Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Seated in the quiet car, with nothing but the hum of the small engine and the low melody playing through the speakers, I should feel comfortable.
But I’ve been trying to find the right words to tell Elise what’s going on, to let her in the way I know she wants me to, and the reality is that telling someone you love this kind of news is unbearable.
My breathing is borderline tachypnoeic, so I decide that sharing this when it feels like I’m dying and Elise is behind the wheel of a motor vehicle is not the right time.
Besides, it’s a wonder how she even managed to get her licence.
She’s a horrendous driver, and I’m a fool for agreeing to this.
I don’t want to die in a car accident before I have the chance to kick cancer’s arse.
We should’ve taken the bloody bus.
Usually, I’m more than thrilled to sit in comfortable silence, but lately, we’ve been doing a lot of talking about me, and I need her to know I care about her life, too, even if I’m rubbish at showing it.
“How are you and Rafael doing?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip as I stare out the dew-covered window overlooking the grey cityscape.
“We’re great.” I can hear the smile in her voice, my shoulders relaxing.
“Still working out the logistics of the premier leagues and Olympic team tryouts, but we’re sorting through it.
And grief counselling has been going well for both of us.
” Her voice remains level as she flips her indicator, slowing to an incomplete stop before turning.
I hum, satisfied with her response. She’s doing well, has support, and is taking care of herself. At least when I tell her about my diagnosis, she’ll have that to ground her.
“I’m glad you convinced him to give it a shot,” I say, refusing to look her way.
“Me too. We’ve been talking about genetic testing for the brCA1 and brCA2 genes,” she says, her voice growing hoarse as if she’s just eaten an entire sleeve of biscuits without a single sip of water.
I look down at my lap, picking at my cuticles. “And how are you feeling about that?”
“I think it’s time. I’m going to work with a genetic counsellor first before I make the decision, but I’d rather know and have options than not find out until it’s too late or live the rest of my life in fear.”
“And if you don’t have it, hopefully that’ll give you peace of mind too,” I say, the words straining to crawl out of my throat.
I can’t tell her. Not now. Maybe not ever, but certainly not now.
Not when her entire world might be uprooted soon.
I can’t be another nail in her coffin. Besides, I have one more treatment left, and then I’ll be in remission, and these horrendous last few months will be long behind me, with my best friend’s heart and mind left fully intact.
My stomach sours with the false bravado of what has become my daily affirmations.
I settle back into the leather seats of the massive truck, more similar to a bulletproof tank than a road-safe vehicle, thanks to Rafael’s possessive arse.
It’s decided. I won’t tell her yet.
We pull up to the three-storey, brick-sided flats, and Elise parks along the street.
“Let me know if you need a ride tonight, and we can pick you up, okay?”
“I'll just ride with Elijah, but I'll let you know. Thanks,” I tell her, unclipping my seatbelt and climbing out of the car. “See you tonight.”
She waves at me through the window, pulling away and turning her radio up so loud I can hear it until she turns at the end of the street.
Elijah won't be home for another hour or so, changing and debriefing with his team. The thought of being alone for an hour would usually thrill me, but for some reason, there's a pit in my stomach.
Rather than head inside, I make my way down the pavement, stopping inside a craft shop for a pack of metal bookmarks and etching solution.
I stop at another shop for a few balloons, then make my way back to our flat, tidying up and setting the balloons on the kitchen island for Elijah.
I make him a snack plate and cover it, popping it in the fridge for when he returns home, always ravenous.
Fatigue presses in on me as I settle myself on the sofa, using a small cotton-tipped applicator to apply the etching solution to the bookmark.
It reads, “MVP Rookie,” and I decorate the outer edges with symbols of things I've learned Elijah loves.
Everything from ducks, ring-shaped lollies, and sushi rolls to books, a rugby ball, and an orca so he has a piece of me too.
The space is small, and the shapes look more like weird blobs, but I'm hoping it's the thought that counts. I leave everything out on the coffee table, unable to get myself up to put the supplies away as exhaustion drags me under.
I wake to the sound of the front door being unlocked and nudged open. Elijah steps inside, leaving the lights off; the moonlight filtering through the balcony doors is all that illuminates the small space.
Watching him through slitted lids, my chest warms at the sight of his grin as his gaze lands on the balloons.
He picks up the folded note I left by them, this time in the shape of a rugby ball, reading it as he kicks off his shoes.
His smile grows wider, cheeks burning bright, even in the dim light.
“You were incredible out there,” I tell him, breaking through the silence.
“I could've played—” He shakes his head. “You know what? You're right. I played damn well.”
I'm proud of him. So bloody proud. Not just that he played well, but that he recognised when he was slipping into self-deprecation and corrected himself.
He takes a seat beside me, turning on the lamp. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him.
His hair is damp, curling at the ends. Lean muscles stretch beneath the confines of his grey suit, every thread appearing as if it were perfectly tailored just for him. Though I know he wouldn't spend money frivolously on something like clothing.
My gaze flicks to his face, and I suck in a breath, pushing myself up to get a better look at him.
“Elijah—”
“I'm fine,” he assures me.
“S-stay right here. I'll get a first-aid kit.”
I don't leave any room for argument, shuffling off the sofa and dragging my tired arse through the flat, collecting supplies to clean him up. His left eye has a bruise blooming beneath a gash in his eyebrow, and his bottom lip is split.
After washing my hands and setting out my supplies, I step between his spread thighs.
“You really don't need to fuss over me, Adhira. I should've had the team medics fix me up, but I wanted—” He averts his gaze.
“Wanted what, Elijah?”
When he looks up at me, it's through thick lashes.
“I wanted to get home to you.”
My heart splinters.
“I'm okay, Elijah. Your life doesn't have to revolve around my needs. I swear, I'm a big girl. I can—”
He shakes his head, hands settling on my hips, squeezing gently…tenderly. “No. No, Adhira. That's—” He huffs out a breath. “That's not what I meant.”
Silence stretches between us.
“I wasn't rushing home to make sure you were okay. I just wanted to be with you.”
Now my heart is shredding apart for a totally new reason, and I don't quite understand it. I've enjoyed spending time with Elijah, especially now that I'm being honest with him, but it feels different from when I'm with my other friends. It's…new. Not unpleasant. Just different.
“Okay,” I whisper, busying myself with wetting gauze in warm, soapy water. “I'm going to clean you up, princess.”
The corners of his lips twitch. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Butterflies swarm my belly as I take a seat on the edge of the coffee table and lean into his space, nearly suffocating in the warm, clean scent of his freshly showered body.
I take my time cleansing his wounds, drying them, and applying Steri-Strips and skin glue to close them without sutures.
I don't trust my basic medical knowledge enough to stick a needle through already torn skin, and I wouldn't want to risk marring his pretty face.
When I'm finished, I sit back with my hands on my knees and admire my handiwork.
“Good as new.”
“I've got one more wound. Would you mind taking a look at it?”
I shake my head, tongue growing thick as he slides off his suit jacket and begins unbuttoning his black button-down.
The fabric falls to the sides, exposing his toned abdominal muscles and a hematoma just below his lowest ribs that steals the breath from my lungs.
“Elijah, this is huge! You could be bleeding internally!” I all but shriek.
He shakes his head. “It's nothing I haven't had before. I'll be fine, Adhira.”
“If you’re so sure, then why did you want me to inspect it?”
He stands, towering over me, and brings our bodies impossibly close. I lift a trembling hand to his side, running the pads of my fingers over it. His chest stills at the sudden contact.
“Sorry, my hands are always cold.”
“It-it’s okay.”
I inspect every inch of his upper body, looking for injuries anywhere his skin is exposed to me, and when I'm done, he drags in an unsteady breath.
“I think you'll live.”
He releases a strained chuckle. “Glad to hear it.”
“Elijah?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you want me to look at it if you knew it was fine?” I repeat.
I search his hooded gaze, shadows falling over his sharp cheekbones as he stares down at me. He reaches out a hand and whispers, “Is this okay?”
A shiver rolls down my spine. I nod.
With trembling fingers, he cups my jaw and swipes the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. My core tenses, and my body flushes.
“Will you kiss it and make it better, sweetheart?” he asks, the words a broken whisper spoken in the safety of the darkness shrouding us.
Pressing my palm to his side, I lean in and press the softest of kisses over the bruise blooming beneath his skin. He sucks in a breath, and neither of us moves for a long beat.
A car horn from the street below us snaps us into reality, and I pull away.
“Is there anything else you need before we head out to your celebration dinner?”
“You're coming too?” he asks, doing a pitiful job of hiding his excitement.
It makes me feel good. Wanted.
“Elise would drag me there whether I wanted to go or not. Better not to fight her.” My lips twitch.
“Well then, in that case…” He holds his arms open wide. “The only other thing I need is a hug.”
My stomach does a little flip.
“I suppose it would be wrong of me to deny you this request, seeing as you did help my favourite rugby team win their final match of the season.”
His smile threatens to blind me as he bends down to wrap me in his embrace, tugging me to my feet, and I allow myself to surrender to his affection—this moment far less intense than the one we’d just shared.
I don't know what it is about him specifically, but every day I spend in his presence makes me feel more like myself. Even on the bad days. And it's a feeling I so deeply crave in this world of cruelty and unknowns.