CHAPTER 42
Summer
Time passes, and Declan keeps trying to entertain me.
Distract me.
I throw jokes right back at him, trying to entertain and distract him, too. His face is ashen. He’s worried. I hate seeing him like this. It’s all because of me.
I’ve already put him through hell. No more. No more.
“I feel fine! Really!” We’ve waited for three hours now.
Nobody has any news for us and I’m going stir-crazy.
“You know I have bad periods, Declan. You know how uncomfortable it can get. I’m sure it’s connected to that.
So, if I were you, I’d go ahead and get the annulment, because having to deal with this shit every month up close and personal is going to be a real buzz ruiner. ”
Declan takes his phone out of his pocket. “Thank goodness you gave me the go-ahead. I’ve been itching to call my attorney all day and cut you loose. I wonder if I have enough time to get a dinner date for tonight.”
“Very funny, flyboy. And your attorney is Evander. It shouldn’t be hard to get ahold of him.”
“You’d be surprised. The asshole never answers my calls.”
I smile at him, but there’s a lump forming in my throat. “You’re joking about the dinner date, right?”
“Well, I am getting a little hungry.”
“You can ask me out. I’ll go to dinner with you. But…”
“No booze. Agreed. Who knows what kind of crazy shit we’d get up to.”
“Not that I regret any of it,” I tell him. “I know it was touch and go at first, but I’d do it all again. Just you, me, Beyoncé, Tina, Aretha, Bryttni, and Kirk.”
His deep violet eyes darken, and I see the beginnings of his dimples.
My breath catches. Has Declan always been this impossibly handsome?
I can’t recall ever seeing his face with this kind of clarity before.
Every distinct edge in relief, every smooth plane catching the light, and all of it perfectly proportioned.
Those sensual lips. Violet eyes rimmed in thick black lashes, the same hue as his scruffy beard and thick black curls, now an inch longer since we landed in Las Vegas to look for Evander and Phoebe.
It seems like a million fucking years ago.
“I’d do it all over again, too,” he says. “In a heartbeat. A thousand times over. But I’d still like the opportunity to do it right one day. I want to remember every detail, including any ceremonial boob flashing that might happen.”
He hops up on the bed, takes me into his arms, and I immediately fall apart. The tears come and I know I have to tell him.
“I’m so scared,” I whisper.
“Baby, I got you,” Declan says. “I’m right here and everything is going to be okay. I love you.”
“I love you, too. But—"
The door opens. Declan scoots away a bit and holds my hand tight in his. Two doctors and a nurse enter. I’ve never seen any of them before. All I’m thinking is that two doctors and a nurse aren’t necessary to inform a patient that she’s fine and is being discharged.
They introduce themselves, and I’m even more confused. None of their names are registering.
“Gynecologist?” Declan asks one of them.
She nods. “Gynecological surgeon. I was called in after Ms. Stevens’s scan results. I’m here as a consulting physician to Dr. Lavenda. I apologize that it took me so long to get here.”
I rub my ear. The doctor sounds like she’s very far away, like at the opposite end of a tunnel. She’s talking about my scan, about my pelvis, about serious concerns and a prognosis and future testing but I can’t really assemble the words in my brain in a way that makes sense.
The room begins to zoom in and out. Graying out, then lighter and then black again. Like I'm underwater. Or lost in a forest, at the precise moment daylight turns to night.
Then I hear two words cut through the fog. I hear them clear as day.
Ovarian.
Cancer.
It goes black around me, and the darkness is throbbing and whooshing. Declan’s touching me but I don’t feel him. I’ve lost connection to everything. I’m weightless. And then I’m alone.
I have to be alone.
Because I will never ask anyone to carry this burden with me. Not even Declan. He didn’t want this, and he doesn’t deserve it.
I turn to him. “I want to go home now.”
“But…” he starts.
“Take me home. Now.”
Declan nods, then shoos the doctors and nurse out of my room. He gathers my belongings. While I get dressed, I hear him speaking softly to the doctors in the hallway. He’s gone only a few minutes before he returns.
I refuse a wheelchair. I want to walk out on my own and take at least one win from today. I ask Declan not to touch me. When we step outside, I stop in my tracks and breathe in the country air. There’re so many scents, from cows to hay to the bitter cold of the waning days of January.
“Take me home, flyboy,” I say. And then, I let him touch me.
Declan wraps his arm around my middle and I lean into him. He walks me to his Jeep, helps me up, and belts me in. I allow him to do this for me, even though I’m perfectly able to do it myself.
But I want him to experience this moment of control over something, to feel helpful in some way.
It’s an illusion, as we both know.
He starts the motor and backs out of the parking space. As we approach Yosemite Ranch, I roll down my window and breathe.
Because I can.