Finding Him (Covet 2)

“Was that a Moana reference?”

“This is why we’re friends!” He burst out laughing, but I gave him a funny look.

“We’re more than friends, you psycho.”

“About that, I think we should break up.”

“Don’t make me suffocate you with this pillow.”

“And to think my first impression of you was ‘Aw, how sweet does that sexy girl look, and damn . . . that ass,’” he joked.

I just shook my head. “You’re out of control.”

“If out of control is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.” He gave me a goofy grin. “Come on, Keaton, let’s at least admit that things are worse than we thought six months ago when I swept you off your feet.”

I rolled my eyes. “There was no sweeping, only begging.”

“Tomay-to, tomah-to.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “The odds of me surviving this are slim, and I was going to wait until morning, but Keaton Westbrook, I release you from your promise to make an honest man out of me.”

I gaped. “First off, we never had that conversation. Second, I’m not leaving your side.”

“I’m not asking you to leave. I’m just trying to help your heart a bit.”

“So you’re dumping me?”

“Exactly.” He patted my hand. “Sometimes you’re so dense!”

“Huh?”

“You should buy a cat, a really fluffy one that looks grumpy all the time. I would be stoked if you called him Noah. Seriously, it’s my dying wish.”

“Noah, seriously!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t even like cats!”

“You’d love Noah. He’s a trouper, loves food, and sleeps most the day.”

“Odd how you and this cat have so much in common.”

Noah gave me a warm smile. “Look, I know you think I’m crazy, but you only have so much room in your heart. If I break it now, then if the worst happens, you won’t be as sad. You’ll be more like, ‘That bastard better die, he broke me!’ Anger is way easier than grief.”

I sighed and cuddled against him. “Sorry, I’m here to stay, you can’t get rid of me.”

He sighed back. “You’re like fungus.”

“You’re the one in love with me.”

“True.” He squeezed me as tight as he could.

We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next day he took a turn the doctors weren’t expecting.

And I wondered if he knew, if that’s why he was awake, if he felt something wrong in his body enough to want to have that conversation.

Because it was the last one we would ever have.

He had a small stroke and couldn’t speak anymore.

I stayed by his side.

I bought beanies for his head, helped him brush his teeth and use the restroom. I read to him and told him jokes, and the silence was almost worse than the cancer, because all it left us with were longing looks, and moments when he was too tired to stay awake, where I’d stare at him and wonder if I was going to be more caretaker than girlfriend.

And knowing that I would do it.

If that’s what it took.

I would do it.

The days were long then, they were filled with laughter between us, though his laugh never sounded the same.

And they were filled with hand-holding.

See, that’s the thing that nobody ever found out about us. Noah asked me to write our story. In fact, he begged me, and after his stroke he wrote me a note since it was all he could do.

“Tell them our truth,” it read.

Our truth is messy.

It was upsetting.

It was also not what people thought.

He asked me out, and yes, we went on several dates. I fell in love with him, he fell in love with me.

But we had rules.

No marriage—his rule; he said it wasn’t fair.

No sex—my rule, because I was trying to make him wait until he was healthy. Wanted him to look forward to something. We loved each other in other ways, and we weren’t exactly saints in those hospital rooms (sorry, docs!). But something I used as a carrot for him ended up being something he refused to relent on as he got sicker, not because he couldn’t, but because he had this strange set of morals when it came to his life.

He didn’t want to marry me because he said it would be taking away my first marriage if something happened to him. It was like stealing me from someone else.

And when we found out he was terminal, he said he didn’t want me to torture myself with memories of how insane he was in bed and compare every poor guy to him, knowing they would never measure up.

It was a running joke.

One that got less and less funny as he got sicker.

So yes, he was my boyfriend.

Yes, we were in love.

No, we never slept together.

And yes, he dumped me before his stroke. In fact, everything Noah did was for me, for others. He lived selflessly, fearlessly, and I’ll never forget the way he ran toward fear, the way others run from it.