draven answers for me.
“Okay. If either of you think of anything, just let me know. Otherwise, I’ll see you when the results of the MRI come back.”
After she’s gone, I feel Draven’s eyes on me, but I can’t look at him.
I can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t talk.
Fortunately, he doesn’t ask me any questions or try to start a conversation. He’s either as lost as I am or he’s giving me the time and space he knows I need to freak the fuck out.
Glioblastoma.
It’s not a word I’ve heard before.
But it’s one that will define my life as I know it.
Draven and I don’t speak again until it’s time for my MRI. It’s as though we both needed to let the information sink in. But the moment the x-ray tech tells me it’s time to go, I find my voice again.
“Can he come with me?” I motion to Draven. “I can’t do this on my own.”
I don’t catch the truth before it leaves me. It’s a trace of the fear I feel, unintentionally slipping from my lips.
“Yes, of course. He can’t be in the room while the test is in progress, but there is an adjacent room he can wait in so he’s still close by.”
I look at Draven, finally, and he looks like he’s about to tell the tech he’ll go wherever I do regardless of what the rules are.
* * *
I’m finished with my MRI and back in my room within the hour.
During the two hours that have passed since then, Draven and I haven’t said much to one another. He behaved himself by listening to the tech the entire time we were downstairs. I wonder how many coffees and pieces of gum he went through. I half expected to see him in there when they pulled me out of the machine, but he’d lost a little of his bad boy, I do what I want edge by the time I was finished.
It’s probably due to the internal fight I’m guessing he’s having with himself. Since Dr. Reeves gave me the news, there’s a quiet fury and dread emanating from him. I doubt he’d ever admit it to me, but I can see it in his eyes. They glow with determined light that’s rimmed in a darkness swirling with pain, worry, and regret.
I know he feels partly responsible for not insisting I go see my doctor sooner—or for not throwing me into his car and taking me there himself. But it wasn’t his duty to get me there.
Even weeks ago, the tumor would have been present. If we’d gone then, I don’t know that the outcome would have been any different.
I had a lot of time to think while I was stuck in that noisy fucking tube. We can’t go back and change anything we did or didn’t do in the past. I don’t know what the next days, weeks, months, or years will look like for me. But I’m going to do whatever it takes to fight this fucker.
There are teams of people out there dedicated to eradicating diseases just like this one. That has to mean something, right? At the very least, it should mean that there are steps I can take to try to beat this thing.
The first hurdle to get over is wrapping my head around the fact that I’ll need to let these doctors drill into my head to remove it.
Fuck.
That’s … a huge hurdle.
I inhale loudly, catching Draven’s attention.
“Are you okay?” Leaning forward in his chair, he delicately places his hand on my arm.
“Yeah. I just needed to catch my breath. It’s … a lot.”
“I’m sorry, Kins. I know I’ve been quiet. I’m trying so hard to?—”
“Stop.” I’m firm with him, almost to the point of barking at him. “I won’t have you apologizing for anything. None of this, Draven. Nothing about this is your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s no one’s fault.”
“I know that, but I need you to understand something.” He stands before taking a seat on the edge of my hospital bed. Linking his fingers through mine, he brushes my knuckles with his lips. “I’ve gotten used to being able to take people out when they pose a threat to my family… To those I love. I can’t do that this time, and it’s fucking tearing me apart. Knowing that there is not one fucking thing on this earth I can do to make you better is obliterating me.”
It’s the first time he’s outright admitted to having killed someone before. It’s different from the last time we talked about what happened to Delilah’s father and his role in it. But … like then, I’m not shocked to hear it.
If anything, I’m just as fucking pissed about it as he is.
“Well, I appreciate the sentiment. Trust me, if there was something you could do about it, I wouldn’t think twice about letting you.”
Our conversation is cut short by a knock on my door. We look over to see Dr. Reeves walk in with a bleak expression on her face that fills me with a renewed sense of foreboding.
Draven squeezes my hand as we brace ourselves for news that’s worse than being told I have terminal brain cancer.
Not bothering with pleasantries this time, she gets straight to the point. “The MRI results conclude that your tumor is inoperable.”
My body goes numb. The bed is no longer beneath me. The building around me evaporates into nothingness. I’m floating in deep space with no hope of ever returning home again.
Every ounce of kick this cancer’s ass I just had vanishes.
“We’re recommending you for chemo and radiation treatments at the Evergreen Cancer Center in Gettysburg.”
Dr. Reeves peers at me, waiting for a response I’m incapable of giving.
“Why, though? What’s keeping you from operating on it?” Draven finds his voice before I do.
“Based on the results, we didn’t find a clear separation between the healthy tissue and unhealthy tissue. Due to the location of the tumor, surgery could cause a huge loss of important functions such as speech and vision. It’s too risky.”
When neither of us speak for a long time, Dr. Reeves tells us she’ll fill out my release paperwork so I can leave. “I’ll include my business card in your discharge packet in case you think of any additional questions. Good luck to you both.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Draven rises from the bed.
My eyes follow them until they’re out of my line of sight. I expect Draven to come back immediately, but instead, I hear him talking to Dr. Reeves. They speak softly—I can only presume so Draven can try to keep what he’s about to learn from me—but I hear every terrifying word.
“In what world is trying to cure someone riskier than just letting them die?”
“Draven, you need to understand that whether we operate or not, she doesn't have much time.”
“What kind of prognosis are we looking at?”
“The average patient survives for approximately fifteen months with treatment. Without… It’s a lot less. But if we go in there to try to remove it, she runs the risk of spending whatever time she has left in a vegetative state.”
If Draven replies, I don’t hear it. Out loud or internally, he’s probably questioning whether or not that would be so bad. He wants me to live, no matter the cost.
But living isn’t living if I can’t move, walk, talk…
“In addition to getting her started on chemo and radiation, the only advice I have is to get her affairs in order now, while she still has the cognizance to do so.”