Chapter 41
THE SICK BAY'S DIM LIGHTING is easy on the eyes. The silent whir of the air-conditioning unit on the wall across from the beds is a comfort along with the coolness bathing the room.
As my eyes land on the analog clock mounted to the wall beneath the unit, reading eleven minutes past the hour of two, a bolt of disbelief rockets through me.
I'm sitting bolt upright in a heartbeat and the black-clad figure sitting on the chair against the wall in my periphery jumps to with a start.
"I slept the whole fucking day?"
"Better that you did," comes the soothing rumble of that deep voice I'm quickly growing fond of.
Turning my head, noting that there is no dull ache or throbbing anywhere in my shoulders, neck, or head, and that I feel rejuvenated beyond measure, my eyes do a full-body scan of Sky before words form on my tongue.
As such is the effect he has on me where I am still reeling in disbelief that Sky Daniels and I are an official secret item.
His black jacket is thrown over the back of the chair leaving him in dark jeans that look a little too good on his long legs – an ankle crossed over a knee – and a plain black jersey that also fits him too well accentuating his muscles and shoulders, stretching a little tightly over his chest.
One sleeve of his jersey is pushed higher up than the other exposing his thick bicep and the noticeable vein protruding along the muscle, dipping over his forearm and down to the back of his hand.
There must be a god after all.
"Done checking me out, baby?"
Heat flushes my skin, a coy smile turning my lips upward. I hold up my thumb and pointer fingers with a tiny gap between them.
"Just a little bit longer."
He laughs, closing the distance between us to settle on the edge of the small bed. He slips his phone into his pocket and turns his attention to me, fingers brushing the underside of my chin. Chills sweep over me, little tingles dancing everywhere he touches.
No one's ever made me feel the way he does. Not even when I was with Sasha did she have such control and effect over my body.
There's something almost unreal about it. About him.
"How are you feeling?"
Smiling, I nod. "Better. Thanks, by the way. For helping me earlier."
"I told you," he says, leaning in as he tilts his head to kiss my cheek. "I've got you."
Those are the exact words he said to me in the bathroom after he helped me clean up and once more, they slice open that vulnerable part of me that is more scared than I can comprehend but throwing up a brave face so I don't completely fall apart. It erodes my intention to keep my illness a secret.
He frowns, watching my face, and the multitude of emotions ripping into me that I don't attempt to hide. I feel the heat rising behind my eyes, the twist of my lips, and see the distortions as my image of him blurs.
Sky tilts his head, a boyish grin on his lips. "Are we feeling emotional today?" he teases, opting for lighthearted when right before his eyes, all of my defenses are crumbling.
Like dominoes, one by one, they smash and shatter and disintegrate into nothingness. His grin falters as he tracks the tear that slides down my face. He reaches out with a thumb, wiping it away, catching me in a tight embrace as I throw my arms over his shoulders, burying my face against his neck.
At first, he simply holds me, his arms a steel fortress I find refuge and comfort in, surging a boost of confidence I've been lacking lately. His hands trace lines up and down my back in soothing repetition, soft kisses ghosting along my collarbone and the side of my neck.
And then, "What's wrong baby? I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong."
A pathetically loud sob rips through me at the confidence behind his words. He's so certain that he can make all of my problems disappear as if he's some kind of wizard who could chant some spell and everything will be fine.
I shake my head against his shoulder. "You can't fix this, Sky. Not this time."
"You don't know that. I'm something of a miracle worker."
His attempts to push me into a better mood, the lightness of his teases has me laughing a broken sound drowned out beneath my quiet sobbing.
"It's too late. You can't help me this time."
A beat of silence passes. The whir of the air-conditioning filling the silence occasionally disrupted by the sound of Nurse Larsen's voice over a call coming from her office. The final bell of the day rings and still, Sky's arms remain secured around my waist.
"I know you're sick."
I tense. My muscles clamp and freeze up, the quiet sobbing meeting an abrupt halt.
The analog clock continues ticking, seconds turning into one minute and then one and a half minutes.
"What?" I rasp, still clinging to him in hopes that maybe it was my imagination, and he didn't say the words I think I heard him say.
"I know you're sick," he repeats. "And not a passing flu you'll recover from within a few days. I know it's bad."
Disentangling, a frown tightens over my brows, my jaw working wordlessly and failing to find the right ones to say to him. He gives nothing away as he continues watching me struggle until the only thing I can manage to squeak out is, "How?"
"The internet. Plus, I spoke to Nurse Larsen. I've been...observing you."
He looks away, rubs his forehead, then returns that intense, piercing blue gaze to me.
"The migraines. The fact that you look like you've been losing weight. Barely sleeping. The crying and emotional outbursts. And then the vomiting and nausea the same time as a migraine."
"That's what happens when people get migraines. Sometimes it's so bad, they throw up. They become disoriented and pass out," I counterargue though it's pointless to keep evading the truth when somehow, he's figured it out.
I could say it's dumb luck but I'm not stupid enough to believe that because it is true that he pays close attention to every little thing where I'm concerned.
There's also the fact about Sky Daniels that people overlook. One, I too, overlooked before.
He's smarter than people give him credit for, often using his academic performance as a measure of his intelligence, but he's quickly teaching me that there are different kinds of smart.
He's good at reading people.
He reads me like an open book. I can't hide a thing from him, so it would appear.
"You're not going to run away from the tough conversation again, are you?" He clasps my hand between both of his, his stare boring into me.
How does he do it? There's not a lot I've witnessed that seems to shake him except when I'm in danger. Outside of that, he's always been the picture of perfect calm and control.
I want to be more like that.
"Tell me the truth," he says, almost a whisper.
Where do I begin?
There's so much I want to say yet the words jumble in my head because I want to tell him everything there is to know about my illness.
From the day I was first diagnosed to the treatments I remember and all that I've felt stuck in hospitals sometimes for days or weeks at a time.
I want to tell him about the toll it's taking on my parents because while they act strong, going through the motions of their days, I see the changes no matter how small.
Mom's smiles are forced. Her eyes have a perpetual shine as if she's constantly withholding the urge to burst into tears when she looks at me.
She doesn't laugh much anymore. Even her singing and humming have taken on a melancholic note.
Last night, I came home to find her at the dining table, notes from her session organized around her.
She was humming, softly – absent – and she hadn't heard me return just as she didn't notice me lingering by the dining room door.
Dad hasn't been talking much lately. He looks more worn down than before and within the last few days, he's sprouted more grays.
When he comes home, he does this thing where he doesn't speak to me, but he'll watch me from across the room.
Wednesday night, after that episode with the wolves in the woods, I'd slept most of the day and didn't bother heading to school.
I was still drained after waking and that night, I'd turned in my sleep to find Dad in the room with me.
He was sitting in a chair by the bed, watching over me, his face wet with silent tears. He was in a daze because he didn't notice I'd seen him or if he had, he said nothing.
They've changed so much in so short a time. My deteriorating health has propelled them into grief and stress that's killing them slowly, sucking the light out of their lives little by little.
There's so much I want to tell Sky, but I'm afraid of how he's going to react and putting him through the hell my parents are currently living.
He could have anyone he wants, and it's devastating to know that I'll be a tiny fragment of a fleeting period in his life.
I'm afraid of hurting him and of being hurt when he realizes he's wasting his time.
So, I do probably the worst thing I can at a time like this.
I give half the truth.
"It's cancer. A brain tumor. That's why I get all those migraines and sometimes pass out. It's rare that I'll vomit from it though. I usually just pass out if I don't take my medication."
"You're able to treat it?
I nod even though that part is the lie. As of Monday, I'm officially terminal. No amount of drugs or therapy treatment is going to stop it. Surgery to remove it is pointless since it's in the critical stage.
A small frown etches across his face, brows drawing closer and the lines around his mouth deepen. It's the only indication I get that he doesn't believe I'm being fully honest, but he doesn't call me out on it either.
Instead, he says, "Tell me more about it. I want to know what to look out for so I can help."
He listens attentively about the muscle cramps and stiffness and numbness, the effects the tumor has on my mental and emotional state and how it can fluctuate to the point of being exhausting to deal with.
I confirm that his suspicions about sleepless nights and weight loss is true because those are more ways it's affecting me though I'm trying my best to maintain a healthy diet and sleep schedule.
By the end of it, I'm clasping his hand with both of mine hoping to hold on if he makes a run for it. I'm expecting him to change his mind and jump ship now that it's confirmed I'm sick and it's only a matter of time before he uncovers the lie.
When he does, I'm certain he will leave.
What he does takes me by surprise.
He pulls me into his arms, his hold tight around my body as if he can't bear to let me go.
It's the kind of embrace that breathes life into you when you're at rock bottom because it drives home a profound reality check that someone sees your pain, acknowledges it, and will stick by you no matter how tough it gets when most would walk away instead of facing the music.
It's that one embrace that solidifies my feelings for him completely.
I love him and I need him. In my world where there is inevitable pain and heartbreak, he's the only thing that anchors my sanity.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers into my ear. "We'll deal with this –"
"Jace?"
I go rigid in Sky's arms and his muscles tense up. The swift change in the room's ambiance slaps me sideways. Panic shoots through me.
Shit. Shit! Shit! This isn't the way I wanted her to find out.
Sky's the first to move and when he pulls away, his earlier calm is switched out for a mask of confusion and controlled anger.
Sasha and Ashton stand a few feet away. Ashton is staring in shock, his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide but it's the heartbreak and misty eyes from Sasha that I can barely stomach. Sky disentangles from me.
"What the fuck?" comes his icy words. He turns to me for an explanation – not that I can give him one at the moment because I'm not sure why she's here in the first place. I assumed she'd need more time before coming anywhere near me after I broke up with her.
I don't get the chance to say a word in defense of myself.
He's already drawn his own conclusions because the look of betrayal he pins on me feels like getting struck by lightning – quick, sure, and merciless.
His face seems to transform right before me, no trace of the Sky Daniels who whispers soothing words and wipes away my tears, who becomes the strength I need when I'm falling apart.
Suddenly, he's looking at me like I'm his worst enemy.
He laughs. "Of course. You're still with her." His voice is as cold as ice, his glare as sharp as blades. That laugh stabs right through my chest in the most horrible way.
"That's not –"
"What the hell was I thinking? Of course, I can't compete with the perfect girlfriend."
Shaking his head in disbelief, Sky moves away, getting off the bed as if being near me is a death sentence.
The disgust he flashes at me is almost unbearable, words sticking in my throat and I can't get them out fast enough to clear up the misunderstanding.
I didn't tell him I'd ended things with Sasha. It's part of the reason I was so comfortable telling him to come over last night because I wasn't doing anything wrong.
But he grabs his jacket before I can stop him, tossing over his shoulder in the coldest, most disgusted tone he's ever used against me, "You're a selfish asshole, Conner. You almost had me fucking fooled."
And then he disappears, scoffing at Sasha on his way out, leaving me alone in confusion and fear to face the incoming wrath of an angry ex-girlfriend who thinks I left her for a guy.