No Attachments (Woodfalls Girls 1)

"Once, but I think it was just a cold," I answered, fighting to keep my thoughts away from thinking about how Nathan had taken care of me during the fever.

"Possibly, but it could be a sign of something more serious, as I'm sure you're aware of," he said, finishing his exam.

"It's back," I stated.

"I don't like to fry the egg before it's hatched, but your symptoms are troublesome. I also don't like the lump I felt under your right arm. The first step is to do some blood work and biopsy the lump," he said, patting my leg. "You get dressed while I fill out the paperwork. We've fought it before, we'll fight it again."

I nodded, accepting his words. In one swoop, he'd crushed the little bit of hope I had been harboring that I was wrong. I knew the blood work and biopsy were just a formality.

"Are you going to call Nathan?" my father asked when I told him.

I shook my head no before heading to my room before my tears could fall. I found it ironic that for years I had no problem keeping the tears at bay, and now with the mention of one name, I was a mess.

My predictions proved to be true as the results from the blood work and biopsy came in. The lump under my arm was taken out, and I was scheduled to start chemotherapy immediately. Dr. Davis was confident that even though the lump was large, they were able to remove all the cancer cells, but he wanted to treat it with an aggressive round of chemotherapy. Again, my father asked if I was going to call Nathan, but again, I resisted. A week after returning home, I was at the chemo clinic getting my first regimen of chemotherapy. The bitterness I expected to feel when they injected the needle in me was missing. My desire to fight for Nathan made each step that much more important. Instead of viewing the chemo as poison, I looked at it as a lifeline that would help me reach my goal. My optimism didn't change as I kneeled before the toilet puking up everything I ate. I pretended it didn't hurt when the first large chunk of hair fell out while I was brushing my hair. I didn't allow myself to dwell on how I'd been growing my hair out for the last four years, or how Nathan's hands had felt tangled in the strands. Wilma became a source of comfort I would have never thought possible. By October, all my hair was gone and I had lost ten pounds, which made my cheekbones stand out in an alarming way. Thanksgiving was spent in the hospital when my immune system decided to stop working. My time in the hospital floated by in a pain-filled haze as I fought to stay alive. Throughout it all, my father never left my side. He didn't mention calling Nathan this time, knowing this was what I had been trying to spare both of them from witnessing. At one point, in my painkiller-hazed state, I dreamt that Nathan was with me. Even on death's door, I was bitterly disappointed that the dream had to end. I was conscious enough when Dr. Davis told my father to prepare himself for the worst, and still, I fought, willing my body not to give up. Perhaps it was the dream that that gave me the will to fight harder. Three days after Thanksgiving, I was well enough to be wheeled out of ICU and taken to regular room.

"How's my favorite patient?" Dr. Davis said, entering my room the day after I'd been moved from the ICU.

"You only say that because I'm the most stubborn," I joked weakly.

"You are one tough nut," he said, sitting in the chair next to my bed. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Fair," I lied, smiling slightly.

He chuckled. "Does 'fair' now stand for being hit by a cement truck?"

I tried to shrug, but even that was too painful.

"I'll have them increase your pain meds. There's no reason you need to suffer unnecessarily," he said, patting my shoulder before standing up. "You have Nurse Ratchet call me if you need anything," he added, referring to the head nurse no one liked much.

"That would require me actually talking to her," I quipped, making him laugh as he left my room.

"How you doing, pumpkin?" my dad asked, entering my room with his hands full a few minutes after Dr. Davis had left.

"Fair," I said, giving him my standard answer. "What's all that?"

"I figured a few creature comforts from home would make your stay here easier," he said, setting my iPad on the rolling bed tray. "I brought some of those pajama pants you like to sleep in and a few t-shirts I found in your dresser," he added, placing the stack of clothes on the nightstand.

My eyes zeroed in on the stack of clothes as I spotted a familiar navy blue t-shirt that had been buried at the bottom of my dresser. The fact that he had to dig for it wasn't lost on me, although if he knew the significance of the shirt, he didn't show it. It didn't belong to me, but that didn't stop me from taking it when I had found it in my laundry basket when I packed up my stuff at the cabin. At the time, I had pressed it to my face, smelling the cologne Nathan wore with a touch of his masculinity. When we had arrived home, I had stowed it away and only allowed myself to remove it when the pain of missing him began to engulf me. Everything in me yearned to press it to my face now, but I knew it would raise questions if I asked my father to hand it to me. Not to mention, he would probably think I was a freak if I sniffed my shirt.

"How's Wilma?" I asked.

"She misses you. I debated sneaking her in, but figured Nurse Dictator would have my head if I tried."

"Are you feeding her twice a day?"

"Yes, and giving her those treats you buy that she likes so much. She's been sleeping with me while you've been away," he said sheepishly.

"I'm glad. She likes to snuggle," I said. "Shouldn't you be at work?" I asked as it dawned on me that he was in my room during the middle of the day. "Dad?" I said as he ignored my question.

"I took a leave of absence," he finally admitted.

"Dad you didn't have to do that," I protested.

"Ashton we almost lost you this week. How do you think I would have felt if I was at work and something happened to you? Truthfully, I'm debating early retirement. That way I can help take care of you."

"And what will you do when I no longer need to be taken care of?" I asked as some of my optimism returned.

"I'll fish."