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I feel my body tense in terrible anticipation of what’s to come.
Eventually, he hangs up and I brace myself for the worst. I know I need to say something, know I owe him some kind of explanation, but I’ve got nothing. And neither, it seems, does he, as the silence between us stretches taut as a rubber band at its breaking point.
When I can’t stand the silence anymore—when it weighs on me even more heavily than my cancer, than my secret—I whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“It’s not that hard, is it? By the way, Ash, I have cancer. Seven little words. Not that hard to say.”
“Actually, they’re very hard to say. And I don’t have cancer anymore. I’m in full remission.”
His eyes—his beautiful, beautiful eyes—dart to mine. For a moment, just a moment, they’re filled with hope so brutal it makes my breath stick in my chest. “What about the fever? Z said you’re sick again. He said—”
“I don’t know if I’m sick again. I shouldn’t be. I was given a clean bill of health only seven weeks ago. It doesn’t make sense that it’s back. Except—”
“Except what?” He reaches for me now, his hands clutching at mine so tightly that I wince. Still, he doesn’t let go. Which is fine. I don’t want him to.
“Except I have a fever.”
“Right. A fever.” He reaches out and touches my face then, winces a little at how hot my cheeks and forehead are. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” His fingers trail over my jaw. “You don’t feel sick?”
“I’m fine!” The words are sharper than I intend, but I can’t stand this. Can’t stand that I’m suddenly cancer girl again, when for the last few days, I’ve just been Tansy.
I hate it, hate everything about it. Hate my body for betraying me this way, for getting my hopes up and then shattering them so completely. Hate myself for being so naïve, so stupid, as to think that I actually had a chance. And I hate Ash for the way he’s looking at me now. Like he doesn’t know me, like he didn’t spend half the night making love to me. Like I’m just another sick girl, just another burden.
I can handle anything else, even handle the cancer coming back. But I can’t handle that. Not now when I’m already feeling so damn breakable.
Ash doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he just continues staring at me like he doesn’t know me. Like I’m a stranger who just happens to be sitting next to him in bed.
It hurts worse than him yelling at me, worse than him accusing me of lying to him. Because the accusations are still there, hanging in the air between us. Only they’re silent, and infinitely more dangerous that way.
“What did Z say?” I ask when I can’t take the tension for one second longer.
“He says he managed to charter a plane. It’ll be at the airport in four and a half hours, so we need to leave here in two.” He does move then, throwing the covers back. “I need to get back to my room, help Logan pack.”
He grabs his jeans off the floor, pulls them on without bothering with underwear. Then reaches for his shirt, yanks it over his head.
It’s when he’s picking up his shoes that my composure cracks and I lose what’s left of my dignity. “Say something,” I tell him. “Please, say something. Don’t just leave me sitting here, trying to figure out what you’re thinking.”
It’s like my words open up a hole in the dam inside of him, one that lets everything inside of him come pouring out like a waterfall. His shoes hit the wall behind my head with a loud thump before bouncing off and falling to the bed beside me.
“What do you want me to say, Tansy? I don’t even know what I’m thinking let alone what I’m supposed to say here. All I know is that you lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
He stalks over to me then, looking for all the world like some powerful jungle cat about to strike. A snow leopard, I think a little hysterically. All sharp teeth and tracking eyes and long, deadly claws. “Really? You didn’t lie to me?” He yanks my pajama shirt down, places a hand over the scar on my chest. “What about this scar? Is it really from surgery when you were little?”
I don’t answer him, but then I don’t have to. We both know exactly what that scar is from.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He picks his shoes up off the bed. “I need to go.”
“Just like that?” The words slip out and I want to call them back as soon as I say them. They color everything, make it sound like I think this thing between us is more than it is. “I mean—”
“I need to help Logan pack. He can’t do it all on his own.”
“Right. Of course.” I look down at my hands, pick at my dry cuticles. Try to ignore the fear tearing me in two. Not fear of the cancer—I’ve been here too many times for that.
