Page 136 of What Should Have Been Ours

I’m sitting on Cam’s lap, his arms locked around my waist, and I let myself sink into it, into him. But even as he holds me like he always has, I can feel the slight difference. The way his grip isn’t as strong. The way his body, once solid beneath me, feels a little thinner again, and a little more fragile. He’s getting weaker. He’s trying to hide it, pretending like nothing’s changed, like nobody else can see it yet.

Maybe nobody else does.

But I do.

I see it in the way his hands tremble when he thinks no one is looking. The way his breathing slows when he’s tired, as if even that takes too much effort for him.

I know what’s coming. I just don’t know how to prepare myself for it. Because even now, even while his body betrays him, I can tell he’s more worried about me than himself. Still making sure I’m okay, holding me like he’s supposed to be anchoring me, when I’m the one who should be doing that for him.

I’ll never understand how I got this lucky—to find a man who loves like this, who cares more about my well-being than his own, even in times like these.

Cam presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You’re thinking too hard, that’s never good,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.

I turn my head to look at him, my chest aching at the soft smile he gives me. I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth in response, and he hums, like I’ve given him exactly what he wanted. Unspoken reassurance that I’m okay.

Kinsley and Wes are sprawled out on the other end of the couch, half-watching the movie but mostly wrapped up in their own world. Wes has an arm slung over the back of the couch behind her, and Kinsley is sitting closer than she usually does, their knees brushing. I’ve been watching them all night, the way they lean into each other without thinking, the way their touches linger.

They think they’re being subtle. But they totally aren’t.

I catch Cam’s eye and grin before turning toward them. “Soo, you guys gonna keep pretending in front of our faces, or are we finally going to acknowledge that you two are a thing?”

Wes groans, dropping his head back against the couch, while Kinsley’s cheeks flush. “We’re not—”

“Oh, come on.” I wave a hand between them. “We’re all literally best friends. You can’t hide anything from us.”

They share a look, and then Kinsley sighs. “Well…yeah, we’ve been…kinda seeing each other. I guess. I don’t know.”

Cam chuckles, shaking his head. “You think we didn’t already know that?”

Wes scoffs. “We just didn’t want to draw any attention to ourselves right now. It’s not really as important as everything else going on.”

Cam leans his head against the back of the couch, looking at them with something softer in his eyes. “You know, as the dying man here and everything…I think what I want is pretty important, and what I want is to see the people I love be happy. If you two make each other happy, then that’s something I want to be part of. It’s not something you need to hide.” He grins, throwing Wes a look. “I’m just shocked I get to witness the miracle of you actually dating someone seriously before I die.”

Wes throws a pillow at him, and we all burst out laughing.

The night stays light after that, the air a little easier, the weight of everything lifted just enough to breathe. We keep playing games, arguing over movie choices, and stealing each other’s snacks.

For a little while, it feels like nothing’s changed. Like nothing will change.

Like time isn’t running out.

I can almost pretend it’s not.

That seems to be my favorite game to play these days.

62

Cameron

We both know time is running out, even if we stopped saying it out loud a long time ago.

Instead of letting the weight of that crush us, we’ve been using every single day we have left to the fullest. We’ve burned through the bucket list like we were on a mission, like if we moved fast enough, maybe we could outrun the inevitable. And for a while, it felt like we could.

Road Trip

We took the road trip to Cape Cod, just the two of us and the open road. She drove, mostly because the tiredness was getting to me more these days, but I liked watching her behind the wheel—wind in her hair, humming to whatever song was playing, sneaking glances at me when she thought I wasn’t looking.

We stopped at little diners along the way, ate way too much food, and walked along the beach at night for hours just talking after watching the sunset. I had to stop a couple of times to catch my breath, but would try to play it off every time by lacing our fingers together and kissing her with the ocean hitting at our feet, trying to make it come off as more romantic than weak. It was still beautiful despite that, though. She was beautiful. She made everywhere we went more beautiful.