Twenty-seven
Ethan
Three days later
“How is she doing?” Coral asks, her gaze fixed on the landing upstairs where Lily is sleeping.
I drag both hands down my stubbled face. “She’s sound asleep.”
After the treatment, Lily passed out cold on the ride back.
I didn’t have the heart to disturb her, so I carried her up to her bedroom.
She felt impossibly light in my arms, and that hit me hard.
I sat there in the heavy silence for what felt like twenty minutes, just watching her breathe, waiting to see if she needed anything right away.
She was shivering, so I dug out the thickest comforter she owned and wrapped her up like a burrito.
“Thank you, Ethan. For being here with her.”
She turns to face me. The hallway light catches the wet, shining tracks of tears streaming down her cheeks. Without a word, I close the distance and pull my ex-mother-in-law into my chest.
“Hey,” I murmur. “She’s strong. You know that.”
She squeezes me tight, the pressure an acknowledgment of all the history, all the years we’ve spent as a family, before pulling back just enough to look me in the eye. “Yeah, she is. Stubborn as hell, too. Takes after her father.”
I let out a low, genuine laugh, the first one all day. “That too.”
“I know things have been strained between you two for a long time now,” she says softly, her eyes searching mine. “And I know you carry guilt, Ethan. But for what it’s worth, I’m grateful your love is still there. She needs that right now.”
“My love for her never left.”
A sad, knowing smile graces her lips. “Neither did hers, Ethan.”
I shove my hands deep into my jean pockets and let out a long, shuddering breath.
“I don’t think she loves me anymore,” I admit. “Not the way she used to, and I don’t blame her for that. Not after everything.”
Coral watches me for a minute, her expression softening with familial pity. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?”
“Lily’s love for you never died, Ethan. Just because a car stops running, it doesn’t mean you can’t buy the parts to make it run again. It just needs maintenance. You have to maintain it to keep it from going kaput for good.”
The reference makes me grin, despite the circumstances. My plan is to do whatever it takes to prove to Lily that I’m worth keeping around. I’ll do absolutely anything to keep her, to show her how truly sorry I am for hurting her, for abandoning her. Abandoning our family.
“I’ll have to make sure that doesn’t happen,” I promise her.
“See to it that it doesn’t.” She gives me a relief-filled smile, but it quickly fades, replaced by momentary uncertainty. “I’d like to stay for a while, if that’s okay. Just until the kids are settled.”
“Of course, stay as long as you want.” I look down at my watch. The afternoon is slipping away.
She nods. “I’ll start dinner,” she says, giving my arm a quick, firm pat before heading toward the kitchen.
Lily
God, why am I swimming in my own sweat? Moving every muscle feels like trying to lift a sandbag. Is this what it feels like to wake up from a coma?
My eyelids peel open. The light that filters through the drawn blinds is soft, and lavender fills the air.
I struggle to shift my legs and arms, but they are weighed down by something heavy. I glance down to see that I am swaddled in my plush, oversized comforter. My body freezes when I hear quiet breathing, other than mine, in the room. I turn my head slowly to my right and see Ethan.
He is slumped in the armchair across the room, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. He looks exhausted. The worry lines around his eyes are painfully visible even in the dim light. I have a desperate urge to reach out and smooth them away.
A sudden, violent spasm seizes my stomach.
Oh, God. No. I need to get out of this bed now.
I fight to sit up, but my limbs refuse to obey my command to move.
“Et-Ethan?” I manage.
No response.
“Ethan?”
Nothing.
I let out a low, miserable groan and clutch my stomach. Forcing myself sideways, I roll off the bed, comforter and all. My body hits the carpet with a muffled thump.
“Shit!” Ethan is instantly awake. “Lily! I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
He is at my side before his voice fades. My stomach isn’t waiting another second. I barely have time to wrench my head away from the carpet before the first wave hits. A whimper escapes my lips, fueled by the sheer humiliation of having Ethan witness my weakness.
He turns me onto my side, supporting my forehead with a firm, warm hand. I brace for the inevitable look of fear, but when I meet his eyes, there is nothing but compassion.
“It’s okay, Sunshine. I’ve got you.”
He works quickly, unwrapping the tangled comforter from my legs and hoisting me up into his arms. He rushes us toward the bathroom, but his pace is measured. Fast enough to be urgent, but slow enough not to jostle me further.
He sets me down in front of the toilet. I barely register the cold porcelain before the second, more violent wave hits.
“That’s it, Lily. Let it out. And then we’re going to get you cleaned up.” His voice is steady and low, the only thing keeping me together.
My body sags forward, completely spent. I feel a cool, damp cloth wiping my mouth and jaw.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears mixing with the sweat and the awful acidic taste lingering in my mouth.
“Shut up,” Ethan scolds, but his tone is featherlight. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
He waits, letting the quiet settle, letting me breathe before he speaks again. “Think you can manage to stand? A warm shower will help.”
“No, I don’t think so.” I shake my head, the effort making my vision blur.
“It’s okay,” he says. He pauses, his voice dropping slightly, laced with that familiar awkward tenderness. “Can... can I remove your clothes, then?”
I hesitate, shame flaring hot despite the nausea.
I don’t want him to see me naked. Since the chemo, I’ve lost a significant amount of weight; my clothes practically hang off me, and my ribs and collarbones are starting to jut out like sharp edges.
But the thought of being covered in vomit for another minute is worse. So, I give him a weak nod.
He switches the shower on. The sound of rushing water fills the air as steam begins to rise, curling around us like a warm blanket.
His fingers brush against the clammy skin of my stomach as he finds the hem of my T-shirt.
His light touch makes me shiver. He pulls the shirt slowly over my head and tosses the soiled fabric onto the tiled floor, leaving my chest bare.
I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes, so I keep mine fixed on the smooth tiles.
Every breath feels like a silent prayer of gratitude, not only for Ethan being here with me in my most vulnerable moment, but that he chose to be.
Ethan
Breasts I haven’t seen for years. And my dick remembers. The bastard throbs, a stiff salute to the woman standing before me. I swallow hard, fighting the lump of emotion that is threatening to choke me.
I hate how she’s looking away, chin tucked into her chest, shoulders rounded in a posture of shame.
Has her body changed? Yes. The chemo and the sickness have carved away at her, leaving sharp angles where her curves used to be.
Regardless, I love every inch of her body because she’s still my Sunshine. My light.
I tip her chin with my finger, lifting her gaze until those wide silver eyes meet mine. “Hey,” I say softly, rubbing the pad of my thumb on her cheek. “You’re safe with me.”
Her eyelids flutter, and a small, faint smile appears.
“I’m going to lift you, Sunshine, and I want you to hang on tight while I push down your underwear, okay?”
She responds with a nod.
“Ready? On three.” I wrap my arms around her waist, my hands careful to avoid any sensitive spots, and whisper in her ear, “One. Two. Three.”
She manages to wrap her arms around my neck and stands on her own feet, leaning heavily into my support.
“Good. Are you still doing okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” she whispers, her breath warm against my neck.
“I’m going to remove your panties now,” I inform her.
With one arm bracing her back, I use my free hand to slide down her cotton underwear, my knuckles brushing the thin, delicate skin of her inner thigh. Her panties catch momentarily behind her knees, but I curl my finger on the edge and slide them down until the fabric pools around her dainty feet.
“Okay, Lily. I’m going to pick you up now.”
“Okay,” she mumbles against my chest.
I scoop her up, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back, lifting her frail weight against my chest. The contact is electric.
Her bare skin, the curve of her hip, and then the soft, warm press of her mound against the rigid, unforgiving length of my erection, straining the denim of my jeans.
Lily tenses, taking a sharp intake of breath.
“Please ignore it,” I grit out. “I’m sorry, Sunshine.”
She doesn’t reply, but her body relaxes a fraction as I maneuver us into the shower stall. The warm water hits us instantly.
“Ethan, your clothes!” she shrieks, a sound that holds a hint of her old self.
I laugh. “Relax. It’s not the first time I’ve ended up soaked still wearing clothes because of you.”
I look down at her just in time to see a blush bloom across her neck and cheeks.
That memory, the first time we had sex in the shower, was from my second year in college.
She came to visit me on campus after being separated for three grueling months.
The second she stepped through the door, it was like a fuse had been lit.
We ended up in the shower, clothes and all, desperate to get our hands on each other.
I smile at the memory, and my dick gets even harder.
I inhale sharply, looking up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the textured tile, the chrome fixture, anything to get my head out of the gutter and my body to cooperate.
“Ethan, I can sit on the shower chair.”
A fresh wave of guilt washes over me. That simple detail makes this whole situation more challenging to handle, knowing what her life is like now because of this fucking cancer.
Holding back the sudden burn of tears, I pull her tighter. “I’m not leaving you alone, Lily. I’m going to sit you down, okay? Right on that chair.”
She nods against my neck, a silent acknowledgment of my stubborn refusal to leave her side.
I take a few careful steps, balancing her weight, and lower her onto the plastic chair.
I step back, allowing the water to continue its flow. “How are you doing? Comfortable?” I ask, trying my damnedest to keep my gaze focused on her face instead of the sight of her wet, naked body.
“Yeah,” she croaks, watching me with a heavy, knowing look in her eyes.
I grab the washcloth and her favorite lavender-scented body wash and lather it quickly. My eyes still firmly fixed on her face, I reach out to start washing her shoulder, but she stops me, a small hand catching my wrist.
“I can do this part, Ethan.” Her tone is a plea for a shred of normalcy.
“Okay.” I hand her the cloth.
While she washes the top part of her body, I peel off my heavy, waterlogged T-shirt and toss it outside the shower stall.
When I turn back, Lily watches me, her eyes half-hooded with lust, tracing the line of my chest. The air crackles.
I straighten my back, clenching my fists to my sides, holding myself rigid.
I want to touch her, to claim her, to push her back against the chair and forget the cancer, forget the fear, and be with her.
She quickly looks away, breaking the charged silence. “Can you wash my scalp?”
“Of course,” I respond, a little too quick, a little too eager.
I pump a generous amount of shampoo onto the palm of my hand and step in front of her, straddling the space between her knees. “Close your eyes,” I instruct.
She obeys, and I lean in, massaging the shampoo into her scalp.
“Is this okay?” I ask softly.
“Yes. So good,” she almost purrs, tilting her head back, letting the water run down her face.
I repeat the process with the conditioner, then take the cloth and wash her neck, shoulders, and the length of her back.
My jeans cling to my body, heavy with water, but I focus on the task.
“Why are you doing this, Ethan?” The question comes out like a whisper in the rushing water.
I pause, the washcloth midway down her spine. I look deep into her eyes, leaning closer so she can hear the sincerity in my voice.
“Because I broke my promise to you the day I married you, Lily. The vow to be there in sickness and in health. I failed you when you needed me most.” A slight crack slips through my words, but I press on. “Regardless of what you may believe, I never stopped loving you, and I never will.”
I lower my gaze, squeezing the excess water out of the washcloth and hanging it on the bar. I meet her eyes again. “I want you to get better, Lily. And the best way of doing that is making sure I take care of you. For as long as you allow me to. But I swear to God, I hope you won’t ask me to stop.”
I reach past her and twist the water off.
I step out, my soaked jeans squelching, and grab the nearest towel. I wrap her in it, lifting her from the chair and folding her into the soft cotton.
She buries her face in the thick towel, the lavender scent mingling with the steam. “Thank you, Ethan,” she mumbles.
Instead of replying with words, I tighten my grip around her, a silent vow that I will never let her heart shatter in my hands again.