David heaved a sigh. “Wes—”
“Do you need anything else?” I interrupted.
With a curse, David pulled out his notebook. “I just need to document how you’re feeling today. You know the drill. You get the drugs that cost a fortune and haven’t been tested by the FDA yet, and we have to write it down. I don’t do this to torture you. I’m not your doctor, I am your friend, and I’ve been your bodyguard since you threw your first football, so for the love of God, just tell me how you feel.”
I felt guilty as hell. David was right. He’d been there through it all. It was the only way I could even stand having James around. David was family to me, and I was treating him like shit.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, my voice hoarse with too much emotion. I let out a sigh and began talking about my symptoms. “I’m losing feeling in my right leg. I’m not sure if it’s because I keep getting tackled or if it’s the medicine. I throw up almost every morning, my chest doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, and the nightmares have started to slowly go away. I’m not feeling depressed, just anxious, like God has this giant ass timer in his hands and is just waiting to hit end.”
“Very good.” James cleared his throat and pressed stop on his recorder. Hadn’t known he was recording but whatever.
David reached across the space between us and touched my arm. “Thank you, Wes. We’ll leave you to your packing. You sure you still want to drive yourself?”
“Yup.” I grinned, remembering Kiersten and her excitement. “I’m bringing my girlfriend.”
James sighed heavily, but David grinned and said, “Good for you.”
“Thanks.”
They left the room and I was emotionally ready to throw a bat at anything that talked to me.
“Hey, those goons bothering you?” Gabe said launching himself into my room just as David and James left.
“Always.” I groaned. “So please, punch me, get it over with.”
Gabe looked guilty.
Oh no.
“Are you sick?” He asked in a quiet voice.
“How much did you hear?” I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t, if I did, I’d probably lose it and then just want to punch myself for crying like a baby.
“I know one’s a shrink and the other says you’re on some sort of drugs that make you sick, and then I heard something about surgery.”
A few seconds went by. Hell, I hadn’t told anyone. I didn’t want anyone to know, because I wanted to feel normal if it was my last autumn on this earth.
“Yeah, man.” I bit down on my lip, still refusing to make eye contact. “I’m sick.”
“How sick?” Gabe sat in the chair by my desk. I could see his feet tapping against the floor whether it was in nervous
ness or just awkwardness I couldn’t tell because I was still being a pansy and staring at the floor.
“Really sick.” My voice broke. Damn it.
“Are you going to get better?”
I laughed without humor and finally lifted my gaze to meet his. “I have no idea. I find out in four weeks.”
“What happens in four weeks?”
“Nosy bastard, aren’t you?”
He grinned and gave me a haphazard shrug.
I sighed and shook my head. “Surgery, and if it doesn’t work, or if I die during it, yeah, well… it’s curtains I guess on either end.”
“So it’s going to be fine then? You’ll be fine?”