“Figured that.” I bit my lip. “How sick?”
“People always ask that, you know?” He chuckled. “How sick are you? On a scale of one to ten, will you die? Are you nauseated? Rate the nausea.” He laughed again. “Lamb… the wolf is really sick.”
“As in the wolf got shot and it’s only a flesh wound?” I asked hopefully.
“Monty Python.” He actually laughed. “Classic, and to answer your question, probably more than a flesh wound.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip to keep from crying, but the tears came anyway. Didn’t he know? I was his. He was mine. How could God do this to me? How could he take the one thing I could count on? I kept rubbing my hands together — most likely rubbing them raw until Wes grabbed them and pulled me down to his side, caressing my face with his fingers.
“I have cancer.”
The ground fell out beneath me.
Drowning.
I was drowning like I’d always feared — only this time it wasn’t in water, it was in air. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. That one word: cancer. The word every person feared. That word had the power to destroy a person, only cancer never destroyed in an instant. It was always slow. It always tortured. My heart felt like it stopped beating. I tried to suck in a breath but nothing would come.
“Hey, hey.” Wes grasped my head against his chest and sighed. “You’re fine. It’s fine. It’s just a shock. You’re okay. Just breathe.”
Apparently my body needed permission from him to do something that simple — to breathe. I took in a few soothing breaths and then asked the inevitable.
“Will you get better?”
“I want to,” Wes said against my hair. And then I gasped. Everything made sense. His obsession with my hair, all his cryptic talk about not being here or about giving me as much time as he had.
I fell into a sob over his chest. I couldn’t control myself. “No, No, No.” I slammed my fist into the mattress as he held me tight. “You have more time than that, Wes. Damn it! You have more time! Promise me! Promise me this isn’t goodbye! Promise me, Wes, Promise!”
Arms came around me, they weren’t Wes’s. I collapsed onto the floor in those arms.
I noticed tattoos first — Gabe. It was Gabe.
“Hold it together,” he whispered in my ear. “And let him talk. I’ll be ready to take you home in a few, okay?”
I nodded. I wasn’t going home. I wasn’t freaking leaving Wes’s side. But I nodded anyway.
Gabe released me and stepped back out of the room.
“You can’t die,” I said in a shaky voice.
Wes smiled. “I don’t want to.”
“Why did you collapse?”
He patted the mattress and I sat again, trying to keep myself from going into hysterics.
“My dad’s rich, what can I say? It’s my last week of experimental drugs before I go in for surgery.”
My head jerked up. “Surgery?”
“Yeah, to remove the tumor.”
“Well, where is it?” This was good, right? If they removed it, the cancer would be gone!
“Wrapped around my heart.”
“Oh, God.” I closed my eyes as more tears rolled down my cheeks, “Do they, um…” I sniffled. “Do they think they can get it a
ll?”