49. Gabrielle
Gabrielle
The hallway outside of Cam’s hospital room feels eerily quiet. The kind that makes your thoughts feel too loud, and too overwhelming. I press my back against the cool wall, taking a deep breath before lifting my phone to my ear.
Kinsley answers on the second ring.
“Hey Gabs,” she says, her voice warm but laced with a little concern. “How’s he doing?”
I close my eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. “Rough,” I admit. “But he’s holding up. He always does.”
She sighs softly. “I wish I could be there. I hate that you’re going through this and I’ve barely been able to be there.”
“I know.” I swallow, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I miss you. I feel bad that I haven’t seen you in forever, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” she cuts in quickly. “Do not apologize. You have a lot going on, and your attention is exactly where it should be—right there with him.”
Still, guilt hits me in my chest. She’s my best friend, and I’ve been so wrapped up in this nightmare that I haven’t been the best at keeping up with anyone outside of this hospital room.
Before I can respond, a voice sounds from inside the room. One of Cam’s doctors.
“The doctor just came in,” I tell Kinsley quickly. “I have to go.”
“Of course. Call me when you can. I love you, Gabs.”
“I love you too.”
We hang up, and I take a steadying breath before pushing open the door and stepping back into Cam’s room.
He’s propped up slightly against the pillows, his body looking too weak against the stark white sheets. But there’s still that light in his eyes when he looks at me.
The doctor is standing at the foot of the bed, flipping through his chart. “We should have the results by tomorrow,” he says, looking between the two of us. “That will tell us if the transplant is working the way we want it to.”
Tomorrow.
Cam has been fighting so damn hard. His body is weak, but there’s something different today. There’s a little more color in his face. A little more strength in his eyes.
The doctor says a few more things, mostly instructions and precautions, but my mind is already spiraling ahead to tomorrow. What if it’s good news? What if it’s bad? All the options and all of the possibilities.
When he finally leaves, I turn back to Cam. “Tomorrow,” I murmur, climbing onto the bed beside him. “We’ll finally know something tomorrow.”
He nods slowly, his body shifting slightly to make room for me. “You nervous?”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I press my forehead lightly against his shoulder, breathing him in. He’s warm beneath me, solid in a way that tells my brain to believe everything will be okay.
“I have hope,” I whisper, my fingers tightening around the fabric of his hospital gown.
Cam hums, his hand coming up to rest against my back. “Me too.”
I glance up at him, searching his face, looking for the worry that I know has been weighing on him for weeks. It’s still there, beneath the surface, but there’s something new there too.
Peace.
As much as I want to hold onto that and share the feeling, I’m scared it’s not just peace about the results…but peace about the possible end.
I can’t think about that, so I shift, curling into his side, letting my body mold against his. I feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the faintest trace of his fingers brushing my spine, and I finally let myself drift into sleep.
Tomorrow, everything changes. One way or another, we’ll be forced out of this bubble.