Chapter 45
SAM
I button up my jeans with trembling fingers, keeping my back to Eli. The marble counter feels cold against my legs as I slide off it, my body still humming from his touch. I can feel his eyes on me, studying every move I make, but I can't bring myself to look at him.
Not yet.
Not when my face is still flushed and my heart is threatening to pound right out of my chest. Not when I'm this raw, this exposed—and I don't mean physically.
Eli tucks himself away and zips up his pants. Neither of us speaks as I smooth down my hair in the mirror, wiping away a smudge of mascara from under my eye. I look thoroughly debauched—lips swollen, cheeks pink, eyes bright.
"So what does this mean for us?" he asks, his voice softer than I expected. "Or are we going to pretend this didn't happen again?"
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "I don't know."
It's the truth.
I don't know what this means, what we are, what we could be. My emotions are a tangled mess, my heart and head pulling me in opposite directions. My heart wants to turn around and fall into his arms, to tell him I love him and never let go. But my head reminds me of the ticking time bomb inside my body, the cancer that's been steadily eating away at me for months.
How can I be with him when my future is so uncertain? How can I ask him to sign up for the pain that's coming? To watch me deteriorate, to become my caretaker, to grieve me before I'm even gone?
It would be selfish. So selfish. And yet...
I'm tired of pushing him away. It's exhausting, this constant battle against what my heart wants. Each time I see the hurt in his eyes when I ignore him, a piece of me breaks. And now, after what just happened, after feeling his body against mine again, the thought of going back to pretending I don't care seems impossible.
I move toward the door, reaching for the lock. But before I can twist it, Eli's arms wrap around me from behind, his chest pressing against my back. He rests his chin on my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck.
"If you still need more time, Sam, I'll give it to you," he murmurs, "I mean, I'll hate every second of it, but I'll wait."
His arms tighten around my waist, and I have to fight the urge to melt back into him, to let him hold me forever.
"I have to head to Naples after the show anyway," he continues. "My dad's been renovating his gym, and he's been bugging me to come home and help since he knows hockey's on break and classes are over. I've been putting it off, but I promised I'd be there this weekend."
I nod slightly, trying to ignore how right it feels to be in his arms.
"I'll be gone for a week," he murmurs, his lips so close to my ear that I feel the words as much as hear them. "Which gives you seven whole days to realize that you're still completely obsessed with me as I am with you."
Despite everything, a surprised laugh escapes me.
"Seven days," he continues, his voice taking on that playful lilt that always makes my stomach flip. "To convince yourself that no matter how many brilliant ways you come up with to push me away—and trust me, you've gotten creative—it's not gonna work. Because this thing between us?" His hand moves to rest over my heart, which betrays me by beating faster at his touch. "It's inevitable. Like gravity or the Bruins choking in the playoffs."
"What's the point of giving me time if you've already decided what my answer's supposed to be?" I challenge, trying to sound irritated but hearing the tremor in my voice.
His reflection in the mirror shows the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Oh, I'm not deciding anything for you, sweetheart." He turns me around gently so I'm facing him, his hands settling on my hips. "I'm just letting you think you have a choice while I sit back and wait for you to arrive at the conclusion I already have.."
"And what conclusion is that?" My voice comes out embarrassingly breathless.
"That you're it for me." The playfulness drops away, leaving his face open and earnest in a way that makes my chest tight. "And I'm it for you. The end."
Those three simple words—"The end"—hang between us, so confident, so certain. I envy his certainty, his ability to see a clear path forward when mine keeps disappearing into fog.
"You make it sound so simple," I whisper.
"It is simple."
"Eli—"
"No, don't do that thing where you overthink everything." He brushes a strand of hair from my face, tucks it behind my ear. His touch is gentle but his eyes are fierce. "I know that big brain of yours is coming up with a million reasons why this can't work. But can you just... not? Please?"
"It's not that simple," I insist, but my resolve weakens as his hand cups my cheek.
"Then make it simple," he says. "When I get back, we're having dinner. A real date. No more quickies—" he gestures around us, making me blush at the memory of what we just did against that counter "—no pretending we're not crazy about each other, no more running away."
"I can't promise you anything," I say, my voice barely audible.
"I'm not asking for promises." His eyes hold mine, steady and sure. "I'm just asking for a chance. If you still want to walk away after that, I'll... well, I won't accept it, but I'll at least pretend to consider respecting your clearly terrible decision."
"Your confidence is bordering on delusional, you know that?"
"If I am," he says, flashing that cocky, lopsided smile, "I had a pretty good teacher."
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips.
I know I can't keep this limbo going. It's not fair to either of us. And the truth is, I've already made my decision. I realized I can't push him away anymore. I'm not strong enough. And maybe that makes me selfish, but God, I want him. I want whatever time I can have with him.
But before we can be together, he needs to know the truth.
All of it.
About the cancer, about the treatments that aren't working as well as they should, about the uncertain prognosis hanging over my head. He deserves to make an informed choice before he commits to me.
"Okay," I whisper after a long pause. "When you get back, we'll talk. We'll figure this out." I take a deep breath. "And I have something important to tell you, too."
He loosens his hold just enough to turn me around to face him. His eyes search mine, a mixture of hope and worry in their depths.
"Can't you tell me now?" he asks, his hands moving to cup my face. "You know I'm going to be thinking about it the whole time I'm gone. It's going to drive me crazy."
"I can't right now."
I'm not ready to say the words yet, to see the pity that will inevitably replace the desire in his eyes.
"You know this is going to torture me for days, right? I'm going to be imagining all sorts of things."
I look away, unable to maintain eye contact. If he only knew...
He sighs, his thumb stroking my cheek. "I wish it was next week already. I wish I was already on my way back to you."
The tenderness in his voice nearly breaks me.
"Me too," I admit, and it feels like the first honest thing I've said to him in weeks.
He presses a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. "Let's get back before they send a search party."
I nod, letting him take my hand as he unlocks the door. Whatever comes next week, whatever his reaction to my news might be, at least we have this moment. At least I know what it's like to be loved by him, even if it can't last.
After the showcase ends and the applause finally fades, we gather around Caroline to congratulate her on her incredible performance. She's still glowing from the adrenaline, cheeks flushed and eyes bright as people keep stopping her to offer praise.
A few minutes before that, Eli had quietly pulled me aside. Just long enough to say he was heading out—then he was gone.
I weave back toward my family. A little crowd is hanging around Caroline, and there's Zach, fingers woven with hers, chest puffed out like a proud rooster.
Her parents are chatting with Professor Callahan, who's practically glowing as she heaps compliments on their talented daughter.
My mom spots me approaching, and that teasing half-smile immediately appears on her lips.
Uh-oh.
"What?" I ask, though I already know.
"Was that Elijah I just saw you whispering with? "
I try to shrug it off. "Yeah…" But my cheeks go red before I can hide it.
"So, what did he want to talk about?"
"Nothing... He was just saying goodbye because he's heading to Naples tonight."
"Mmm-hmm." She doesn't buy it. "And you two needed a private goodbye?"
I roll my eyes, but my heart is racing. "It's nothing."
"Samantha," she says, drawing out my name in that way moms do. "I gave birth to you. I know when you're hiding something."
I start fidgeting with my sweater sleeve. ''I'm not—okay, fine. He's been asking me out. A bunch of times.''
My mom squeals, hand flying to her mouth. She glances around, then leans in closer. ''I knew it! So you two are dating now? Why didn't you tell me? Invite him to dinner! '
I blurt it before I think: ''We're not dating. I said no.''
Her face goes from thrilled to shocked in an instant. ''You…rejected him? Elijah? The boy you've crushed on since you were ten?''
''Mom, please—''
"But why?" Her confusion is genuine, and that makes it worse somehow. "Honey, you've wanted this for so long."
The irony crushes me. Everyone has the same reaction—disbelief, confusion. How did I end up the one who said no? It's the plot twist no one saw coming, least of all me. But that's the thing about life-altering diagnoses—they rewrite your story without permission.
''It's complicated,'' I murmur, hating the tiny sound of my own voice.
Mom's teasing smile fades completely. She brushes a hand over my cheek, cool and gentle. ''Do you want to talk about it?''
For a moment, I think I might actually cry.
A lump forms in my throat. ''I do,'' I whisper. ''Just…not tonight.''
I glance toward Caroline and my brother.
"Tonight is Caroline's night. I don't want to ruin it."
"Don't be silly. Nothing you could say would ruin anything." She squeezes my hand. "You're my daughter. Nothing is more important."
I manage a small, wry grin. “How about tomorrow? Breakfast or lunch—just you, me, and Zach. There's something I need to tell you both.''
The decision settles heavily in my chest as I say it because I know I can't keep this secret any longer.
Not after yesterday's appointment with Dr. Wilcott, when she told me my blood counts are still dropping.
Not when the leukemia cells are still circulating in my blood despite treatment.
Not when Dr. Wilcott told me the regimen isn't suppressing the disease the way they hoped.
Not when Dr. Wilcott's voice still echoes in my head, "We need to test your family members immediately. Finding a stem cell donor match while you undergo the next round of more aggressive chemotherapy is our priority now."
I don't tell Mom any of that tonight.
But tomorrow...
Tomorrow I will.
Mom squeezes my hand again, her eyes softening. "Of course, sweetheart. I can stay in Miami longer if you need me."
"Thanks, Mom," I whisper, and for a moment, I let myself lean into her.
I wake up to fire in my abdomen.
The pain knifes through me, so violent and obliterating that my gasp turns to bile in my throat. My eyes fly open to darkness—3:17 AM glows red from the clock on the desk, each digit pulsing with my racing heartbeat. The agony retreats for half a breath, just long enough for desperate hope to surface, before it slams back with such force I arch off the mattress, a molten railroad spike being hammered through my core, twisting my intestines into knots.
"Oh god," I whimper, curling into myself.
I clutch my stomach as another wave hits, this one stealing my breath entirely. Tears spring to my eyes, hot and immediate. I've been in pain before—bone marrow biopsies, spinal taps, the deep ache of chemo killing everything it touches. But this... this is different. This feels like being torn apart from the inside.
My skin burns even as I shiver violently. Cold sweat soaks through my clothes, plastering them to my body. I try to sit up, but the movement triggers another lightning strike of agony that makes me cry out into the empty room.
My phone. I need my phone.
It takes three attempts to grab it from the nightstand, my fingers clumsy and uncooperative. I pull up Zach's number, press call. The phone rings and rings and rings, each unanswered tone stretching my panic tighter.
"Please," I whisper, "please pick up."
But it's 3 AM, and he's sleeping, probably with Caroline curled against him, peaceful and unaware that I'm in so much pain.
When his voicemail clicks on, I hang up, breath coming in short gasps. I try Caroline next, hoping maybe she's awake, maybe she'll hear it. Nothing. Just endless ringing.
The pain intensifies, building like a wave. I manage to type "911" and send it to Caroline—our emergency code from childhood. My hands shake so badly I almost drop the phone.
Another spasm grips me, and I cry out, a strangled sound that bounces off the walls of my empty room. The pain radiates from my center, branching out like lightning through my veins. My whole body trembles, teeth chattering so hard I bite my tongue. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
"Help," I gasp to no one. "Please, someone, help."
I need an ambulance. I need to call 911.
I try the keypad—my vision swimming over the numbers. I barely hit the 9 when a spear of agony knocks the phone from my hand. It clatters to the floor.
"No, no…" I croak, crawling toward it. Pain claws at me, and darkness edges in. I tumble off the bed, legs tangling in the sheets.
The impact with the floor barely registers compared to the inferno in my abdomen. I curl into a tight ball, arms wrapped around my stomach as if I could contain the pain, keep myself from splitting open. Tears stream down my face, soaking into the carpet beneath me.
"Mom," I sob, though she's miles away in her hotel room. "Zachy. Please."
Time dissolves into a haze of pain. Minutes might be hours. The only constant is the white-hot agony pulsing through me with each heartbeat. I drift in and out of consciousness as the pain intensifies.
I'm dying. The thought rises with stark clarity. This is what dying feels like.
"Eli..."
I don't know how long I lie there, folded around my pain, before I hear it—the sound of a key in the lock. The door swings open, spilling hallway light across the floor.
"Angel?" Zach's voice, tight with worry. "Caroline got your text—holy shit, angel!"
Footsteps rush toward me. I force my eyes open to see my brother's face, pale with shock. Caroline hovers behind him, hand pressed to her mouth.
"H–he... lp... me..." The words scrape from my throat like broken glass.
Zach drops to his knees so fast the sound echoes through the room. "Angel," he breathes, voice cracking as he reaches for me.
I cry harder when he touches me, curling tighter around the pain. "It hurts... Z—Zachy... it hurts..."
He slides one arm under my knees, the other behind my back, and lifts me carefully—gently, like I weigh nothing. I sob into his shoulder, the familiar smell of his cologne now twisted with the metallic scent of my fear.
"It hurts... Zachy, it hurts so much..."
"I know, angel," he whispers, voice tight as a wire. "I've got you. We're taking you to the hospital. Just hold on, okay? Hold on."
His arms tighten around me, secure and steady despite the tremor I feel in his chest. As he carries me toward the door, I catch a glimpse of Caroline's face, streaked with tears, phone already pressed to her ear as she follows us into the hallway.
The pain swells again, and I press my face against my brother's neck, feeling his pulse race against my cheek. He's scared. Zach is never scared.
"Don't leave me," I whisper.
"Never," he promises, voice fierce through the fear. "I've got you, angel. Always."