Chapter 25 #2
I’ve just sat in my new favorite spot, the corner of the couch by the windows, with a paperback copy of Play Along, a hot mug of tea, and a cozy blanket, when the thunder booms off in the distance, making me sigh happily.
It’s a little late in the season for thunderstorms in Montana. Typically, it would just rain. Or snow. Thunderstorms mostly happen in the spring and summer, but I’m not complaining a bit.
I tip my head against the back of the couch and sigh happily.
I feel like this is the first time I’ve taken a moment to relax since I reopened the restaurant almost two weeks ago.
Just as I thought it would, the dust is starting to settle, and we’re not bombarded with customers the way we were that first day back.
However, we are still busy. We’ve managed to keep a steady stream of hungry people flooding in each day, and that makes me happy.
I’m also thrilled that I have enough staff that I can take the occasional afternoon—or full day—off. Everyone needs that.
I can hear the rain start outside, and I glance over to the window to watch the droplets fall out of the sky. Thunder rolls in the distance, and the rain picks up, falling in sheets.
And suddenly, I can’t keep the horrible memories at bay.
“You’re such a fucking whiner!”
“Justin, just watch the road.”
I despise riding with him on a good day, but today is rainy, and this road is twisty. I don’t know why he insisted that I come with him to the beach. He hates it there. Lately, he hates me.
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” He shakes his head and jerks on the wheel. I swear he does it just to scare me.
“Look, I think a separation is for the best. You don’t even like me anymore, J. We live in the same house, but that’s it. You’re in remission. You’re in a good place and you don’t need me.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
My stomach clenches. Justin talked me into marrying him eight years ago because he told me he had terminal cancer, would only live for less than a year, and he wanted to spend that year with me.
Yeah, I have issues with telling people no. Clearly. Because I married him, but then his cancer miraculously got better. The medical issues come and go, but there’s no threat of him dying anytime soon.
As horrible as it sounds, I didn’t sign up for this. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so incredibly happy he’s going to live a long life, but I don’t want to be the one to spend it with him.
Being married to Justin hasn’t been a walk in the park. Gone is the man who I was best friends with for so long, and in his place is a mean, horrible bully I don’t even recognize.
“You’ve been in remission for a while,” I remind him, trying to keep my voice calm. “I think it’s time for me to move on, Justin.”
“Look, I was going to wait until we were at the beach to tell you this, but the cancer is back, Jules.”
Fuck.
“I start chemo again next week.”
“Where is it this time?”
He slides a look over at me. “Are you implying that I’m lying to you?”
“No, you’ve had several different types of cancer, and I’m asking what kind it is this time.”
He rubs his hand over his mouth, as if he’s agitated. “It’s pancreatic.”
I frown. I’ve done a lot of research on this over the years. Justin never lets me go to the hospital with him for treatments because he says he doesn’t want me to see him like that, but I’ve done a lot of searching around online, reading medical journals.
“What stage is it?” I ask.
“Four.”
I shake my head. “Justin, you had stage four pancreatic cancer when we got married. I don’t—”
“Are you calling me a fucking LIAR?” He screams it, bangs his fist on the steering wheel, just as we’re about to go through a turn, but his hand slips, and he doesn’t turn in time.
The car fishtails, and I scream as we careen straight toward a tree, hitting it so hard that the airbags deploy, and I’m stunned as I try to breathe and look around, the silence deafening.
“Justin?”
I glance over and feel my heart stop. He’s leaning forward, and blood is flowing down his face.
Frantically, I search for my phone, which had been in my hand, but I dropped it during the crash. The rain is pelting down in sheets around us, so ear-piercing now in direct contrast to just seconds ago.
And the ringing in my ears is suddenly all I can hear.
I find my phone and manage to call emergency services, but I can’t hear whoever is on the other end of the line, so I just scream for help and hope they can trace the call.
My neck hurts, and my shoulder is screaming.
And when I look to my left, it looks like Justin is dead.
“Hold on,” I say, my voice shaky as fuck as I reach over and feel his neck. I think I can feel a pulse.
Suddenly, someone opens my door, and then it’s a flurry of chaos, first responders getting us out of the vehicle and into ambulances.
Voices.
Questions that I can’t answer.
Finally, after what feels like days, although it’s only been a couple of hours, I’m led into Justin’s room. He’s already in a room? How long have we been here?
Everything is a blur.
And through his window, I can see the rain still coming down.
“You need to say goodbye, Jules.”
My eyes move to the kind doctor standing next to me. Her arm is around my shoulders. I feel cold. I hate the smell in here.
“But before you do that,” she continues, “do you know if your husband is an organ donor?”
Something about that doesn’t feel right.
“Uh, why would you want a cancer patient’s organs?” I ask her, frowning in confusion. “Can they even donate?”
The doctor shakes her head in confusion. “Jules, Justin doesn’t have cancer.”
“Yes, he does. He gets treatment at this hospital. Check his records.”
“I looked through all his medical records. He had his tonsils out here as a child, and a broken arm when he was sixteen, but I assure you, your husband was a very healthy man before the accident.”
I stare at her. Swallow. My jaw drops, but no sound comes out.
“There was never any cancer?”
She shakes her head slowly. “No.”
I look back at the man lying in the bed. He’s completely still, his face swollen and broken. They had to shave his head because of the injuries there. His hands are on top of the covers. Tubes are breathing for him. I know he’s brain-dead and is never going to wake up.
There was never any cancer.
He tricked me into marrying him, just so he could treat me like shit for EIGHT MOTHERFUCKING YEARS.
“Jules—”
“Can I give consent for organ donation if he isn’t able to?”
“Yes, you can do that.”
“Take everything.” I don’t look away from him. I speak to her while keeping my eyes pinned to this piece of garbage in this bed. “Take whatever you need. Organs, eyes, skin. Take it all. His life should bring some good to someone.”
“Are you sure? That doesn’t leave—”
“I’m sure.” I swallow hard, feeling hollow.
He lied about everything.
He was never going to kill himself.
He was never sick.
I lost everything because of him.
“Does he have parents or siblings?” she asks. “Anyone else who would want to come and say goodbye?”
“No.” He has no one. Just me. And he wasn’t going to have me for much longer. “I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign.”
She nods at someone who’s standing outside the room, and they bustle in, showing me where to sign the forms.
“The sooner we’re able to har—retrieve the donation—”
“You can take him after I have just one minute alone with him.”
She nods and offers me a sympathetic smile. “Take your time, Jules.”
I cross over and bend so my mouth is near his ear.
“I hope you can hear me, wherever you are. I never loved you the way you wanted me to. You stole everything from me. I thought you were my friend, but it turns out you were nothing. I hope you burn in hell.”
With that, I stand and walk out of the room.