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“No,” I exclaim with a shake of my head and an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be snippy. And yes, it’s hard for me to sit still, always feeling like I’m letting something slip through the cracks, but I do realize there’s value in it.”
“Then I’m glad I forced you to join me,” he says.
I dip my head, cock an eyebrow. “You’re kind of pushy.”
Boone laughs and my breath sort of catches. He’s an incredibly handsome man but that easy, delighted burst of humor makes him near beautiful. I shake my head, clearing away such thoughts. “Before I forget, congratulations on clinching your division last night.”
Boone blinks in surprise. “You watch hockey?”
“No,” I admit with a sheepish smile. “But Aiden does and that’s what we did in his room last night. He’s taken it upon himself to teach me the game now that he’s best buds with Boone Rivers. We were celebrating some good news, so it made it extra nice that you won last night.”
“What were you celebrating?” Boone asks, picking up his water bottle.
“I’m not even sure what you know about Aiden’s condition.”
“Aiden told me he got leukemia when he was five and that it went into remission for a while, but that it came back not long ago. More chemo didn’t help, so they did the bone marrow transplant.”
I nod at the very basic history. “It was the best option.”
“I’m not really sure what that means,” Boone admits. “I try to always let Aiden steer the conversation, so I don’t ask a lot of specific questions. He did tell me that they sort of blasted his marrow to get rid of the leukemia but that it killed all his healthy cells too, so that’s why he’s at such a risk for infection.”
It’s very thoughtful that Boone gives Aiden the space to talk. My brother likes to be as normal as possible, even while lying sick in a hospital bed. “The hope is that the healthy marrow harvest from the donor will make its way to his marrow and start creating healthy new blood cells.”
“How did you find a donor?” Boone asks.
“I was a match. Only one in four family members are, so we were lucky.”
Boone grimaces. “Do I even want to know how they got your marrow?”
“Probably not, but it was done under sedation so it wasn’t that bad. At any rate, the chemo left Aiden’s marrow profoundly suppressed and it made him susceptible to infections.”
“That’s why he couldn’t have visitors at first.”
“Right. He’s on a pretty heavy regimen of anti-infective agents.”
“What does that mean?”
“Antibiotics, antivirals and antifungals because he doesn’t have white blood cells after the high dose of chemotherapy he got before the transplant. He gets blood transfusions almost every other day and he has weekly bone marrow aspirations to see if his marrow is recovering. It can take weeks to see if a transplant takes. We were celebrating last night because his most recent tests showed that while his blood cells are still suppressed, there doesn’t seem to be any signs of leukemia.”
“Holy fuck,” Boone exclaims, his hand shooting out to grab mine. I’m so startled by his outburst that I jump in my seat, but it’s the fact he’s holding my hand that has my heart beating so fast. “That’s amazing news, Lilly. Why didn’t you start with that the minute I walked in?”
I grin and attempt to tug my hand away, but he holds tight as he asks, “Does that mean he’ll get out of the hospital?”
My smile doesn’t slip as I shake my head. “No, not yet. It’s safest for him to stay there until his marrow recovers. But this is the best possible news, and we’ve been anxiously waiting for it. The cure rate with a transplant is less than fifty percent, so the fact there’s no evidence of leukemia is huge. Now we just need his red and white blood cells to perk up a bit.”
Boone’s hand jerks in surprise but then he tightens his grip. “Only fifty percent?” he murmurs thoughtfully. I nearly hyperventilate when his thumb gently strokes over the back of my hand. “I don’t know why I thought it would be higher or that this was a sure thing once he had the transplant.”
“Order up,” Georgie says as he delivers our food. They’re wrapped in white paper with the names of the sandwiches written in black wax crayon.
I’m sure Boone meant nothing by the touch, merely being comforting, but my heart pounds like a jackhammer. I pull away and smile up at Georgie. “Thank you so much.”
“Enjoy,” he replies brightly before heading back behind the counter and into the kitchen.
Boone and I open our sandwiches. I grab napkins from the silver-plated holder on the table and hand him a few.
“This would probably be a good time to talk to my dad about rehab, don’t you think? Given the good news we’re riding high on.”
“I think sooner rather than later is better,” he says, picking up half of his sandwich. “I’ve got a list of resources from Harlow.”
