No Attachments (Woodfalls Girls 1)

"I don't think he will, but it makes me feel better knowing you guys will be following me," she said as he closed the car door and led me across the lot to where we had parked.

"That was sweet of you," I said, climbing into the vehicle.

"I'm just trying to clear my conscience since I'm the one who punched him," he said regretfully.

I waited until he started the vehicle and was merging onto the highway before I acknowledged his comment. At first, I debated not bringing it up since he was tightly clutching the steering wheel. "So, I'm glad you were there to help us with that asshole," I finally said. "I'm sure he still doesn't know what hit him," I added, remembering the dazed expression on Travis's face.

"I shouldn't have hit him. He's nothing but a punk-ass kid. I'm past this kind of shit," he muttered more to himself than to me. "And yet, I wish I would have hauled his ass outside and kicked it," Nathan answered, closing the gap between Tressa's car and us.

"I'm sure Tressa appreciates your chivalry."

"I didn't punch that sniveling shit for Tressa," he said, finally looking over at me.

"You didn't?" I asked as he reached over and grasped my hand.

"No, sweets. I punched him because of what he said to you. To tell you the truth, I wanted to knock his fucking teeth down his throat. I had to remind myself he's nothing but a stupid kid," he said with the same edge in his voice. It was hard for me to gauge if he was still mad at Travis or if something else was bothering him.

"He's not much younger than me," I reminded him.

"Believe me, I realize that, but the maturity level isn't even close. Sometimes you act like you're older than even Fran, like you've got one foot in the grave. Of course, I think Fran is more honest," he said with bitterness, not looking at me. At that moment, I knew he had figured out my secret.

I turned away from him, glancing out the window, willing myself not to cry. This wasn't a breakup. In order to be a breakup we had to be something that we weren't. This was nothing but a parting of ways.

We drove in silence for several more miles before he asked the question I'd been dreading the most. "Your list is a bucket list?"

"Yeah," I answered, still looking at the window so I wouldn't have to see what he was thinking.

"You're sick?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Cancer? Like your mom?"

"Yes. When I was seventeen I had ovarian cancer. They went in and removed both ovaries in the first surgery. Then, a few months later, they went in and removed my uterus. I was in remission up until four months ago," I answered in a dead voice.

"Are you dying?" he asked, sounding strained.

"Most likely," I said as a hot tear streaked down my face.

"What are your doctors saying?"

"They don't know. I left without telling anyone. Cancer ripped my mom away from my father, and then seven years later it threatened to take me too. We fought it. I lost my hair and nearly my life from the poisonous toxins they were pumping into my body to fight it. It took a toll on my father. I couldn't do it to him again, so I left," I said as he turned the vehicle down the narrow dirt road leading to my house.

I jumped out of the vehicle as soon as he put it in park. I couldn't stand the oppressiveness a second longer. I couldn't and wouldn't have this conversation closed up in a space I couldn't get out of.

I was halfway to my front door when he snagged my hand. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, putting his hands on my shoulders to hold me in place.

"I didn't want your pity," I whispered, looking up into his face for the first time.

"Pity? Sweetheart, I don't pity you. I'm too scared to feel anything. You have to go to a doctor. What if you're wrong and it's not back?"

"It's back. I feel it."

"Even more reason for you to go to a doctor," he pleaded. "Why would you run away?"

"Because, I knew I couldn't fight it again. It swooped in and snatched my mom right before my eyes and tried to do the same to me. It won't rest until it takes what it wanted all along. Why fight something I was never going to win?"

"You act like it's a living, breathing thing that's out to get you. It's a disease that can be fought," he said, shaking my shoulders slightly for emphasis. "You have to fight it."