Page 67 of We Drank the Dawn

“Three.”

My muscles tensed as I launched through the air and we were flying—hand in hand—toward the beauty, toward the sky. For a moment, my heart felt so high and so free I almost thought I could reach out and grab the sun this time.

But it was the last time we’d jump with hesitation.

A yell ripped from Peter’s mouth as we catapulted toward the waves, and the cool water rushed over my head as we plunged into the depths.

TWENTY-TWO

Peter

Our entwined fingers bound us as rain pelted the windshield of my Accord. I knew Sarah was trying to put on a brave face for me, but I didn’t want her to do that. Sometimes, she tried to corral me with her positive attitude and relentless determination.

But I was so tired.

I didn’t want to see the bright side anymore or try to give every single thing a positive spin. I didn’t want to pretend like we were going to be okay. Because what if we weren’t? We had to face the possibility that we might not see this to the other side. I barely escaped with my life last time.

More than anything, I wanted to tear down her walls. I wanted to find the part of Sarah that could weep and hold me without making promises. Every part of me needed to fall into her arms because I was scared as hell. And I knew she was too, even if she refused to admit it.

But that wasn’t how Sarah was wired.

She would fight and fight until someone forced her to put down her weapons.

My right hand held her left, and the little engagement ring I slipped over her finger in June glinted in the melancholic gray light. Had I known I’d be facing chemo a mere eight weeks later, I never would’ve asked her.

I would’ve waited.

Now, I didn’t know how to undo what I started.

My car idled a few streets down from my house in a partially developed subdivision where no one lived yet. We’d set out to go to a drive-in theater, but they canceled due to the rain. So I just drove around until the rain grew too thick to see. Now we just sat and stared. Unsure what to do. What to say. How to tackle the mountain ahead of us. Or how to broach the looming what ifs.

I lifted her hand and kissed it. The touch startled her out of her trance-like stare, and she turned her weary eyes to mine.

“We need to talk,” I said.

She nodded, understanding we couldn’t keep avoiding this.

“I…” The words started, but I didn’t know how to finish them. “Sarah, we…we can’t get married. Not like this.” Averting my eyes, I glanced out the windshield. “I feel like I never should have asked.”

“Why?” She frowned. “Your relapse doesn’t change anything.”

It was now August, and according to our original date, Sarah and I would be married September 21st. There were so many problems with that plan now.

“I don’t want you to marry me when my future is not a given.” A relapse in acute myeloid leukemia typically came with a significantly lower survival rate. Granted, I’d spent a lot of time in remission, so maybe the treatments would be effective, but if they weren’t, she would be a…a…

I couldn’t even think it.

A painful lump rose in my throat. “I won’t leave a wife behind, Sarah.”

“But I want every minute I can get with you.” Her voice was strong, but wavering. “Even if you die.”

“I don’t want that.” I shook my head. “I don’t want you to go through that.”

“Even if I love you?”

“Especially because you love me.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Peter.”