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Van’s body sags and his face twists with anguish. “Fuck.”
I nod. “Yeah, fuck.”
Because really, there’s nothing else to say.
29
Presley
Jett leads me through the corridors of the hospital as he stalks to his sister’s room. He took hold of my hand as we exited the car outside the hospital and hasn’t let go since. The grip he’s holding me with screams his need for me at the moment. I wasn’t sure if he’d want me with him here, not having really met his family yet, but he insisted I come with him.
“Fuck, can they put the fucking cancer ward any further from the entrance?” he grumbles, and I can’t blame him. My legs are weary from the rapid pace we’re walking and the distance we’ve covered.
We round a corner and I see the sign that tells us we’ve reached our destination. Jett’s pace falters for a split second, but then he pushes the door open and continues his search for Claudia. His gaze is glued to the room numbers above each door and he doesn’t slow again until he finds the number he’s after.
Room 9.
He stops outside the closed door and stares at it. His grip tightens around my hand, and my chest squeezes, knowing how much he’s struggling with this. Finally, he opens the door and steps inside, dragging me with him.
Claudia is in the bed and turns to look at us. Her hair sticks to her face where she is clammy, her face is pale and she is coughing, but she gives us a small smile. She raises her arm and motions for Jett to come to her at which point he lets my hand go. A moment later, he’s sitting on the side of the bed with his arms wrapped around her and her head buried in his chest. I watch as her back starts to shake and when her sobs and coughs fill the room, my eyes well up.
Blinking, I take my attention off them from fear I will start sobbing as well. Looking around the room, I take in the vase of flowers on the shelf near the bed. Tulips. I wonder if they’re Claudia’s favourite. My gaze drifts to the armchair in the corner near the bed, under the shelf the flowers are sitting on. It’s stacked high with novels. I guess she loves to read.
“Presley.” Claudia’s voice drifts across the room and I turn to her.
Smiling, I take a step towards her outstretched arm. “Hi,” I almost whisper.
Jett shifts his gaze from her to me, and I gulp back the ache I feel when I see the pain in his eyes.
Claudia reaches for my hand and I give it to her. She clutches it and says, “Thank you for coming.” Her voice is raspy and full of gratitude, and it almost kills me that she is thanking me for coming when she is clearly so sick.
Jett’s arm slides around my waist and he moves his leg so he can pull me close to him. The love in this room surrounds me; these two clearly adore each other and keenly feel each other’s pain.
The door to the room pushes open and we all turn to it. An older man and woman enter and I know instantly they are Jett’s parents. The resemblance is striking. Jett’s father looks almost identical to Jett with the same dark hair, tanned skin and facial features. His mother, however, has the same piercing blue eyes as him. And they are reflecting the same pain I see in Jett’s.
Jett stands but keeps me close, his arm still around my waist. “Presley, my parents – Monica and Steve,” he introduces us, and they both give me a smile. My heart beats faster in my chest, especially when I realise that even though this family is hurting from their daughter’s diagnosis, it’s abundantly clear they are welcoming their son’s girlfriend with open arms.
Monica comes to me with a hug, and I can feel the authenticity in it; Jett’s mother is happy to see me. And then Steve is next to me with an outstretched hand. I place mine in his and he says, “It’s lovely to meet you, Presley. Would have been better under different circumstances but we can’t always dictate how life goes, can we?”
His voice is so much like Jett’s I’m taken aback a little, but I nod and agree, “That’s true. And it’s good to meet you both, too.”
Jett had let me go when his mother hugged me but he pulls me close again. Looking at Claudia he asks the question I know he doesn’t really want the answer to, but it’s a question he must ask. “What’s the diagnosis?”
Her eyes close for a moment and the lines around them crinkle a little as she squeezes them shut. When she opens them again, the tears are visible. “I have stage four ovarian cancer.” Her voice catches in her throat, and she visibly fights to not fall apart, but the tears begin flowing down her cheeks and Jett lets me go so he can comfort her.
I cover my mouth with my hand as tears prick my eyes again.
Fuck.
Ovarian cancer.
A shiver runs down my spine and my legs feel weak.
The words ‘stage four’ lodge in my brain.
Fuck.
Jett runs his hand lovingly over her hair, over and over, and presses his lips to her forehead. They stay like that for a long time and all I can do is watch and fight my own tears. Claudia doesn’t need to see me cry. Her mother is crying while her father holds his wife – I don’t need to add to the heaviness in this room with tears.
