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As soon as I get back home, I call Lucas.
Even though I’m not expecting much conversation from him, I at least owe him an explanation from last night. I’m still angry, but nowhere near the level I was. In his own weird way, I know he was just looking out for me, and besides, I can’t imagine how he must be feeling with Aaron back in his life.
“I’m surprised you’re talking to me,” Lucas says when he answers the phone. “And I’m even more shocked you actually went to see him.”
I smile at his joke spite of my anger at his joke. “Yeah, well, I’m in the mood to punch someone. It might as well be him.”
“You didn’t,” Lucas laughs.
“No, but I wanted to.” I smirk. “I told him to stick his internship.”
“You can’t do that, Lace,” he argues. “Don’t give him the satisfaction. Use him like he used you and get the reference you deserve.”
Wow. I never expected him to be telling me to go back there. I thought he’d want me to stay as far away from Aaron as possible. But the more I think about it, I know he’s right.
At the very least, I deserve that reference. I open my mouth to answer and the doorbell rings.
“I have to go,” I mutter. I run to answer it, assuming it’s one of Ariel’s friends. “I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay? And Lucas? Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“Who, me?” he asks innocently.
I groan and shove the phone in my pocket.
Yanking open the door, I nearly fall over when I see Aaron standing there.
“Lacey, please just hear me out. Please.” His eyes catch mine and I sigh, positive I’m going to regret this. I move aside
and let him in. “Thank you.”
I lead him into the kitchen where I can keep a safe distance between us. I stand on one side of the counter with him on the other. I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him, my expression stoic. I can’t possibly imagine what he could have left to say to me. He leans against the counter, placing his palms flat against the thick marble surface.
“I’m sick.”
“Sick?” I repeat, my heart catching in my throat. Sick can mean many things. It can mean a cold, or a virus…or it can mean something more serious. “How sick?”
“Three years ago I was diagnosed with leukaemia. I had intensive treatment and I went into remission. About three months ago, I began feeling run down again. I was having night sweats, and fatigue. I knew what it meant, but I didn’t want to believe it…” His voice trails off. He stares at the counter and takes a deep breath. “Six weeks ago I finally caved and saw my specialist. The cancer is back.”
“So you treat it again, right?” I say. My heart pounds. He can’t be saying what I think he is. It just isn’t possible. “More chemotherapy. What about radiation? Or stem cell treatment?”
“In the words of my specialist, I’ve exhausted all treatment paths.” He hesitates before adding: “It’s terminal.”
“Wow,” I mumble. How am I supposed to respond to that? “How long…?” I can’t finish the sentence, but he knows what I mean.
“It’s a slow-growing cancer. I might have a year. Maybe five.” He shrugs. “Not knowing how much time you have left puts a lot of things into perspective. I tried to speak to Lucas after I was diagnosed, but he didn’t want anything to do with me.” He moves around the counter and takes my hand. I glance down. I’m shaking. “I know I’ve gone about this all wrong, but I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if I could convince you that I’m a decent guy—”
“Then I could convince Lucas to forgive you,” I finish, my body numb.
He nods. “Only I didn’t expect this.”
“This?” I repeat, confused.
He pulls me closer to him, moving my arms around his waist. My heart races as his fingers touch my face, placing his mouth against mine. I shiver, losing myself in his kiss as unanswered questions whirl around in my head.
What am I doing?
I break away, angry that he’s doing this to me again. Him being sick doesn’t make any difference to the fact that he lied to me. He used me. I hold my head, willing the tears to stay away as I put distance between us.
“I think you should go,” I mutter.
