Page 113 of What Should Have Been Ours

I turn fully toward him, shifting down until I’m sitting on the floor next to him. My knees bump against his, and I rest my hands against his jaw, holding his face between my palms. “I think I’ve known I was gonna marry you since we were kids, Cam. And over the years, that never changed. I always pictured it was you at the end of the aisle when I imagined my wedding.”

A slow, tired smile spreads across his lips. “Yeah, I’ve known I was going to marry you since I was seven years old, and I had no clue what that really meant. I just knew I had to find a way to keep this really cool girl in my life forever.”

I close my eyes for a second, breathing him in. He feels so solid under my hands, so warm and alive.

I swallow hard and pull back slightly, my fingers still resting along his jaw. “Cam…can I ask you something?”

His dark eyes flicker with curiosity. “Of course.”

I hesitate, licking my lips, trying to find the right words. “Do you…still want kids?”

His brows pull together, his grip on me tensing slightly. “Gab—”

“I mean, neither of us probably can, right?” I push through, my voice cracking slightly. “With everything we’ve been through…the treatments, the damage it does…I’ve never even let myself consider the idea because I figured it wasn’t in the cards for me.” My throat tightens, but I force myself to finish. “I just…I don’t want you to resent me for it later. For not being able to give you a family.”

Cam exhales slowly, reaching up to brush his fingers along my cheek. “Gabrielle,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing to resent.”

I shake my head. “But—”

“No buts,” he interrupts. “I don’t care how we have a family. I don’t care if we have to adopt or foster or just have a home full of animals. As long as I have you in that home, that’s the only thing that has ever mattered to me.”

Tears prick at the back of my eyes, and I hate how raw and exposed this conversation makes me feel. “Adoption? You’ve really thought about that?”

He nods. “Of course I have. I’ve thought about everything with you, Gabrielle. I’ve pictured every scenario of what life would look like together in my head. All I want is to do life with you—however that looks.”

I let out a shaky breath, staring at him. “I just…I didn’t want you to feel like you were losing something because of me.”

He shakes his head and pulls me in closer, his forehead pressing against mine. “This disease has taken that choice from both of us, not just you. But I’m not losing anything, Gabs. I’m gaining everything with you.”

My heart wants to explode at his words—melt into his and permanently attach itself to his beautiful soul.

“And besides,” he murmurs. “You know how much I love kids. If we ever decide we want them, we’ll figure it out—together.”

I nod, trying to keep myself from full-on crying because I tend to be doing that way too often lately.

“Yeah. Together.”

“We’re gonna have a beautiful life, Gabrielle,” he says softly.

I nod, brushing my fingers over his jaw. “We already do.”

And even though we’re about to walk into another hard fight, I hold onto that. I hold onto him and his dreams.

46

Cameron

I don’t really remember what it feels like not to be sick at this point. There’s no past, no future. Just this—the constant, never-ending hell this disease is.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I was admitted back into the hospital, weeks of being pumped full of drugs that are supposed to prepare my body for the bone marrow transplant. Drugs that are supposed to save me, but feel like they’re doing the opposite. The chemo. The radiation. The poison that’s designed to kill what’s killing me.

It’s working, I guess. If working means I can barely sit up without my vision swimming. If it means my body feels like it’s been put through a shredder, piece by piece.

Today is one of the worst days by far.

The nausea is relentless—an ugly, twisting sensation that coils deep in my stomach and refuses to let up. I’ve already thrown up more times than I can count, my throat is raw, and my ribs aching from the force of it. The taste of acid still lingers at the back of my mouth, and even after they’ve given me something for it, it’s still there, making my stomach churn with every inhale.

The fatigue is worse than ever. It’s the kind of tired that sleep can’t fix. It’s the bone-deep, all-consuming exhaustion that makes me feel like I weigh a thousand pounds. Like gravity is working against me, dragging me down, making every single movement feel impossible.