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Gypsy was beside me, still clinging to my hand, gracefully dabbing away any evidence of the emotion she displayed this afternoon. She’d cried for a man she didn’t know. She cried for her beliefs in me, so strong that she no longer questioned that Emmanuel could have been anything but innocent. Even if I her and I were the only ones that walked this earth with that knowledge, it was something.
“Are you okay?” Gypsy asked when I removed my suit jacket and rested my head against the seat.
“I’m fine,” I murmured.
But I wasn’t fine. My chest had filled with garbage again, and I’d been trying to hide it from her. I closed my eyes and felt her hand on my forehead before she gasped.
“You’re burning up.”
I tried to open my eyes, but they were heavy. Too heavy to open. I tried to give her more promises, even if I couldn’t keep them.
“Lucian.” She shook me. “Look at me.”
I wanted to. My God, how I wanted to. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and there would never be enough chances to memorize her face.
But it wasn’t meant to be.
My eyes were too heavy, and my body was weak. I felt it giving out on me. I felt the split between heaven and earth, pulling me in different directions.
“Ace,” Gypsy said frantically. “Pull over. Something’s wrong.”
DARK EYES FOUND MINE, AND I choked down my fear as I offered him a smile. “Welcome back.”
Lucian glanced around the hospital room, examining the tube in his arm, the monitors keeping track of his vital signs. He was sleepy, disoriented, and I thought maybe it was better that way.
“Lucian, you have pneumonia,” I said. “The doctors need your permission to treat you.”
They’d told me about his advance directives. I’d argued and told them I didn’t care. I played the wife card. But apparently, that didn’t matter. I wasn’t his power of attorney, and Lucian had already made his wishes clear.
I called for the nurse while he propped himself up and tried to get comfortable.
“Please.” I squeezed his hand. “You need to tell her it’s okay. Tell her that you want them to treat you.”
Lucian looked at the nurse that entered, and then his eyes moved back to me. “I’m sorry,” he spoke in a scratchy voice. “Can I have a few minutes alone with my wife?”
My chest restricted as she walked out of the room, and my frustration was boiling over.
“There’s something I need to tell you—” Lucian said.
“I know about the cancer,” I interrupted, swiping at the traitorous tears that spilled down my cheeks. I’d never cried so much in my life as I had in the past couple of weeks.
“How?” Lucian asked.
“Birdie found your pills and the medical records in your safe.”
His eyebrows pinched together, and he looked down at our joined hands. “How long have you known?”
“A couple of days. I wanted to talk to you about it, but then…”
“Then I was an asshole,” he finished for me.
“You weren’t,” I argued.
“I was.” He squeezed my hand. “And I’m sorry, Gypsy. I don’t want our last memories to be tainted by anything bad.”
“They aren’t last memories,” I insisted. “I need you, Lucian. You can’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
He laid my head against his chest and stroked my hair as he forced out the words. “I have to, baby girl. I’m so sorry.”
I pulled away and met his lying eyes. “That’s bullshit. You don’t have to. I know that this disease is curable. I know the success rates. Even now, you have a fighting chance. You just have to want it.”
Lucian didn’t answer, but his eyes filled with shame as they looked over me, distraught.
“Why don’t you want it?” I demanded. “Why don’t you want to stay here with me?”
“Because.” He closed his eyes. “This has been my intention since the diagnosis. I can’t change it now. It’s the only way I can see Dawson again.”
And suddenly, everything about this made so much sense. The church. His time with Father Hawk. His delusion that if he left this earth, he would find the heaven he’d been seeking all along.
I took a long time to process before I responded. I needed to choose my words carefully. I needed to make him understand.
My hand found his again, and I didn’t want to let him go. “I’m sorry that Dawson died,” I began. “I am so fucking sorry that happened to you, Lucian. You didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t fair, and if I could change it for you, I would.”
His fingers brushed over mine like he thought I understood.
“But I’m not sorry you’re alive,” I continued. “You told me that you loved me, and I’m still here. I’m not asking me to choose me. I’m asking you to choose life. Just for a little bit longer. Just until we’re old and gray, and then you can go. That’s it.”
