The Angel's Enchanted Mate

1. Ethan

Ethan

Death comes for everyone.

You’re born and you die. Those are the only guarantees we have in life. The vast majority of people don’t know when the latter will happen.

But I did.

I might not have known the exact time or day, but it’d be within the next six months. Seven, if I was really lucky.

That was if my doctors were to be believed, anyway. But I’d seen plenty of them over the past few months, and they’d all come to the same miserable conclusion.

“Treatment may prolong your life, but not beyond a few weeks.”

Others might have accepted their fate and not subjected themselves to unnecessary side effects or trauma. Part of me wished that was the path I’d chosen. To quietly go out with dignity instead of fighting until the last breath.

I’d considered it. I had. After all, nothing was going to change the outcome. Death was coming on swift wings, whether I was ready to greet him or not.

But that wasn’t going to stop me trying to hide or outrun him. I’d do whatever it took to scrape a few extra weeks out of this life. It hadn’t always been kind to me, but it was mine. If death wanted to take it from me, he could fight me for it.

I just wished the fight was a little easier sometimes.

My head was pounding as I reclined in the chair. Quiet chatter filled the air, mingling with the scuffing of nurses’ shoes. The scent of disinfectant was more familiar than the home I shared with Dave at this point. Made sense, given I’d spent more time here than there since we’d come back.

Returning to the UK hadn’t been on my bingo card for this year. Dave and I had relocated to Southern California just after I graduated from university, when I was just twenty-two. Back then, I’d had nothing but my camera, big dreams, and love for the man at my side.

Years of struggling to make a name for myself had firmly removed the rose-tinted glasses.

My destiny wasn’t to be a world-famous photographer.

Turned out Dave wasn’t the soulmate I’d believed him to be either.

When I’d packed up my life to follow him to LA, I’d had a picture-perfect vision of our future.

Picking out paint samples and rugs. Hosting dinners for our vast group of friends.

Returning to each other at the end of each day, full of exciting stories about the fulfilling work life we were both enjoying.

And, further down the line, rings on our fingers. Maybe a kid or two running around.

None of that had happened. Instead, we’d lived in rentals where we weren’t allowed to hang a photo, let alone change the colour of the walls.

There was no hosting of dinners. It was hard enough to afford groceries in LA, never mind the fact that we didn’t have the space for a fucking table.

Then there was the issue of who we’d invite.

Dave had plenty of friends. He was the kind of person others gravitated towards.

I’d met many of them over the years, but they saw the world through a different lens to me, one that was a shallow facsimile of real life.

The only current affairs they gave a shit about were ones between celebrities, not any playing out on the world stage.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried. I had. So many fucking times. But none of the bonds had stuck. Not like those I’d once shared with the people I’d left behind years ago.

I missed them so fucking much. It was my fault we’d grown apart; I knew that. The drifting had started before I’d even left, with me getting so caught up in Dave that I’d lost sight of everyone else.

I was literally the worst.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t contacted them at all after moving to the states.

I’d kept in touch at first. But then I’d found myself changing the subject when Riley asked what jobs I had lined up.

Coming up with excuses when Matty suggested I show him what my living space looked like.

Outright lying to Lucky when he asked whether I was happy living in LA.

After a while, the lies had become too much to handle. I’d closed myself off and done the one thing I’d always judged others for.

I’d ghosted them.

I shifted restlessly in my chair, counting down the minutes until the dose would finish being administered.

God, how I hated this. Dave had made it to my first few chemo appointments, but his job had kept him too busy to attend any since.

And let me tell you, it was one thing sitting through endless rounds of chemo.

Doing so alone, without anyone to distract you?

That was something else entirely.

My heart panged as Matty, Riley, and Lucky once more floated through my mind.

Any of them would’ve sat beside me. Knowing Matty, he’d have come up with a rota so that I was never, ever, alone.

Lucky would have had a pile of books to keep me entertained, while Riley would likely have commandeered a TV so we could game together. Just like we’d used to.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t call them. London wasn’t far from Southampton in the grand scheme of things. But who ghosted their friends for years, undoubtedly missing huge moments in their lives, only to reach out during a time of need?

Dicks, that’s who.

Well, I wasn’t a dick. Besides, I couldn’t be selfish about this.

Sure, having them here would make me happy, but what would it do to them?

It wasn’t going to change the odds of my survival.

It was possible they’d mourn me when they heard the news, but to watch me go?

Fade away until I was a shell of the man they once knew?

I wasn’t subjecting them to that.

The scuffs stopped beside me. “How are you feeling, dearie?”

I forced my bleary eyes open, smiling at the kind-faced nurse. Lily had been here for every one of my sessions, cheering me on even as she jabbed me with needles. “Right as rain.”

She chuckled. “Liar. Would’ve thought all those years in America would’ve eroded your British manners.”

“If anything, it made me more British.” I hid my wince as she gently eased the cannula free. “Did you know, they don’t eat with knives?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her easy tone was at odds with her brisk movements as she applied the little bundle of cotton wool. “You’re having me on.”

“It’s true,” I insisted. “They just eat with forks.”

Her eyebrows almost hit her pitch-dark hair. “Alright, then how do they eat steak?”

“Ah, now that’s the exception.” I nodded solemnly, hating how the small movement sent waves of dizziness through me. “They do use a knife for that. They cut it all up first, then eat it with their fork.”

“What a waste of time.” Lily scoffed. “Can’t imagine all the faff.”

“It’s because there was a shortage of metal when it was colonised,” I explained as I rolled down my sleeves and stretched.

I’d never been good at sitting still. Having to do so for these long sessions might kill me before the cancer did.

The comfy chairs for patients were the only saving grace.

That and the regular supply of tea and biscuits made it a bit more tolerable.

Not fully tolerable. Nothing could do that.

“Right, that’s you all done today, dearie.” She patted my arm, then hesitated before asking the question. “No Dave again today?”

I raised a brow as I shrugged into my coat. It was summer, but I’d been feeling the cold more and more recently. Plus, with both the hospital band and plaster out of sight, I could almost pretend nothing was wrong.

Almost.

“Is that judgement in your tone, Lily?” I asked mildly, evading the question.

She placed a fluttering hand on her chest. “Would I judge?”

I gave her a flat stare. “Need I remind you how you spent your last tea break gossiping about Liz from the late shift?”

Lily sniffed. “Well, can you blame me? That was a box of Thorntons she pinched. That was meant to be for the whole ward, not just Miss Stuffy Knickers.”

I laughed. “Never change, Lily.”

“I’d best be your favourite nurse,” she warned.

“Always.” There was no lie there. I was sure Lily said the same to every patient who passed through here, but she normalised this process as much as she could.

Whether it was through gossip, remembering details about your life, or just straight up British nagging, Lily was able to make you feel like a person, not just a patient.

God bless the NHS. It was why we’d returned. My insurance in America had been shit, and Dave’s wasn’t much better. Coming home was the logical thing to do.

It had felt right too. Dying on home soil. I didn’t have a family to speak of, and my friends were long gone, but at least I’d be here. Finally home. Just as I’d secretly longed to be for the past few years.

“Don’t forget to collect your card at reception.” She nodded towards the desk. “And tell that feckless boyfriend of yours to book the whole day off for your next session. You’re not in America anymore—any employer worth their salt would allow him time off for this.”

Privately, I agreed with her, but Dave had insisted it wasn’t possible, and honestly? I was too tired to push. The pre-cancer version of me would have. He would’ve argued the toss until he was blue in the face.

But I was just so fucking tired. Everything had changed in the last nine months, including me.

And it wasn’t like Dave hadn’t been supportive. He had. But he’d also had to give up his career to move back with me, something I didn’t take for granted in the least. So if he needed to put the extra work in to cement his current position, I could hardly begrudge him for it.

Unlike my career in LA, Dave’s hadn’t struggled at all. Which made sense given it was why we’d made the move in the first place. There was more call for a talented sound engineer in Hollywood than Southampton.

I’d just come around to the idea of moving to accounting, which was what my degree was in, when I’d found out that wasn’t to be my destiny either.