Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Bellamy
Coy stretches his legs out beside me.
“Are you doing okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I just don’t understand why they have you come and then sit and wait for two hours. By the time we get home, Dad is exhausted.”
My father sits in the chair to my right, his head bent forward, and his eyes closed. His lips flutter, telling me he’s asleep.
I can’t blame him. After waiting at the hospital for the PET scan and then driving to the cancer center for the results, I’m tired too. And all I’ve had to do is wait.
Nurses and staff walk by, ushering patients in and out of the double doors that lead to the exam rooms. A large, oval-shaped desk sits on the other side of the reception area. The women sitting behind it keep stealing glances at Coy.
It was the same thing at the hospital, just less obvious. I wasn’t positive they knew Coy was Kelvin McCoy, the country music star. There was a chance they just thought he was a super good-looking guy.
But these women? They know. I feel it.
He must realize this. How could he not?
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey, what?”
“I think the women behind the desk recognize you.”
He looks over my head for a moment before switching his attention back to me. A warm, knowing grin spread across his face.
“At least they seem to think I’m hot,” he teases.
“Not what I was getting at.”
“What were you getting at then?” He twists his lips. “Do you want me to kiss you right here?”
“I’d rather you not.”
He shrugs. “That would let them know who’s boss.”
“Okay. And then one of them pulls out a phone, and it gets shared on social media? I’m good. Thanks.”
He sits back, the amusement sliding off his face. “You do realize that’s going to happen at some point, right?”
My body stills.
Somehow, I hadn’t thought of that.
To me, he’s just Coy, the boy next door. To everyone else, he’s a big freaking deal.
My brain spins, posing various scenarios for me to consider.
Unflattering pictures from the beach.
Speculation of my sexual history.
Gossip about why I was at the grocery store.
All of those things—will they come? Are they now inevitable?
“I, um …” I clear my throat. “Wow. Okay. I hadn’t really thought about that,” I admit.
“We’ll add that to the list of things to figure out then,” he mutters, clearly not looking forward to that discussion.
I open my mouth to respond when a nurse in turquoise scrubs announces my dad’s name at the door. I wake Dad and then get him to his feet. Coy appears with a wheelchair that gets no objections from the patient.
Dad grabs my hand. His palm is cold, his fingers wrinkly. He looks up at me with fear-stricken eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”
I nod. My words of positivity are stuck in my throat.
“How fast do you think we can get back there?” Coy asks, standing behind Dad. “Want to time us, Bells?”
The distraction is just what we need.
Dad laughs. “Oh, I think we better not. My blood pressure can’t take that much fun anymore.”
Coy winks at me and stands to the side. “I’ll be right here when you guys get out.”
“Oh, no,” Dad says, shaking his head. “You’re coming too.”
Coy looks at me. Uncertainty etches across his features. He silently asks for direction, for my approval.
I want to tell him I need him. But I don’t.
“Yeah, come back with us,” I tell him instead. It serves the same purpose without making me feel weak. “Maybe they’ll push us to the top of the schedule if they think it’ll impress you.”
He laughs. “Don’t count on it.”
We make it to the doorway, then walk down a long hall. Nurses and doctors buzz about, each welcoming us with a smile.
I always wonder how they’re so kind and uplifting when dealing with this crap day in and day out.
We get settled into the exam room. The nurse asks my dad a few basic questions and then leaves us to wait.
Again.
My heart beats on a quickened tempo. It’s not even like it hits harder or faster. It just moves on a different scale that doesn’t exist without this type of stress.
Coy sits beside me. His leg bounces, but that’s his only tell. Otherwise, he’s as calm and sturdy and present as he can be.
I look into his eyes and try to tell him how thankful I am to have him here. How much it means to me that he showed up today—not just for me but also for my dad.
I’m stronger because he’s here. I feel more capable of handling whatever the doctor might say. I didn’t expect to be. I expected the opposite.
There’s no pity in Coy’s eyes or resentment at being kept away from his life. He doesn’t look at me differently. If anything, I feel closer to him in this exam room with my father and a stack of magazines between us than I ever have.
I reach for his hand. He gives it to me readily.
“You guys want a butterscotch?” Dad asks. “My mouth gets so dry.”
“I’m good,” I tell him.
“Have you ever had a butterscotch-dipped ice cream cone?” Coy asks Dad.
Dad shakes his head. “No. Sounds good, though.”
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. They have them at this ice cream place in Nashville. I get the butterscotch shell and then the crunch coating on top of that. You’ll have to try it one day,” he says.
Dad nods. “Can you get it in a waffle cone?”
“Yeah, but I like a good sugar cone, myself. It lets the focus shine on the butterscotch.”
“Spoken like a true connoisseur,” I tease.
Before he can respond, the door opens, and Dr. Helm walks in.
I squirm in my seat and say a silent prayer for good news.
“Hi, Joe,” he says in his usual cheery way. “Hello, Bellamy.”
“Hi, Doctor,” I say as Dad just waves from his wheelchair across the room.
Dr. Helm sets his computer down on the counter and sits in his roller chair. He takes off his glasses and spins around to face us.
“Who is this?” he asks, pointing at Coy.
“That’s my son-in-law,” Dad says before we can speak up.
My eyes nearly fall out of my head. “I—” I begin, trying to clean up the disaster my father just made, but Coy cuts me off.
“I’m Coy, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”
The doctor looks at the three of us. He finally lets it go.
“So, Joe, how have you been feeling?” he asks.
Dad shrugs, moving the candy around his mouth. “I’ve felt better. Felt worse. You know how these things go.”
“I do,” Dr. Helm says. “How has he been eating, Bellamy? Drinking? Sleeping?”
“About the same,” I say, fighting through the tightness in my throat. “He eats a few bites of soup here and there. Some yogurt. Melon—a lot of melon. He wants a hamburger now and then, and I make it, but he only eats half of it, maybe.”
Dr. Helm nods. “Well, that’s all okay as long as he’s eating something. But I’m going to give you a prescription to pick up that will boost his appetite a bit. Okay, Joe?”
“Whatever you say, Doc.”
Dr. Helm grins. “What about you, Bellamy? Are you doing okay? This isn’t easy for you either.”
Coy squeezes my hand.
Every female in the universe knows never to ask how you are doing when you feel like your life is a violent roller-coaster ride. But, somehow, I keep the tears back.
“I’m doing okay. Better lately,” I add, my voice dropping.
“That’s great. I’m glad to see you’ve gotten married or …” The doctor clasps his hands together in front of him. “Whatever this is. I know you like to do it all on your own, but it’s important to have a support system. I’ve been telling you that for months now.”
“She has one hell of a system,” Coy speaks up. “My family lives next door. Now that she’s actually family, she’s going to have so much support she’ll beg for it to stop.”
Dr. Helm laughs. “Good luck to you. This one …” He whistles through his teeth, making us all laugh.
Our laughter subsides as Dr. Helm picks up his computer. He places it on his lap and pulls up a screen.
The fun in his features washes away and is replaced with his doctor face—the one that makes me feel like he tricked me into relaxing and that he’s about to end my world.
I scoot to the left of my chair out of instinct. Coy must notice because he leans forward and to the edge of his chair so that we’re even closer.
“Your blood work and PET results came in,” Dr. Helm says, clicking around on his screen. “We have some good news and some not so good news.”
“Give me the good news first,” Dad says. His voice is tight and controlled. His face blank and prepared. “Let’s hear it.”
“Well, your blood counts look good. I’m surprised,” he says. “Looks like Bellamy is quite the nurse. So, good work on that.”
“Thank you,” I say, although it feels weird to thank him. I let it go.
Dr. Helm sighs. “Now for the bad news.”
I look at my father. He stares straight ahead at Dr. Helm. His hands lay flat on the wheelchair rails; his feet are balanced against the floor. I can only imagine what he’s feeling and have wondered so many times if I’ll feel that way too.
But I push that out of my head and focus on what the doctor says next.
“While the cancer has not spread—and that’s more good news,” he says, “it also hasn’t shrunk. And we were hoping that we’d see it recede this time after having used the new chemo we’ve been trying. Remember?”
I nod. “So, what does this mean?”
“Well, we have two choices. One would be to try this chemotherapy a little longer and see if something changes. I’m happy with the containment. That’s not a bad thing. If that’s all we get from it, it’s better than the alternative,” Dr. Helm says.
“What’s the other choice, Doctor?” Coy asks.
He watches the doctor with an intensity that surprises me.
“Well, there’s another chemo drug we can try,” Dr. Helm says. “We’ve been putting this one off for a while because the side effects can be nasty. We have ways of making them more manageable, and some patients do really well with them. But it’s impossible to predict how someone will react.”
Dad frowns.
This is not what he wanted to hear. This is not what I wanted to hear. But it’s not the worst-case scenario, and I focus on that.
“What do you suggest?” I ask. “If the current medicine is working—”
“It’s not.” Dad’s voice is loud and clear. “I want to try the new medicine.”
“Are you sure?” I ask him.
I remember the side effects that Dr. Helm laid out a few months ago when we considered this option.
Intense nausea. Lack of an appetite. Hair loss.
Peripheral neuropathy. The list goes on and on, and quite frankly, I’m not sure Dad can endure that.
The entire process has the potential to weaken him, and he’s already the weakest I can see him getting.
My heart begins to splinter in pieces as I imagine him having to go through all of that.
It’s so unfair.
Dad looks at Coy. Coy nods.
“You have my word,” Coy tells him, his voice just above a whisper.
Dad looks at me, his eyes blurry before he looks at Dr. Helm.
“I want to try the new medicine, Dr. Helm. Let’s give it a shot. What do I have to lose?”
“Your life,” I tell him, blinking back tears. “You have your life to lose.”
Dr. Helm sits quietly, fading into the background of the room. I can’t see him past the tears anyway.
“Bellamy, I don’t have a life right now anyway,” Dad says. “This isn’t how I want to live.”
My lips shake as I try to regain control of myself. “You have me to live for. I need you. You can’t just play with your life like this. Don’t you see that?”
A single, solitary tear drips down my father’s face.
“I’ve lived for you my entire life,” Dad says, choking back emotion. “I’ve held on and fought and gotten up every single morning just for you.”
Tears flow down my cheeks in heavy rivers. My insides twist into tight, unbearable knots as I feel my grip on life slip.
I know he’s right. I know he’s fought for me and lived for me, but I’m not ready for him to give that up yet.
“All I wanted to do was to make it long enough for you to find someone to love you like I do,” he says. “I knew it would be Coy. I just had to wait long enough.”
Coy bows his head.
“You’re going to be fine, Bellamy,” Dad says. “And I’m not dying today. But if I do, then I’ll get to see your mother again, and I’m so ready for that day.”
A sob escapes my throat as I listen to his words.
“It’s time,” Dad says, looking at Dr. Helm again. “I want to start the new medicine as soon as it’s available. And that’s that.”
With a nod, Dr. Helm stands. “I’ll let the nurse get the instructions ready and get everything approved. But, in the meantime, if you all need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.”
I nod, unable to speak through the emotion in my throat.
Coy stands. “Thank you, sir.”
“Of course,” Dr. Helm says. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Coy says.
The doctor leaves the room, and a nurse returns.
“Do you all need a few minutes?” she asks, reading the room.
“We’re good,” I say.
She props the door open and goes to my father. She unlocks the brakes on the wheelchair.
“You two can follow us out,” she says brightly before pushing Dad out the door.
I turn to follow them, but Coy stops me. His eyes have a kindness, a depth of concern that I’ve never needed more than I do this moment.
“You okay?” he asks, wiping my tears away with his thumbs.
“No.”
He pulls me into his chest and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “We’re going to figure this out, okay? We’re going to get through it together.”
His words comfort me. They give me hope.
He gives me hope.
And while it scares the shit out of me to need someone like I need him, I can’t deny it. Not anymore.
I can’t control this cancer journey any more than he can control his music career. But maybe he’s right. Perhaps we can get through it together.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you, too.”