Page 91 of What Should Have Been Ours

Gabrielle smiles, looking a little taken aback, but not in a bad way. “Thank you.”

Then my dad steps in, wrapping his arms around her, too. “I can’t believe this. You two actually being back together. I hated it when we had to move away, I really did. He missed you so much.” He laughs lightly. “I always wondered how you were doing.”

Gabrielle relaxes into his hug. “Yeah, I missed him too.”

Mom nods, wiping her face. “I always knew you two would find each other again.”

“Okay,” I interrupt, shifting, trying to adjust my pillow. “Are we really doing this? Getting so sentimental already?”

My mom and dad both turn toward me, unimpressed, but it’s Gabrielle’s little smirk that puts a smile back on my own face.

“Oh, we’re definitely doing this,” she says, crossing her arms. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet?” I groan. “It’s a little embarrassing.”

Dad chuckles, sitting in the chair beside my bed. “You should’ve heard your mom talk about you two when you were kids. She was convinced you were going to marry Gabrielle before you could even legally drink.”

“Really?” I mutter, rubbing my face. “Can we not—?”

“You know, she’s the only girl you’ve ever brought around us, Cam,” Mom chimes in. “Not once in all these years have we ever met another woman in your life. And now look at you two.”

I peek over to see Gabrielle watching me, her expression a little surprised.

“Well,” she says, tilting her head, “guess I just set the bar too high, huh?”

I groan again, but there’s no real malice behind it. “I hate this.”

“You love this,” Gabrielle teases, reaching for my hand and lacing our fingers together.

I do.

But the moment is short-lived. Because not long after my parents got here, they’re already having to set me up to start my first round of chemo. And everything suddenly gets really real.

I thought I remembered how bad it was. I thought I could handle it. But the first round hits harder than I ever anticipated. The chemo for AML is pretty intense, and the side effects always come on fast.

A couple of hours after starting, the nausea hits, twisting my stomach into knots, making it impossible to even think through the pain. My muscles feel weak, and my head feels too heavy to lift. My body isn’t the same as it was when I was a teenager. It’s slower to bounce back, quicker to give out.

* * *

The days start to fade into each other, but Gabrielle is there through all of it. She’s holding my hand when I’m curled over a bucket, gripping my fingers tight when I break out into a cold sweat, whispering encouraging words when I feel like I can’t take another second of this.

She doesn’t flinch when I’m at my absolute worst. She doesn’t leave when I want her to.

And that’s the problem.

Because as much as I need her, as much as I want her here, I still can’t shake the thought that she doesn’t deserve to be stuck in any of this again. It’s all I think about some days, how I’m holding her down, making her go through all of this again.

I just stare at her when she thinks I’m sleeping sometimes. She’s so exhausted. There are shadows under her eyes, and worry permanently carved into her expression. I’m dragging her back into the nightmare she barely made it out of when we were younger. And I don’t know how to cope with that now that we’re back in the thick of it.

I know how much anxiety it gives her. I know it’s taking a toll on her already, and this is only the beginning.

* * *

The second week of treatment is worse.

The weakness is all-consuming, my body feels like it’s shutting down, and my energy is nonexistent. Every part of me aches, and I can’t tell if it’s from the chemo or just the weight of knowing this may all be for nothing.

Gabrielle keeps pretending like she doesn’t see the shift in me, though. Like she doesn’t notice the way I’ve started pulling back already.