Page 116 of What Should Have Been Ours

“Hey,” he says softly. “Come here.”

I hesitate, then carefully crawl into bed beside him, mindful of the wires and tubes, tucking myself against his side. His arm comes around me instantly, holding me close, like he needs me just as much as I need him.

“This is it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of my head. “The last stretch.”

I close my eyes against the sudden sting. “Yeah.”

“Are you scared?”

I nod against his hospital gown. “Terrified.”

“Me too,” he tells me as his fingers stroke my back.

I shift slightly, tilting my head up to look at him. “I hate this, Cam. I hate what this is doing to you.”

He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing just under my eye to wipe the tears away. “Hey. Look at me.”

I do.

“We’re getting through this, remember,” he says, voice steady. “One way or another.”

A lump rises in my throat. “I just want you to be okay.”

“I know, baby,” he whispers. “I know.”

We stay like that for a while, tangled together in the dim glow of the monitors, just existing in the space between fear and hope.

Then, after a long moment, I whisper to him, “I’ve been praying a lot more lately, you know. I’ve never really done that too much.”

His fingers pause against my back. “Yeah?”

I nod. “For you, for this procedure, for us, for the future.”

He’s quiet for a moment, just watching me. Then he exhales, pressing his forehead down on top of my head. “That might be exactly what we need more of right now.”

His words settle me, bringing me the comfort I desperately need.

48

Cameron

All I hear when I wake up this morning is quiet beeping. The steady sound of machines monitoring my body. It’s nothing new—I’ve lived with that sound since I was three years old. But today, it feels overwhelming and smothering.

Today is the day.

I blink up at the ceiling, feeling the exhaustion deep in my bones. They feel heavy, like they were filled with cement.

The past week of chemo and radiation has hollowed me out, leaving me feeling more like a shell of myself than an actual person. My immune system is completely wiped, my body stripped to nothing, so the transplant will take. All I can do is wait and hope Wes’s donation gives me something to build from again.

A soft touch brushes against my arm. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

I turn my head slightly to find Gabrielle perched in the chair beside my bed, her hair pulled into a messy bun, her eyes tired but warm. She looks like she hasn’t slept, but she still smiles at me.

I try to smile back, but I barely have the energy to lift my lips. “What does that make you? Since I know you haven’t slept.”

She shrugs, reaching for my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. “Someone has to make sure you didn’t try to run away.”

“Dang,” I say weakly, “you caught on to the plan.”