“Tighter,” she whispered. The cure for all that ails me, she’d once said about my hugs. Now my words had no power. She knew what I wanted…but what I wanted meant nothing right now. I was lost, at her mercy.
For long, silent moments, she was still, making no sound. She wasn’t weeping. She wasn’t shaking.
Then after an agonizing string of minutes, she put the cup with the pills to her lips. She began to tremble and with a sob murmured quietly, “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”
She jerked her head backwards, following up with the water and swallowed. Then she went limp in my arms. It really felt like she was coming undone. Every muscle shook. I buried my face in her hair and she was still. I wished, somehow, that there were a way I could transfer my own strength and health to her. For the battle she was about to face, she would need them. She’d need everything she could get.
But first and foremost, she needed to heal from this. She needed not to blame herself. Even if it meant blaming me.
She finally pushed away from me to go to the sink and splash some water on her face. I noted that she still wasn’t crying—hadn’t shed a tear since telling me yesterday that she was going to go through with this. I didn’t know whether that was a good sign or bad.
Bending over the sink like she might fall over, she looked sick. Then, she started to laugh—an ironic, wounded sound—like she was laughing and crying at the same time. “I’m sick as hell with morning sickness. But if I puke this up, it’s not going to work. How weird and ironic is that?”
She put her face in her hands. I came up behind her. “You going to be okay?” It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay. On so many levels.
Stiffening, she stepped away from the sink, away from me. “I’m fine,” she said in a flat, raspy voice. “Take me home, please.”
My stomach dropped. “Sure. Can I—do you want me to stay with you?”
She looked down. “I’m not going to be pleasant company.”
“I’m here for you, not the other way around.”
“But Heath—”
“—will understand, I’m sure.” I scratched my jaw for a moment, studying her, wondering why she was being evasive now. Was she already starting to blame me?
I drove her back to the apartment. The cramps were already starting and she was as pale as a stone. I walked her to her room and she lay down on the bed without my even having to ask her.
“I’m going to run out and fill your pain med prescription and get some other things. Text me if you need anything. I’ll be back soon.”
I got back an hour later and gave her the medicine, which she refused to take, telling me it wasn’t that bad. She was curled up on herself in bed, her forehead clammy, and even I could tell the pain was considerable.
“Mia, please take your meds.”
“I will, just not now. Please don’t pester me about it?”
I pulled out my laptop and used my special log-in to give her special access to Dragon Epoch. It was the beta version of the completely new and unreleased expansion that wasn’t due out for months yet. She sat up, somewhat interested as I showed her some of the new features. She leaned on my arm, breathing heavily. I fought with the urge to try to get some pills down her again, wondering why she seemed averse to pain medicine when she’d had no qualms about injectable medication during her earlier cancer treatment. Eventually, she slid down on the bed, eyes half closed.
“Adam,” she whispered. I tucked away the computer and turned to her. “Can you hold me for a little while?”
“Of course,” I said, lying down beside her. She turned toward the wall and settled back against my chest. “Are you okay?” I asked quietly.
She took a long time to respond. When finally she answered, her voice was groggy, on the edge of exhaustion. “I need to sleep. For a long, long time. When I wake up, it will all be over. Maybe I’ll wake up and this will all have been a nightmare.”
I didn’t answer, felt her go slack in my arms. I wondered which parts of this last year she wished away. Did she regret us and the pain our messed-up relationship had brought into her life? She’d fought so hard not to be pulled into this. Maybe on some level, she’d known something that I didn’t. Maybe, once she was well again, she’d decide this wasn’t healthy for her.
I pushed that nagging fear aside, reminded myself that I was here for her. I was the healthy one. I’d protect her until my last breath, if it came to that.
Chapter Seven