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Chapter Twenty-five
Finley
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He’s saying all theright things. And the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, I swear I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
If I could pick a perfect moment out of one of my books, one that feels like it’s crafted by the heavens, this would be it. Only it’s not a book. I used to think fiction was better than real life, but Abel makes me see things differently.
Maybe real life isn’t so bad after all.
Abel is propped up in bed next to me, holding my hand. We’ve been like this for hours and even though I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to close them.
We’ve talked about everything from our childhoods, to our favorite movies, and even had a pretty interesting conversation about politics, though I’m still not sure how we got on the subject.
“How’s your mom doing?” I finally broach the subject.
“She’s hanging in there. I talked to her earlier and so far she seems to be handling the chemo pretty well.”
“It didn’t bother me too bad right away. It was the second and third days that were the roughest for me. But everyone handles it differently. Maybe she’ll be one of the lucky ones.”
“Maybe.” He thinks on that for a moment. “Is it painful?”
“Chemo?” I ask, not continuing until he nods. “I wouldn’t say it’s painful, per se. It’s kind of like getting sick. You feel it coming on slowly and then all of a sudden you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. The nausea is the worst. I go from feeling perfectly fine to deathly ill in the blink of an eye.”
“You seem okay today.”
“Check in with me tomorrow. If this time is anything like the last then you may want to stay away for a couple days.”
“A little puke doesn’t bother me.”
“You say that now.” I give him a knowing look.
“Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.” He shifts, reaching over to lift a section of my hair, revealing the incision site from surgery.
I flinch, ready to pull away.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, pressing up to get a better look.
“Not as much anymore. In the beginning the pain was excruciating. I spent days after I finally woke up feeling like my head was going to explode from the inside out.” I force myself to stay still, allowing him to look.
“That had to have been hard.” He releases my hair and relaxes back.
“It was. But it sure beat the alternative.”
“Which was?”
“Being dead.” I shrug.
“Definitely better than the alternative,” he agrees. “I wish I could have been there for you.”
“I’m glad you weren’t,” I admit. “Trust me, it wasn’t pretty.”
“You must think I scare easily.” He smirks.
“Give it time. I might frighten you off,” I tease, leaning into him so that our shoulders touch.
“Not gonna happen.” He turns his face inward and presses a light kiss to the top of my head. “But I probably should go. I have a gig at nine and you need your rest.”
