Page 87 of What Should Have Been Ours

I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping onto my best friend.

“I can’t lose him,” I whisper through the tears. “It keeps trying to take him.”

Kinsley’s arms tighten around me, trying to hold me together.

“You won’t,” she says, but there’s a tremble in her voice, one that sounds like she’s not actually sure that’s true.

That’s not a promise anyone can keep.

32

Cameron

I never thought I’d end up back here. Truly. I thought this part of my life was over.

Now I’m back. Back in the same hospital I now work in, the same halls I grew up in, and now handed the same battle I thought I’d already won.

I stare up at the ceiling, trying desperately to hold onto hope that everything will be okay. It feels unreal—like I’m caught in a cruel, cosmic joke.

I’ve spent years trying to outrun this, convincing myself that I was finally one of the lucky ones, too. That I’d escaped. That I had made it out of that hell. But here I am, hooked up to the same machines, listening to the same speeches I give to my patients now.

Gabrielle hasn’t left my side once since I collapsed, even when I keep telling her she should go home, get some sleep, eat something real. She just gives me this look like I’ve lost my mind, but doesn’t say anything. She looks so close to the edge since we got the news, like if she speaks, she might lose it; she might fully break.

Wes has barely left either. He’s sprawled out in the chair across from me, feet propped up on the side of my hospital bed, arms crossed like he’s settling in. Kinsley’s been in and out, bringing them whatever they need, being the perfect friend to all of us.

At some point, Wes leans forward, rubbing his hands together. “You want me to call your parents? Let them know what’s going on?”

I hesitate. I should. But I already know how that conversation will go, and I don’t know if I have the energy for it yet. The fear I’ll hear in their voices, the way my mom will cry, the way my dad will try to act strong for her. The way it’ll feel like I’m ripping their hearts out all over again. I don’t know if I can do it yet.

I glance over at Wes. “Let’s wait until the confirmation comes back.”

He watches me for a beat before nodding. He gets it. He knows what this kind of news does to people.

A sharp knock at the door makes Gabrielle sit up straighter as Dr. Smith walks in holding a clipboard.

“Alright, Cam,” she says, offering a small, sympathetic smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

I’ve had this done before. I know exactly what’s coming. And somehow, that makes it worse.

Gabrielle tenses next to me. I can feel it in the way she squeezes my fingers that she’s trying to absorb some of the pain herself.

“You don’t have to watch this,” I murmur to her, keeping my voice light.

She just glares at me. “Shut up, Cam.”

I smirk. “So bossy.”

I really don’t want her to watch, though. I don’t want her to see me like this again.

It was different as a sick kid. Now, being a man, this all just feels emasculating.

My doctor goes through the usual spiel, explaining what’s going to happen, as if I don’t already know—they’re going to numb the area with a local anesthetic. Then they’ll insert a long needle into my hip bone, extracting a sample of my marrow to analyze.

Simple. Straightforward. Straight Hell.

Wes makes a face from his seat. “I can’t believe I get to watch them stab you in the ass.”