31. Gabrielle
Gabrielle
I can’t breathe.
I’m gripping Cam’s hand so tightly that my fingers ache, but I can’t let go. I can’t let it feel real.
This can’t be real.
The hospital room around me starts to blur because of the tears that keep threatening to spill, and the voice of the doctor turns into dull static. My heart is pounding so violently in my chest that I can hear it thrumming in my ears, drowning out everything else.
The cycle never stops, does it?
I feel like I’m not even here anymore—I’m back to being sixteen years old, sitting in a different hospital room, holding the same hand, watching the same boy about to fight for his life once again.
His body was so weak back then, his skin was so pale, his hair completely gone, dark circles hollowing out his face. I remember his voice, how tired it always sounded, how dark everything had gotten after months of chemo, even when he was still trying to make jokes for my sake.
“Gab, I bet I still rock the bald look better than Vin Diesel.”
I remember laughing—forcefully, desperately—because it was better than crying.
“You look better than anyone, Cam. Even when you’re sick.”
He didn’t believe me, just like he never believed he’d make it out of that hospital. But he did. We both did. We survived, we fought through it, we won, and that was supposed to be it.
But now—now we’re here. Again.
Is he strong enough to fight this again?
I blink back to the present, my nails digging into Cam’s skin as I force myself to release my grip. I have to focus on now, to stay here with him, to hold him together the way I did before; the way he always did for me.
Across the room, Wes paces restlessly. His hands keep running over his thick, short curls, his jaw tight with tension, eyes dark with what looks like pure pain.
None of us have spoken since the doctor gave us the news, and I really don’t know if any of us can.
The room is too quiet. It’s too heavy, and I hate it.
Finally, Wes stops pacing, exhaling sharply. “Okay, so—what the hell do we do now?” His voice is rough, edged with panic, and it snaps something inside me.
The fact that he’s turned off his doctor mode tells me what state he’s in.
The doctor clears her throat, shifting awkwardly before looking back at Cam. “The next step is a bone marrow biopsy to confirm everything. From there, we’ll determine the treatment plan—chemo, and potentially a transplant depending on the results.”
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until my chest feels like it’s on fire, and my vision darkens slightly as I try to keep hold of reality.
Chemo.
A transplant.
Hospital stays.
Another fight.
It’s all I hear in my mind on repeat.
I can’t—I can’t watch him go through that again.
Cam is still silent, staring at the ceiling like he’s not really even here.
“Hey,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
Nothing.
The silence makes my stomach twist.
“Cam,” I try again, my voice barely above a whisper.
Finally, he blinks, his eyes shifting over to mine slowly. His hazel eyes are normally so beautiful and pure, and bright. But right now, all I see is distance in them, like he’s looking at me, but not really seeing me.
It shatters me, breaking my heart.
“I don’t want you having to stay here all night,” he murmurs. His voice is calm—too calm. It’s almost…detached. “You should go home and get some rest, Gab.”
Is he serious?
I shake my head immediately. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Gabrielle, you know how long this gets—”
“No,” I snap, gripping his hand tightly again, like it can get him to really hear me, like I can snap him back to reality here with me instead of the spiral I can see his mind starting to slip into. “Don’t try to pull that crap already.”
His expression cracks for the first time, just slightly, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. I feel his fingers twitch in mine before he finally speaks, voice lower, rougher. “I was done with all of this,” he mutters. “I was done.”
The words break something inside of me.
I nod; my throat feels so tight I can barely force out the words. “I know.”
“I don’t—” He exhales, fidgeting with my hand. “I don’t think I can do it again, Gab.”
My chest physically aches at the vulnerability in his voice, at the way he won’t meet my eyes. It hurts so badly to see him like this, because this isn’t him being scared of the unknown…this is him being scared of the known.
I lean in closer, pressing my forehead to his. “You’re not doing it alone…you’ve never had to if I’m around.”
He’s quiet for a second before he finally looks into my eyes, and I watch as the little boy I knew reappears.
I see it in the way he’s scared.
His voice comes out as a whisper. “Promise?”
I nod, trying to hold it together. “I promise.”
His fingers tighten around mine, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. We just sit there, breathing each other in, trying to hold on to everything we just got back before it all comes crashing down.
The thing is, the crash is already happening.
It’s all currently crashing down as we speak, and I can’t stop it.
The walls are closing in, my chest is tightening, and my lungs are struggling to expand.
The weight of it all is suffocating, and suddenly, I can’t—
I can’t breathe.
I need air.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper, forcing myself to untangle from him.
He frowns, sitting up slightly. “Gab—”
I’m already moving, running out of the room.
I barely make it out into the hallway before the first sob breaks free.
My vision blurs, and the fluorescent lights are too bright all of a sudden; everything feels…
loud—yet all I hear is the pounding of my heart, the sound of Cam’s voice telling me he can’t do this.
I press my back against the wall, my knees buckling, my body shaking.
I don’t even realize I’m sliding to the floor until warm hands grab my shoulders.
“Gab.” Kinsley’s voice is urgent and scared as she kneels in front of me. “Breathe, okay? Breathe.”
I can’t. I can’t breathe, I can’t do this, I can’t—I can’t lose him. God, please…don’t let me lose him.
I can’t stop the panic; my breaths are erratic now—
I feel sick.
Kinsley grips my face, forcing me to look at her. “Hey. Look at me. You’re okay.”
I shake my head, another sob ripping from my throat. “No, Kins, I’m not. None of this is okay.”
Her expression cracks, but she tries to hold it together. “I know,” she whispers, pulling me into her arms. “I know, babe. But you’re not alone, and neither is he, okay?”
I clutch her tightly, burying my face in her shoulder, trying to drown in the warmth of her comfort instead of the crushing reality around me.
Of what’s coming.
Of what we’re about to lose all over again.
This isn’t just finding out terrible news for the first time. This is us reliving a nightmare we’ve already been through. This is being dragged back to a place he barely made it out of the first time. This isn’t being hit with something we can’t comprehend because we know exactly how this all goes.
I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping onto my best friend.
“I can’t lose him,” I whisper through the tears. “It keeps trying to take him.”
Kinsley’s arms tighten around me, trying to hold me together.
“You won’t,” she says, but there’s a tremble in her voice, one that sounds like she’s not actually sure that’s true.
That’s not a promise anyone can keep.