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“Is it, though?” I huff out a laugh. The coffee machine beeps, signaling that my coffee is done, but Yasmin is holding my gaze, and I can’t seem to look away.
“It’s different because you’re not dying. I’m not going to pretend I knew your mother better than you did, but I know the facts. She had stage four cancer; nothing could have been done for her, but you have a fighting chance.”
“That doesn’t mean any of you have to be here and watch. I’ve seen myself in the mirror. Cancer is eating me from the inside out, even if we brush away the physical changes. I’m not the girl I used to be. I’ll never again be that girl. And Prescott… I don’t blame him. Not considering the things I know. Things he’s told me.” I notice their curious gazes, but before they can ask, I hurry to say: “It’s not my story to tell, but remember, I don’t blame him. And if I don’t, you don’t get to either.”
“Nixon doesn’t know, does he?”
I grab my coffee from the machine and add some creamer from the fridge. “I don’t think so. I haven’t told him yet.” I lift my gaze. “You can’t tell him, at least not until the season’s done.”
“Jade…”
“He can’t know.” I fix my eyes on Yasmin. “You know how he is; he’ll get upset on my behalf and go play my savior, which is the last thing any of us needs. The relationship between them is strained enough as it is, and if they get in a fight…” I let my words hang in the air. “I’m not going to be the reason they don’t go all the way.”
“He’ll find out eventually,” Callie says grimly.
“As long as it’s not before the game, I don’t care.” I tilt my chin in Yasmin’s direction. “Shouldn’t you be washing that off? You’ll burn your hair off.”
Yasmin sticks her tongue out at me. “You can only wish.”
But still, she goes to the bathroom to rinse off. Thankfully, after that, no one brings back the topic of Prescott or our breakup, which I’m grateful for.
Penny blow dries her hair, and I help her style it, while the other girls finish washing the dye off. For all my protests, their hair looked pretty cute, even Grace’s, who I didn’t believe could pull it off, but somehow did.
“Makes me wish I could dye it too,” I say, tugging at the beanie I have on my head. Although it looks ridiculous, I can’t not wear it. Not when lately I’m always so cold.
“Did you ever think about getting a wig?” Penny asks.
“I did, but I’m not sure if that’s for me. Won’t it keep slipping off since there isn’t anything to hold it?”
“Let’s see what Mr. Google says.” Rei slides onto the couch next to me and pulls out her phone. After a few taps of her finger, the results pop up. “Look, there is apparently some kind of band you put on your head that should help you keep the wig in place.”
“Really?” Grace leans over to look at the screen. “It looks handy.”
“You could always get it to try it out.” I look to Callie, who’s sitting at the counter, her fingers wrapped around her mug. “It’s not like you have to wear it if you don’t like it.”
“I guess there is that.”
“Think about it. It could be fun. You could order a few different styles and colors, see what works, and once your hair grows back, you’ll know what looks the best.” Grace wiggles her brows. “So, whatcha say?”
“Fine.”
They fight over which wigs would look the best on me, and in the end, we order three different ones for me to try out. Just as the order is completed, there is a knock on the door.
“It’s probably delivery,” Yasmin says, hopping to her feet.
Noticing the time, I switch the television to the game just as the teams enter the field.
My traitorous heart does a little flip as the cameraman zooms in on Prescott’s serious face as he listens to something one of his teammates says.
“Please tell me it didn’t start yet,” Yasmin says as she rushes inside, carrying two big bags of food.
“It’s just about to,” Rei says, reaching for one of the bags. “Please tell me there are some tacos inside. I decided today’s my cheat day, and I’m famished since Alexei has been riding my ass all morning.”
“Who orders Mexican and not tacos?” Yasmin rolls her eyes at Rei, just as Grace brings us the plates.
“When is he not riding your ass?” I ask, looking skeptically at the bag. The smell of chicken and spices spreads through the room, and I can feel my stomach roll.
Great, now cancer has ruined Mexican food for me.
