CHAPTER 44
Summer
I’ve just lied to Declan for the first time. A flat-out falsehood. I meant to do it.
I ask him if he can get dressed and go outside and grab more firewood from the wood pile. I tell him I’m feeling cold, and I know that I’m going to use a lot more wood than usual.
He eyes the already substantial stack by the fireplace but does what I ask. I don’t deserve him. That’s the fucking understatement of the century.
When he returns, I tell him he can leave the wood on the porch, and I block his entrance back inside. I tell him he can’t stay here anymore. That he needs to leave. That I can’t have him around me and this is not his burden to carry.
At first, it looks almost as if he’s about to laugh. Then he looks like I’ve just slapped him. And now I don’t even recognize him.
Declan has always been the happiest person I know.
No matter what’s happening around him, he maintains a baseline of happiness that’s far beyond what other people can manage.
It’s one of the most endearing things about him.
Come to think of it, since coming to Yosemite Ranch, I’ve been a lot like him.
I’ve been happy here. I mean, how could anyone not be happy living here?
Living.
Here.
But now, he’s crushed. I’ve crushed him. His skin is splotchy and his eyes are full of confusion and hurt. He doesn’t have a funny retort. He’s not flirting. He doesn’t kiss me in an effort to make me change my mind.
He just stares at me. “Fuck that, Summer. I’m not leaving your side.”
“That’s not your choice to make.” I place my palm against his chest and walk him farther onto the porch. “It’s my choice. And I’m telling you to go. This is the way it has to be done.”
“But we’re married.”
“Oh, Declan. We were married by Beyoncé.”
He shakes his head. “Not fuckin’ happenin.’ Absolutely not. I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone. I can’t.” His arms fly up at his sides. “This is fucking insane!”
“I love you, but you have to go.”
“Yeah, well, fuck that. I’m not going. I’m staying. You’ll have the best doctors…” His voice is cracking and his eyes are wide.
I’ll never be able to forgive myself for hurting him like this. But the problem is that I’ll hurt him no matter what I do. Ripping off the Band-Aid is always the kinder way to go.
“You’re going to live a long, long time! You’ll be arguing with me about everything and nothing into your nineties.”
I step closer to him and look him in the eyes. “Eighteen months, Declan. Not ninety years. You heard the doctors. The average survival is eighteen months.”
“But maybe it’s not even cancer.”
He doesn’t want to deal with the truth of what we just learned. I don’t either. But it’s where we are.
“Declan, I need to be alone. I’d prefer to be alone. I’m used to it and it’s what I want right now. Give me this time.”
His eyes fill with tears that spill onto his cheeks.
“We’re married. I’m your husband.”
“It’s okay.” I reach up and run my fingers through his hair and wipe away his tears. “You can be my husband from your house tonight. Please don’t make me fight you. Please don’t make me beg. Give me some time to myself.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. I’ll update you.”
“Update me?” He lets go with a hysterical laugh.
“I need to be alone.”
He’s looking at me with an expression of torment.
“I’ll just say goodnight now,” I say, trying to shut the door.
He pushes it open, walks toward me, and lifts my chin. He kisses me ever so lightly, as if I’m glass that’ll break under the weight of his lips. But the kiss, as light as it is, lasts a very long time, as if he’s afraid this is our last.
And maybe it is.
If I’m a good person, if I’m strong enough, it will be.
Declan finally stops kissing me. He nods resolutely. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says softly.
“No. Not tomorrow. You only come back when I tell you that you can. Not before. Promise me you’ll wait for my permission.”
“I’m not going to promise you that.”
“Then pretend that you promised me and don’t come back until I tell you.”
“I’m planning a wedding for us,” he says.
“We already had a wedding.”
“A real one. Not crazy like Finn’s, but a real one with everyone from the ranch. No dress but you’ll carry a bouquet, and I’ll slip a ring on your finger.”
I shake my head. “Don’t plan that. Don’t plan a wedding or anything that involves me. I don’t want you to do that.”
He smiles at me like he doesn’t believe me.
Was that my second lie to Declan? I shake my head. It doesn’t matter what I want. The universe has just dumped a stinking pile of “who gives a fuck what you want?” on top of my head.
I want a life with Declan.
Not getting it.
I want to be a cantankerous ninety-year-old biddy.
Not getting that, either.
And even if I did imagine having a real wedding—Jamie walking me down the aisle, Declan waiting for me at the altar, me telling the world that I love him and promise myself to him for the rest of my life—would it even matter?
It wouldn’t.
“Please. Leave me alone for a while.”
I shove him onto the porch and close the door.