“Don’t even think about it.” She grinned, clutching my hand and tugging me toward the kids. They fought with high-pitched voices, arguing over who deserved the most chocolate and who would read the next clue.
“What? I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You were thinking it.” She brought our linked hands up and kissed my knuckles. “I love you, Ren Wild.”
I smiled softly, my eyes tracking the blue satin in her hair that was always nearby. Last year, the ribbon wheel had run out, and I couldn’t replace the fading piece of blue anymore.
I’d ensured her favourite possession never tore since I was fourteen. I had no intention of letting her down now, and had it on my list to find another cardboard circle that would last for the rest of her lifetime.
I might not be there in the future to cut it for her, but at least she’d never go without.
As we walked side by side, like any other happily married couple, I winced at the ever-growing pain in my chest. I’d been hiding it rather well. I’d been lying rather successfully.
I didn’t need to hurt her anymore by telling her my stage two had become stage three, and the Keytruda was slowly failing.
My body still fought a hard battle.
And I wasn’t going anywhere just yet.
But…I had to be honest.
I was getting…tired.
My body no longer felt as healthy, and there would come a time that the meat on my bones would be sacrificed to keep me alive just a little longer.
I already feared that day.
I already mourned the inevitable.
I already struggled with how to say goodbye.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
REN
* * * * * *
2032
“YOU CAN’T GIVE him a knife for his birthday, Ren.”
I looked up from wrapping the Swiss Army tool that I’d bought from the local hunting and fishing store. I’d also bought a kid’s size backpack, collapsible pots, mugs, water containers, a cosy sleeping bag, and everything else I wished I’d had when I was Jacob’s age.
“He’s ten, Little Ribbon. He’s not a kid.”
“Ten is exactly a kid.” Della sat beside me, snapping the scissors I’d used to cut the sticky tape to keep the Star Wars wrapping paper in place. “I love you, you know this. And I love that you never let having nine fingers slow you down, but, Ren, I rather like our son with ten.”
She laughed quietly as I dragged her chair closer to mine, obscuring my face as I coughed. Once I had my breath back, I smirked. “He’s not going to cut a finger off.”
“How do you know? He’s a menace to himself. He needed stitches last year from falling off Cassie’s pony. He broke his wrist a few weeks after that from back flipping into the pond and hitting dirt instead.” She clucked her tongue. “I worry about him.”
“Don’t. He’s only testing his boundaries and capabilities.”
Just like I’d tested mine and knew the god-awful conclusion.
My battle was slowly coming to an end.
Della knew.
I knew.
John, Cassie, Liam, and Jacob knew.
I’d had a check-up and treatment last week, and the look Rick Mackenzie gave me was as grave as the image in the mirror. Keytruda had been hailed as the miracle drug. It had given me an extra eight years than the normal prognosis.
But sometimes, it just stopped working.
No one knew why, and no doctor could explain it.
And as much as I would never admit it, my body didn’t feel right anymore.
There was no denying that I had a cancerous passenger inside me and it was finally winning. My hair no longer shone; my eyes no longer sparkled. My skin was stretched over bones that ached more by the day, and the breathlessness that had been cured for so long, thanks to surgery, was back in full force.
I was a ticking clock, and Della hadn’t left my side for longer than an hour or two, both of us so terribly aware that we didn’t have many hours left to waste.
We’d done our best to protect my disease from Jacob, but he was just as smart as Della, and the kids at school had done their best to tell him what was wrong with me—just like they’d tried to explain to Della about sex when she was young.
Their explanations did more harm than good with terminology that was terrifying. They’d given Jacob nightmares of me being buried and eaten alive by worms because that’s what their dad said happened to great-grandma. Another had promised I’d die but would come back as a zombie and eat him in his sleep.
Turned out, keeping facts from loved ones—no matter how young they were—was never a good idea.
It’d taken a few dinners with Della holding his hand and me talking to him, man to man, for him to calm down and not flinch when I hugged him.
He knew that I wouldn’t be around for as long as other dads.