She nods and smiles. She has tears in her eyes. “Hey.”
Seeing her hurts. It hurts like a bitch, because I know she’s dying, but it also hurts in a good way, because I missed her. I can’t stop leaning toward her, needing her, wanting to be with her forever.
“What are you doing here?” I rasp, my throat like sandpaper. I glance around, at the drawn curtains and the machines. ?
??You hate hospitals.”
She laughs, the sound turning into a sob. “You’re here. Of course I came.”
I let out a long breath. “I know you’re sick,” I say and my chest feels so tight I think my ribs might break. “I don’t care. I wanna be with you. If you want me to.” I close my eyes. This is like chewing nails.
“Zane. What are you talking about?”
Why is she denying it, making it harder for me? “I got the message,” I force the words out. “I know.”
“What message are you talking about?” Her voice breaks. “I’m not sick, Zane. I’m not dying. What do I have to say to get it through to you?”
My eyes snap open. “Voicemail. On my cell phone. This man… he said the results were in, that you…” My throat is so damn dry it aches with each word. “That you have cancer. I just…”
I just lost it for a while. Went kind of mad. But I can do this. For you.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes go round, and her hand tightens around my arm, her fingertips digging into my flesh. I welcome the tiny pinprick of pain. “Zane, that was my dad.”
Here it comes, the confession. Her dad called me to let me know because she wouldn’t tell me herself.
“I gave him your number because my phone has been acting up,” she goes on. “Oh God, now I understand.”
“Okay.” I’m so tired. I don’t understand anything anymore. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
“Zane.” She’s shaking me. “It’s not me who’s dying. It’s my aunt. Aunt Carolina.”
Her words go through me like bullets, and I jerk. What?
“My mom’s sister. She has cancer. She’s in hospital. She’s the one who’s sick, not me. It’s not me, Zane.”
“Not you?”
“Not me. Not me at all.” She puts her arms around my neck and gathers me close. I let her, limp and blinking, dazed. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“You’re fine.” I have to repeat the words until they sink in. Could it be true? “You’re not sick.”
“I’m not leaving you. Not going anywhere,” she whispers against my neck, her weight sweet against my chest. She curls up next to me. “I love you, Zane Madden.”
She does?
Warmth spills in my chest, flowing into my limbs. My heart beats in my throat, in my wrists, everywhere, faster and faster.
It takes me a while, but I finally manage to reach up and put my arms around her, holding her close. I feel like I’m about to shatter and yet stronger than ever before. I feel grounded and yet light as if I’m floating.
I feel hope for the first time.
***
I’ll be okay. The doctors say there doesn’t seem to be any damage to my brain or organs, something they were afraid might happen. Yeah, so my body’s still messed up, heavy and cold, and my pulse is still a bit too fast—but I’m much better.
That was a close call, the doctors say, prodding and talking, until I say I understand and that it won’t happen again.
And I mean it. No more drinking for me.