47. Gabrielle
Gabrielle
The transplant is only a few days away.
I should be relieved that we’ve made it this far.
That we finally have a donor—thanks to Wes.
That there’s a plan, a next step, but instead, there’s this gnawing feeling in my chest, this paralyzing fear that won’t let me breathe.
Because truth is, this isn’t the finish line.
This is just the next brutal battle in a war that has already taken so much from him.
Cam is exhausted. The past few weeks of chemo and radiation have left him so weak, but somehow, he still finds the energy to smile, to joke, to keep the room from feeling as heavy as it is. He’s doing it for me, for Wes, for his parents. And I hate that he feels like he has to.
* * *
“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Wes announces, plopping onto the chair across from me in Cam’s hospital room. “In a few days, Cameron Hayes is going to be walking around with my superior DNA. It honestly should be an honor for you man. I just hope your body can handle it.”
Cam snorts from the bed. “Yeah, sure, because if there’s one thing I need in my life, it’s more of your inflated ego.”
Wes smirks. “Just preparing you for the upgrade. How’s it feel knowing your new bone marrow is coming from an absolute legend?”
Cam shakes his head. “Honestly? Makes me reconsider the whole thing.”
Wes holds a hand to his chest, playfully offended. “Wow. That’s the gratitude I get? I could’ve just let some random stranger save your life, you know.”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get to gloat about saving my life.”
“Solid point,” Wes says, but the humor quickly softens into something more serious. “You know I’d do anything for you, man.”
Cam nods once. His expression is just as serious now. “I know.”
There’s a beat of silence. A rare, weighted moment between them.
Then Wes clears his throat, sounding like he’s holding back tears. “Alright, enough of that. I still have to prep for the procedure, and I swear if you start crying, I might have to reconsider doing this.”
Cam laughs under his breath. “You’re an idiot.”
“I prefer hero, but okay.”
* * *
It’s late when everyone finally clears out of the hospital room. Wes leaves to finish up some pre-donor bloodwork, Cam’s parents head to the hotel, and the night staff come in to do their rounds before disappearing down the hall.
It’s just us now. Selfishly, my favorite time of the day.
Cam is propped up against the pillows, looking smaller than he should in the large hospital bed.
He’s paler than normal, with dark circles heavy under his eyes, his body still fighting off the aftershocks of the last round of chemo.
Yet he still looks at me with that same look of complete admiration somehow.
I sit on the edge of the bed, tracing my fingers along his wrist where his IV line disappears beneath the tape. His skin is warm, but too thin, too fragile.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Come here.”
I hesitate, then carefully crawl into bed beside him, mindful of the wires and tubes, tucking myself against his side. His arm comes around me instantly, holding me close, like he needs me just as much as I need him.
“This is it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of my head. “The last stretch.”
I close my eyes against the sudden sting. “Yeah.”
“Are you scared?”
I nod against his hospital gown. “Terrified.”
“Me too,” he tells me as his fingers stroke my back.
I shift slightly, tilting my head up to look at him. “I hate this, Cam. I hate what this is doing to you.”
He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing just under my eye to wipe the tears away. “Hey. Look at me.”
I do.
“We’re getting through this, remember,” he says, voice steady. “One way or another.”
A lump rises in my throat. “I just want you to be okay.”
“I know, baby,” he whispers. “I know.”
We stay like that for a while, tangled together in the dim glow of the monitors, just existing in the space between fear and hope.
Then, after a long moment, I whisper to him, “I’ve been praying a lot more lately, you know. I’ve never really done that too much.”
His fingers pause against my back. “Yeah?”
I nod. “For you, for this procedure, for us, for the future.”
He’s quiet for a moment, just watching me. Then he exhales, pressing his forehead down on top of my head. “That might be exactly what we need more of right now.”
His words settle me, bringing me the comfort I desperately need.