32. Cameron
Cameron
I never thought I’d end up back here. Truly. I thought this part of my life was over.
Now I’m back. Back in the same hospital I now work in, the same halls I grew up in, and now handed the same battle I thought I’d already won.
I stare up at the ceiling, trying desperately to hold onto hope that everything will be okay. It feels unreal—like I’m caught in a cruel, cosmic joke.
I’ve spent years trying to outrun this, convincing myself that I was finally one of the lucky ones, too. That I’d escaped. That I had made it out of that hell. But here I am, hooked up to the same machines, listening to the same speeches I give to my patients now.
Gabrielle hasn’t left my side once since I collapsed, even when I keep telling her she should go home, get some sleep, eat something real.
She just gives me this look like I’ve lost my mind, but doesn’t say anything.
She looks so close to the edge since we got the news, like if she speaks, she might lose it; she might fully break.
Wes has barely left either. He’s sprawled out in the chair across from me, feet propped up on the side of my hospital bed, arms crossed like he’s settling in. Kinsley’s been in and out, bringing them whatever they need, being the perfect friend to all of us.
At some point, Wes leans forward, rubbing his hands together. “You want me to call your parents? Let them know what’s going on?”
I hesitate. I should. But I already know how that conversation will go, and I don’t know if I have the energy for it yet.
The fear I’ll hear in their voices, the way my mom will cry, the way my dad will try to act strong for her.
The way it’ll feel like I’m ripping their hearts out all over again. I don’t know if I can do it yet.
I glance over at Wes. “Let’s wait until the confirmation comes back.”
He watches me for a beat before nodding. He gets it. He knows what this kind of news does to people.
A sharp knock at the door makes Gabrielle sit up straighter as Dr. Smith walks in holding a clipboard.
“Alright, Cam,” she says, offering a small, sympathetic smile. “Let’s get this over with.”
* * *
I’ve had this done before. I know exactly what’s coming. And somehow, that makes it worse.
Gabrielle tenses next to me. I can feel it in the way she squeezes my fingers that she’s trying to absorb some of the pain herself.
“You don’t have to watch this,” I murmur to her, keeping my voice light.
She just glares at me. “Shut up, Cam.”
I smirk. “So bossy.”
I really don’t want her to watch, though. I don’t want her to see me like this again.
It was different as a sick kid. Now, being a man, this all just feels emasculating.
My doctor goes through the usual spiel, explaining what’s going to happen, as if I don’t already know—they’re going to numb the area with a local anesthetic. Then they’ll insert a long needle into my hip bone, extracting a sample of my marrow to analyze.
Simple. Straightforward. Straight Hell.
Wes makes a face from his seat. “I can’t believe I get to watch them stab you in the ass.”
Kinsley elbows him. “Wes.”
“What?” he says, shrugging. “He’s the one who decided to relapse. If you needed more attention, Cam, all you had to do was ask.”
Gabrielle glares at him. “Wes, I swear to—”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Nah, it’s okay, let him talk. He gets uncomfortable with feelings. He’s just trying to cope.”
Wes points at me. “Exactly. Don’t make this weird, Gabs. Let me be emotionally stunted in peace.”
Gabrielle rolls her eyes, but her grip still tightens on me.
Then the doctor starts, and my amusement disappears.
The first part is fine. The lidocaine burns as it seeps into my skin, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
But once the needle goes in? It’s agonizing.
A deep, pulling pain radiates through my hip and spine.
My fingers twitch against Gabrielle’s, but I try not to react too much. I don’t want her to know how bad it is.
I don’t think I’m fooling her, though. Her free hand comes up, brushing against my hairline, soft and soothing. I turn my head slightly into her touch, exhaling through the pain. It takes only minutes, but it feels so much longer.
When it’s finally over, I feel wrung out, like I’ve been hollowed from the inside out.
Dr. Smith tells me the results will take a couple of days, pats my shoulder, and leaves the room.
Wes clears his throat. “Damn, dude. That looked bad.”
I glare at him. “You don’t say.”
He smirks. “You should milk this as much as possible. Bet Gabrielle would do whatever you wanted right now.”
Gabrielle smacks his arm. “I already do whatever he wants.”
I grin. “Wait—whatever I want?”
She groans, but her lips twitch like she wants to smile. And that’s all the pain medicine I need right now.
* * *
When it’s just me and the quiet—all alone—that’s when it really hits me. I stare up at the ceiling, by myself in the room as it all comes rushing at me.
I was three when I was diagnosed with cancer.
Three. My earliest memories I have in life are of a hospital.
I remember the chemo, the vomiting, the fevers, the way my bones ached so bad that I couldn’t sleep.
I remember all the times I heard my mom cry in the hallway when she thought I couldn’t hear her.
I remember Gabrielle curled up next to me in my hospital bed, whispering stories she made up to me until I passed out from exhaustion some days, and I remember how many times I came close to not making it.
I don’t want to do this again. I don’t want Gabrielle to have to watch me go through this again. She’s already been through so much on her own. She’s already seen too much. She shouldn’t have to bear this weight again with me.
This was the reason I stopped myself from finding her for all those years. I was so afraid of this exact scenario and didn’t want her to have to deal with it anymore. It’s like as soon as I think I’m in the clear and can go after what I want, we’re back to square one.
As I’m lost in my thoughts, Gabrielle walks back into the room holding two large hot chocolates.
“Good days call for hot chocolate,” She says quietly as she raises them up in the air.
“This bad day definitely requires it,” I tell her.
She curls up next to me, and we just sit with each other, sit with the overwhelming thoughts.
It’s dangerous, how badly I want to freeze time right now, how badly I want to let myself believe we have endless nights ahead of us still.
I take a slow sip, trying to commit this feeling to memory—the weight of her against me, the way she smells like her favorite perfume that hasn’t changed since we were teenagers, and it smells like home.
She’s home. The way she’s always known exactly what I need without me ever having to say anything is why I’ll always come back to her—in every lifetime.
Yet beneath it all, beneath the warmth of this moment, something dark starts to take hold. The same urge to push her away like last time. To protect her peace.
She doesn’t deserve this, and I know I don’t deserve her. She’s too good.