Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
Bex
Unable to decide if I’m dreaming, I stare at Ben standing on my doorstep. It’s the middle of the night, but the summer heat hangs in the air. I still feel cold, though. It doesn’t matter how warm it gets—I’m always cold these days.
He’s just made a beautiful speech about knowing I have cancer and wanting to be the man he should have been years ago.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. The weight of his words settling in my chest like a storm and a balm all at once. He knows.
My knees threaten to give way as relief crashes through me. A sensation both sharp and overwhelming, mingled with the constant fear I’ve learned to live with.
He sees me. All of me. And still, he’s choosing to be here. Stay here. No matter the outcome.
The anger that should appear doesn’t. It’s only relief I feel. Telling him has been playing on my mind. I knew he would need to know soon. When there would be times I couldn’t look after our son, but until now, I’d been able to manage the situation.
It’s Ben, but he barely looks like himself.
His eyes are bloodshot. His hair is a mess, and the t-shirt he’s wearing has what looks like a coffee stain down the front. But the strangest thing is, when I look down, he’s wearing mismatched shoes.
“Do you know you have two different shoes on?” I ask, giggling.
He looks down at his feet, then back up to me. “Call it trendsetting,” he suggests with a shrug and a shy smile.
I move to the side so he can walk past me into my home.
He’s carrying an overnight bag, and my mind races at the possibilities.
Why would he turn up at my house in the middle of the night with a bag?
Does he think I am some sort of bloody booty call?
My hackles rise, but I ignore it, deciding to hear him out.
We stand and stare at each other for a while. He goes to speak, and I signal to remind him Liam is asleep, so to talk quietly. He gives me a slow, sexy smile, and my insides tighten. How can this man still do that to me?
This round of chemotherapy has affected me far worse than any of the others. The headaches, the hair loss, and the mouth ulcers are almost unbearable. The struggle to sleep, and quiet dread woven amongst the silence.
Katie keeps me going. She’s in remission, thankfully. I wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to step foot in that damn hospital again. But every round of chemo and every support group, she’s there with me, one hundred percent by my side.
Afterward, she must go home to her own life and her own battle. It’s then that I feel completely alone. I haven’t even told Amy. My sister will be heartbroken, and as the months passed, it all became harder to admit to.
Tonight, I must look like an absolute spectacle in my fleece pyjamas with scraped-back hair. My appearance isn’t at the top of my priority list now. I focus on surviving each day, keeping my job, and maintaining a normal life for my son. It’s getting harder, though. My body is struggling.
Ben steps forward and takes my hands in his. He smells divine, he always does, all male and full of testosterone.
“I mean what I said,” he whispers, his voice raw, almost reverent.
My eyes lift to meet his, then drop away shyly.
He’s willing me to speak, to say something, but I just can’t form the words.
I’ve dreamed of this moment for years, and now it’s here.
I’m not sure I believe it’s even real. Gathering my composure, I try to collect my thoughts into a coherent format.
“Ben, it’s one in the morning. What do you mean you know about my cancer? How?”
“I volunteer at the center supporting patients.”
How long has he known? I was worried when I heard someone mention a doctor named Jones the other day, but it’s such a common name. I put it out of my mind. It wasn’t something I even wanted to consider.
“My colleague runs the group you attend, one who reports to Doctor Eamon Riley.”
The pieces of the jigsaw all fall into place. Dr. Riley. I’d seen him at the center but kept out of his way. I was sure he hadn’t seen me. How on earth did I think he wouldn’t know?
“Months ago, I saw you, but I couldn’t ask you about it because things have been going so well with us and for Liam.
I didn’t want to risk upsetting you. But I would ask for updates on your case.
” He pauses, guilt written all over his face.
He looks appropriately embarrassed, so I scowl for effect.
“Perk of the job,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
The unsettling thought strikes me that he might have a clearer grasp of my position than I do. It's likely that he’s read every scan report, every single note, and understands my symptoms completely.
Tears well in my eyes as my heart sinks, and I look up at him. “It’s not good news, Ben. I’m scared.”
He rushes forward and folds me in his arms. His warmth surrounds me. We stand like that for I’ve no idea how long. It could’ve been minutes or even hours; his heat soaks through my body. And for the first time in months, I feel warm.
For weeks, I’ve been exhausted, lonely, and incredibly afraid. His chest is broad and strong, and I cuddle in as close as possible. He drops a soft kiss on my forehead.
This is the part I never let myself imagine. Not after everything. Not after Spain, or Liam, or the wedding I watched from the back of a church.
I’ve learned not to trust soft words. But this? This is different. This is action. Presence. A man showing up with mismatched shoes at 1 a.m. just to show he still loves me.
“You’re not on your own now,” he whispers, and I break down into uncontrollable sobs. “We will deal with this together. We will beat it.”
I want to believe him. Hell, I do. But part of me still waits for the catch—for the moment he pulls away again. Hope is dangerous when you’ve built your world around bracing for disappointment. But as I feel his arms wrap tighter around me, something in me unclenches. Just a little. Just enough.
By the time we finish talking, the clock shows 3:00 a.m. Intertwined with him on the sofa, I can’t let go. My legs are thrown over his, and he’s running one hand up and down my back as I grip the other.
We’ve discussed everything. Our past, his marriage, my cancer.
It’s been difficult, and there have been a lot of tears from both of us.
Going over old ground is always a tough experience, especially when you must face the parts you’re not proud of.
But if we want this to work, we must embrace each other, warts and all.
He apologized more than once. Not in grand speeches, but in the quiet truths. The way he held my gaze when he said, “I should have fought for you. I chose the easy way back then. I let someone else decide our ending. I won’t do that again. Not when it matters most.”
Then, he made love to me. Beautifully. Completely. It had been nothing like our stolen and erotic moments from years before. He worshiped my body.
Lifting me from the sofa and carrying me to my bedroom. Laying me on the bed, he undressed me with care, slipping off my pajamas silently. His hands ran all over my body as if to reacquaint himself with it, taking in all my lumps and curves.
I felt self-conscious. I wasn’t the same young, fit woman he knew from before. Childbearing and cancer treatments had scarred my body, but he never looked away. Not once. He didn’t seem to care.
Soft lips trailed kisses from my neck down my chest and over my blemishes.
His fingers skimmed my ribs where the weight loss had left shadows, then paused over the faint line of my surgical scar. I flinched without meaning to, but Ben didn’t pull away. Instead, he kissed it. Gently. As if the parts of me that felt broken deserved the most love of all.
Tears stung my eyes, but I let them fall.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmured. “I see you, Bex. All of you, and I’m still here.” I didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, I pulled him down to me. Because I needed this. I needed him.
He moved slowly, kissing his way down my stomach to my thighs. Every touch unhurried, as if time didn’t exist. When he finally entered me, I inhaled sharply but not from pain, but from the overwhelming sense of being chosen, held and loved.
And in that moment, I let go. Of the shame, the fear, the years of pretending I was fine on my own. I let it all fall away. Because for the first time in years, I wasn’t alone, not anymore. With him inside me, it was like being put back together again.
His hips rocked, pushing deep. Warm lips touched my neck as his breath hit my skin. I wrapped my legs around him, holding tight, not wanting the moment to end. A connection I never thought I’d have again but needed now more than ever.
After, we both drifted off into a peaceful doze in each other’s arms, finally, together like we should have been since Spain.
There’s a happiness tinged with sadness in the air, an understanding that starting now is the beginning of the end.
But love comes in all forms, and this is ours. We need to grasp it.
The alarm clock in my bedroom plays the morning news as a signal that another day is beginning, and Ben laughs.
“You wake up to the news?” he asks. “Isn’t that a bit depressing?”
“I like to keep informed,” I reply, shooting him a pointed look. He kisses me softly on the lips, and my breathing hitches. He smiles, then he kisses me again, full of love and longing. I could do this every damn day.
Lying in bed, he feels safe and strong beside me. I laugh, and he raises an eyebrow in question.
“I was just thinking. Some things don’t change.
” I elaborate because he looks confused.
“When we were together, I mean, properly together, like in Spain…” His brow creases, unsure where I’m going with this.
“You used to steal all the covers. And here I am, lying here with a tiny square of the blanket. Give me some more,” I shout, tugging at the duvet.
Visibly relaxing, he lifts his ass off the bed to release more of the blanket, then gently places it over me. His arms surround me, and we lie there in silence, enjoying the moment together.
The sound of little feet coming down the hallway echoes along the corridor, and Liam wanders into the bedroom, looking confused.
“Mummy,” he calls. “Mummy, where are you? The lights are off.”
Every morning, he climbs into bed with me for half an hour while I listen to the news.
I leave the hall light on when the mornings are dark.
Liam isn’t particularly keen on change; he gets upset when things are different from what he expects.
His easy acceptance of Ben and his siblings was a shock.
I really thought we would have more issues. Liam loves them all.
“I’m here, darling,” I call to him.
He appears around the front of the bed. Our son surveys the scene in front of him, and Ben immediately sits up.
“Morning, buddy,” he says with a smile, holding his arms out for a hug. Liam walks forward, and I feel my heart melt.
He’s still half asleep. I don’t know if he realizes that his father is actually here. Then, his eyes widen.
“Daddy! You’re here! But why are you here and not at your house? Did you get lost?” Ben laughs and kisses his forehead.
“I had to come and speak to Mummy,” he explains to our son. “I had to tell her that I love her and want us to be a family.” Ben turns to me, and I smile at him. “You’re right. I’ve been lost for a long time.”
Liam, not understanding his father’s words, just jumps into bed. Squeezing in between us, he wriggles to create more room for himself. Freezing-cold toes connect with my legs, and I move away quickly as if stung.
“Liam, what did I tell you about wearing your slippers? You’re freezing,” I scold. He shrugs his shoulders, ignoring my comment, and turns to his father.
“Do you live with us now? Will you be staying? Never leave?”
His words are hopeful. My heart breaks. Ben hugs him fiercely. “I’m here for you always.”
For the first time in months, I feel happy and relaxed. I have hope. It’s the first time since my diagnosis that I truly feel that life isn’t just going to get continually worse. The dread and fear are still there, but they’re not engulfing me like before.
The three of us lie in bed, holding each other, until a little voice pipes up.
“What’s for breakfast?” Ben and I chuckle.
I swing my legs out of bed and slide my feet into cozy slippers. Then I head to the kitchen to prepare a breakfast meal for my finally complete family.