Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“It’s not like you think it is,” he said, finally, but still his face told a whole other tale.
I edged closer to him, eyes brimming with tears afresh. My belly was twisting, and I felt sick, heart racing with a shit ton more than an orgasm with his dick in my ass.
“How is it not like I think it is? Huh? Seriously, Logan, you just have to tell me! Please, just fucking tell me!”
His eyes met mine, and he was as dark as ever, jaw gritted hard. “Like I said, it’s not like you think it is.”
I was shaking my head, panic overloading, trying to get my mind around it, how someone like Logan Hall could be so consumed by his mother’s loss that he’d kill himself. Because I got it. I got it that he was torn apart, but it’s the last thing she would have ever wanted. The last thing I could see a man like him doing with his feet so firmly on the ground in life.
“Please tell me you’re over that,” I said. “Your mum would be devastated.”
He laughed at me. He actually laughed at me. A cold laugh that chilled me to the bone.
“You think this is about my mother? Really?”
I felt like a fool as I looked at him, cheeks pinking up like sweet, naive little Chloe all over again.
“I don’t know what else…” I managed, and his laugh dried up, his eyes glossing over with tears, even though he was trying his damned fucking hardest to stop them.
“This isn’t about my mother, Chloe. It’s about me.” He paused, his voice choked up, and my belly did that lurch when you know something bad is coming. Something really fucking bad.
He sighed, and stared back up at the ceiling again, his breaths still ragged in his chest.
“Tell me,” I whispered. “Please, Logan, just tell me.”
He sucked in one hell of a breath before he answered, then held it. Held it until he met my eyes.
“It’s not about Mum, it’s about me,” he said again. “I’m dying, Chloe. I’m fucking dying.”
51
Logan
I knew what was coming. She shuffled backwards on the bed, face paling and mouth dropping as she shook her head.
“No… No, Logan.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m terminally ill, Chloe. Sad but true.”
Her head shook harder, and the tears came.
“No… It can’t be…”
It broke my heart to see her like that, so lost in the panic of grief.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I told her. “It can be. I have CLL – Chronic Lymphocytic Leukaemia. The big fucking C has come to get me all over again.”
She sucked in a breath and clutched her chest.
And then she cried. Sobbed. Broke down on the bed next to me.
I didn’t move. Didn’t even try to make it better, because there is no better. There is no way to dull that shock or that pain. Christ, I knew that well enough.
Minutes passed as she tried to digest it, retching as the truth sank in. She managed to calm her breathing, but her eyes were still petrified when she looked over at me.
“They can help you though, right? What are they going to do? I mean they can slow it down, right? Right? What treatment are you having?”
I should have told her the truth weeks ago. Her pain would be all the worse for the delay.
“I’m not going to have any treatment,” I said. “I’m done with that, Chloe. I’m not going around that same cycle again. The cancer has spread. The bloods make it obvious, and I’m not interested in finding out more, or getting treatment, or pondering the life and the universe and everything. This time I’m done.”
“But you seem fine…”
“I always seem fine, jitterbug. I do my best to keep myself together. Always have, always will.”
It was true. I tried to keep my energy levels up and ignore any pain. I tried to keep my focus on what I was doing, always. On taking care of Mum, and the people on the ward, and barely giving any attention to potential symptoms or the results of the routine check-ups.
Until this one. Until this one flagged the abnormal counts and my summons for further tests came calling.
“Really, it’s ok,” I told her. “I’m not scared, not anymore. I’ve been as antisocial as I can for years now, making sure my piss poor genetics aren’t going to leave people pining my absence when I’m gone.” I paused. “Until you, that is.”
Her eyes flashed with passion. With fight.
“Not just until me!” she squealed. “Why do you think nobody gives a crap about you, Logan? They do! Look at those people today! EVERYONE gave a crap about you, you just don’t want to see it! The people at work give a crap about you. You’re their FRIEND, even if you don’t want to think so.”
I hated the twinge inside me, that soft hearted part of me latching on to her words.