CHAPTER 43
Declan
Summer is silent the whole drive home. I try to speak on more than one occasion but can’t seem to find the right words to say.
It’s just the two of us in this Jeep, but we’re anything but alone.
I keep picturing giant cartoon bubbles over our heads, so huge that they’re busting out of the roof and side doors and yet they’re still not big enough to hold all the questions and reactions and emotions spilling out of both of us in silence.
We’re drinking from a firehose of bad news. We’re in shock. My hands shake on the steering wheel. Summer won’t look at me.
I know myself pretty well. I like to fix shit. In fact, I feel compelled to fix shit. I was taught from a young age to sniff out things that might not work as expected, figure out what’s gone wrong, and then stop whatever I’m doing and go fix it.
Before anyone has to point out to me that something is amiss.
On Yosemite Ranch, fixing what’s broken ensures the safety of everyone who lives and works there, protects our resources, and keeps everything moving in the right direction. It’s the same in the Navy. Same for StellaR Tech.
My responsibility is to fix shit for the welfare of my team. Make it right. Because one broken link in a chain can lead to disaster.
I can’t fix this, though. What the fuck and I supposed to do?
I don’t even have a basic understanding of what was just dumped on us. I must act. I must do something.
I should make some calls. Talk to Summer’s doctors at length and figure out how to get a second opinion.
I should do my own research. Read the medical journals and read the biomedical and pharmaceutical research papers.
Visit the patient advocacy websites. Assemble everything into a format I can understand.
I need details. I need the big picture. And I need options.
And while I do all this, I will stay at Summer’s side. I will help her and love her and fight with her—and for her—every step of the way. At the same time, I will somehow hold back on my own fury and grief and devastation so that Summer has room for her own.
I will listen more than I talk.
But right now?
Right now, I want to fucking smash my fist through the Jeep dashboard. I want to demolish things and bust shit up. Crush things with my bare hands and run out into the pines to scream my lungs out in the hopes that I can release some steam from the pressure cooker I’ve suddenly become.
I can’t help but think of my mother, though I’ll never say as much to Summer. It’s my point of reference for this disease. My mother died of breast cancer when I was eleven. Watching her go from a vibrant and take-charge woman to a hollowed-out husk was the most gruesome nightmare of my life.
I can’t let that happen to Summer. I won’t let it happen.
I’ll figure out a way.
We reach the cabin in silence. I help her out of the passenger door, hold her hand as we climb up the porch steps, and open the cabin door for her. Her hand feels strangely limp in mine, like we’re disconnected. I don’t like it.
At all.
We’re barely inside when she turns to me.
She grabs me by the lapels of my coat and pulls my mouth down to meet hers. Her hands are in my hair, yanking me tighter to her. Then she’s ripping off my coat, undoing my jeans. Her hands are frantic, and her kiss is frenzied.
This isn’t playful and it isn’t loving. It’s desperation.
“Summer. Baby—”
I try to pull away. She’s not having it. She shoves my jeans down my thighs and tries to struggle out of her pants but nearly trips.
I haven’t even had the chance to flip on the light switch.
This won’t make anything better.
“Stop.” I yank up my jeans, lift her up, and cradle her in my arms. She falls apart instantly, sobbing and hanging tightly on to me, like she’s afraid to fall. Her face is buried in the crook of my neck, and I feel her tears.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
I flip on a light so that I can see. I carry her to her bed and lay her down, taking my time as I remove her boots and socks and jeans and tuck her under the covers. I sit down on the edge of the bed and brush hair from her face, and gaze down at my beautiful Summer.
My wife.
“Please,” she says, her eyes imploring me. “I don’t want to feel like this, like I’m already dead. You’re my lifeline, Declan. Please make love to me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say.
“You won’t. You’ll be saving me.”
I smile gently at her while I remove all my clothes, then I climb in with her under the covers. I pull her against me and clutch tight. She’s not crying anymore, which I think is actually a bad sign.
Her breath is shallow. She’s stunned.
I lift her face to me, and I kiss her. She feels stiff to my touch, and her skin is cool. I caress her face and shoulders and then slowly remove what clothes she’s still wearing.
She needs skin-on-skin contact. Comfort and connection. It is my honor to give it to her.
I roll with her until she’s beneath me. I wrap my arms under her and she brings her legs around me. I hold her tight. I enter her body. And within moments, I feel her soften under me and respond.
Summer comes alive. She begins to move in sync with me, the way only she can.
I tell her I love her and will keep her safe.
It’s a languid and gentle melding that goes on and on. I have no concept of how much time goes by, but we stay like this, moving in harmony with one another but never changing position. It’s almost like we’re afraid to break the circuit.
We are carrying each other through the storm.
“I love you,” I tell her. I visualize my love pouring into her and spreading like white light through every cell of her body.
She ripples against me. I feel her respond to my touch, my strength. I give it all to her.
I feel it building in her as it builds in me.
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Summer bursts into tears. She orgasms just as I give her everything I am, everything I’m made of. I give it all to her.