Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
“Best case scenario, yes. That’s what we’re hoping for, but when I was a kid, my leukemia wasn’t nearly as advanced. This is going to be more intense, and there’s a good chance that my body doesn’t respond to the chemo.”
“Then what?”
“Then we look into other treatments like radiation therapy or a stem cell transplant and hope like hell I’ll still be strong enough to fight it.”
“You will be,” I promise her. “I know you, Zo. You’re going to kick this thing’s ass.”
She gives me a sad smile and squeezes my hand. The determination in her eyes is enough to ease the fear inside my chest, if only a little, making it easier to breathe. Hitting the gas, I get back onto the highway, hating the thought of having to leave her alone in her bed tonight. “How are your parents taking it?”
“They’re not,” she admits. “They’re barely holding on. Every time Mom looks at me, she crumbles, and Dad . . . He thinks he’s being strong for all of us, but I hear him crying at night when he thinks everyone is asleep.”
“Shit,” I grunt, blowing my cheeks out as I try to hold myself together, reminding myself to check in on Mom. “And Hazel?”
Another tear rolls down her cheek, and she looks away, needing a second to compose herself. “We told her last night,” she murmurs. “She’s terrified. She thinks this is Linc trying to take me away from her. She thinks she’s being punished.”
My jaw clenches as every last part of me shatters, but I do what I can to hold myself together, knowing the second I break, Zoey will too. But I need her to know that she can lean on me when this gets hard.
“I have to go in on Monday morning to get my subcutaneous port implanted in my chest,” she tells me. “It’s only a small procedure and doesn’t take long, but for some reason, it’s terrifying me more than everything else.”
“Subcutaneous port?”
“It’s like a permanent catheter. It’ll deliver the chemo directly into my veins. Saves me from having to get poked and prodded each time I go in. It’ll come out once my treatments are done.”
“Will it hurt being in there?”
Zoey scrunches her face and shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t actually remember,” she says. “I’m assuming it will be uncomfortable for a while, and probably hurt like a bitch if I accidentally bump it, but in the grand scheme of things, I think it’s the least of what I need to worry about.”
I’ve never heard a truer statement in my life.
“It’s going to be alright, Zo. You don’t need to be scared. I’m going to be right there holding your hand the whole time. I’m not going to let you fall.”
“I know,” she whispers, squeezing my hand.
The rest of the drive home, she tells me about the past two days, how she’s been at Dr. Sanchez’s office getting every test under the sun to determine just how far her cancer has spread. She tells me about her fear of losing Hope when she tells her about her diagnosis and about her concern for Hazel and me in all of this.
When we finally make it back to her place, it’s after midnight and she’s exhausted.
I get out of the car and make my way around to her side, opening the door for her, and as she climbs out and takes my hand, I see her exhaustion. I can’t help but wonder if this is normal because it’s so late or if this is an effect of the leukemia coursing through her veins.
Taking her inside, I expect to find the house asleep, only there’s a single lamp on in the living room. Zoey’s mom sits alone with a glass of wine, tears staining her cheeks, and hearing us walk in, she turns our way. From the looks of it, she’s more than made her way through a whole bottle, but who can blame her? I wouldn’t mind a stiff drink right about now.
“Oh, honey. I didn’t realize you were coming home tonight,” Erica says, giving me a tight smile as she gets up from the couch. “I thought you’d be staying.”
Zoey glances down, not able to handle the overwhelming sadness in her mother’s eyes. “Yeah, I was,” she admits. “But then Noah and I . . . talked, and we just sort of ended up back here.”
Erica’s gaze shifts to me, and realizing that I know, her tears flow harder. She reaches out and places her hand on my shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “That couldn’t have been an easy conversation,” she says.
“It wasn’t,” I agree. “But if you don’t mind, Zo is exhausted. She needs to get to bed.”
“Of course,” she says with a nod.
Zoey and I turn toward the stairs when I stop and glance back at Erica. “With all due respect,” I tell her. “I know how you feel about me sleeping over now that we’re . . . grown, but I can’t leave her. Not tonight.”