When Forever Changes

by Siobhan Davis

  But I need to make plans so that I’m prepared when this baby comes into the world.

  First things first—I need to have a conversation with Dylan.

  I’m waiting in line at the taxi stand when Slater pulls up to the curb. He kills the engine, gets out of the SUV, and comes around to my side. “I’m sorry for walking out like that. I’ll take you home.”

  “It’s okay, I understand.” My heart aches at the sorrowful expression on his face.

  He opens the passenger door and helps me inside before sliding behind the wheel. He adjusts the heating, turns off the radio, and then eases the SUV out into the evening traffic.

  A horrible, awkward tension lingers in the space between us, and I hate it.

  “I’m so sorry, Slate. I swear I thought this baby was yours,” I blurt, and I can’t get these words out fast enough. “It never even crossed my mind that it could be Dylan’s, and I had no idea I was pregnant when I first started sleeping with you.” He says nothing, white knuckling the steering wheel while a muscle pops in and out of his jaw. “Please say something.”

  “What do you want me to say, Belle?” His voice is clipped. “You’ve managed to turn my world upside down twice in the space of twenty-four hours.” His voice cracks at the end. Looking in the mirror, he signals and pulls over to the shoulder, putting the car in neutral. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “I wanted this baby so badly,” he whispers. “I already loved it. The only other time I’ve felt this much joy lately is when you agreed to be mine.” He rests his head on the wheel. “And now I’ve lost both of you.”

  I can’t offer words of comfort because there are none. I want to tell him I’m still his and that we can work this out between the three of us, but I need time to think it through, to decipher what I’m feeling, to try to work out what I want. And I can’t make any promises to Slater until Dylan knows.

  I can’t tell anyone else until I tell him. I’ve already sent him a couple of texts asking to meet, but he hasn’t replied so far.

  “I need time to process everything,” I tell him. “My head is a mess, and, for my baby’s sake, I need to try and keep it together.”

  He nods slowly, staring out the window, still avoiding looking at me. “Of course, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize our … your … baby’s welfare.”

  Fuck, that hurt me every bit as much as it hurt him.

  He restarts the engine. There isn’t much more we can say. It’s a shitty situation, but I won’t say I regret being in this position because this baby already means the world to me.

  “Where do you want to go?” he asks.

  “I need to go back to your place to pack up my stuff, and could you drop me at Mom’s then?”

  He nods, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Sure.”

  We don’t speak after that. It’s too painful. When we get back to his house, he leaves me to pack my stuff alone, and then he drives me to Mom’s. We sit in the car for a couple of minutes, both lost in thought, staring blankly out the window. Ryan hovers on the porch, somehow sensing we need to be left alone. I messaged him before we left Slater’s house asking for a ride.

  “You should go,” Slater says.

  “No matter what happens from here on out, please don’t forget how much I love you.”

  Finally, he turns to look me in the eye. I hate the devastation I see there. Hate that I can’t take the man I love in my arms and make things better. “And I love you, but it seems our time is already up.”

  “Don’t, Slate. Nothing is decided.”

  “Belle.” His voice softens, and he reaches out, palming my cheek. I lean into him, needing his touch. “I love you enough to know I need to let you go.”

  A single tear slips out of the corner of my eye, rolling down my face. I can’t respond, because my throat has virtually closed, clogged with so much pain it feels like I’m dying. If it was possible to experience death while still breathing, then I’m feeling it. A sob bursts free of my mouth, and it’s taking every molecule of willpower not to throw myself at him and beg him not to leave. But I can’t do that to him. I can’t be selfish.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’ll be okay. You need to think of what’s best for you and the baby.” He gulps, and I can see how hard he’s working to keep a neutral expression on his face. “That baby needs his father, Belle. I wish to God it had been me, but it’s not, and I’ll have to find a way of dealing with it. You need to at least give Dylan the choice.”

  “I love you so much. I’ll always love you.” I lose the fight, and tears pump out of my eyes, gushing like Niagara Falls.

  Slater doesn’t hesitate, pulling me into his arms and holding me tight. “Believe me, I know.” He kisses me softly, just once, but it’s everything. “You were the best thing to ever happen to me, Belle. Loving you has been a pleasure and an honor.”

  Choking sobs consume me, and it feels as if they’ve been birthed straight from my anguished soul. “I need to go,” I cry. I can’t handle this searing pain in my chest anymore. And I feel guilty for the thoughts spinning through my mind. For the voice screaming in my ear telling me to fight for him, not to let him do this, that he’s all my heart wants. But I can’t give a voice to that inner shouting.

  Slater deserves better, and if I love him, I should let him go too.

  “Goodbye, Slate.” I grab my bag and get out of the car, not looking back despite the temptation to do so when he revs the engine and the car tears off away from the curb.

  Ryan is racing toward me with fury on his face. “I will fucking beat him to within an inch of his life!” he yells. “What the hell did he do to you?” I’m sobbing so hard I can’t even explain. “Gabby, what did he do? Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head. “No.” I swipe at the moisture under my eyes. “Slate hasn’t hurt me.”

  He scrubs a hand over his jaw, the tension not easing. “I don’t understand then. What’s going on?”

  “I can’t tell you yet, Ryan. I need you to drive me to Heather’s.”

  He jerks back, and his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Please don’t tell me you’ve broken up with Slate to go back to that cheating asshole?”

  I shake my head again. “It’s not like that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I need you to trust me. Just drive me over, wait outside, and then I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

  He sighs heavily, flipping the car key over and over in his hand. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Gabby. Come on.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I approach Dylan’s front door with a hefty amount of anxiety pressing down on my chest and a fine coating of sweat on my clammy hands. My mouth is as dry as the Sahara Desert. Squeezing my eyes closed, I silently coax my pounding heart into quieting down. I raise my hand to knock, when the sound of raised voices filters out through a gap in the door. It’s ajar and I peek in, immediately spotting the broken vase lying in smithereens on the hardwood floor. I push the door open and step foot inside, about to open my mouth and announce myself when conversation reaches my ears, and I clam up.

  “Gabby deserves to know!” Heather cries out, and I momentarily stop breathing.

  I creep along the hallway, tiptoeing around the shattered glass, inching closer to the kitchen door.

  “I can’t, Mom. I just can’t. I’ve hurt her enough already.”

  “She’ll understand, son, and she’d want to know. She’d want to be here with you.”

  “No! I don’t want her knowing!”

  “But, Dylan, I really thi—”

  “Goddamn it, Mom! This is my decision to make, not yours!”

  Blood is racing through my veins, and my stomach is tied up in knots. Giant goose bumps have sprouted on my arms, and all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck are standing to attention. I have a terrible feeling about this.

>   “Dylan, that girl has loved you her whole life! You can’t shut her out of this!”

  “Mom, please!”

  Dylan sounds on the verge of tears. I should make my presence known, but my feet are rooted to the floor, and I couldn’t move right now even if I wanted to.

  “You think this is easy for me?” he shouts in a strangled tone. “You think this is what I want!? I’m not telling her because I love her. I love her so fucking much it hurts.” He gasps, and the air is thick with tension. “I’m protecting her from further heartache in the best way I know how.” Dylan sounds utterly defeated, and I’m scared out of my mind. What could he possibly be hiding from me? And how much more can I take? I rub a hand over my stomach, drawing comfort from the motion.

  “You’re taking away her right to choose!” Heather’s pleading tone gives way to sobs. “And that’s not right. She’ll never forgive you for this.” Heather is inconsolable. “I’m begging you, please call her. Tell her to come over, and then be honest with her.”

  I’ve heard enough. My head and my heart can’t withstand any more. I step into the kitchen, swallowing the bile coating my mouth. “Be honest with me about what?” I ask as they both turn to face me.

  Dylan stumbles back, gripping the side of the counter to steady himself. He looks ghastly. He was stick thin the last time I saw him, more gaunt than I’d ever seen him, and while he seems to have filled out a little, he doesn’t look well, at all. His eyeballs are bloodshot and sunken, and his skin is an unhealthy shade of gray. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he has at least a weeks’ worth of stubble on his chin and jawline.

  Heather looks distraught. Her eyes are swollen, her skin flushed and blotchy from crying.

  They both stare at me as if I’m a ghost.

  “What are you keeping from me, Dylan? What’s going on?”

  “You shouldn’t have come here, Gabby.” He gulps, taking a step back.

  I halt my forward trajectory. “Are you still contagious?” I should’ve thought of that before coming here. I can’t risk picking up meningitis. Dylan shakes his head, and I release the breath I’d been holding. “But you’re clearly still sick.” He slowly nods, and all sense of relief flitters away. Certain things slot into place. “You didn’t have meningitis, did you?” I quietly ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “Go sit in the living room,” Heather suggests. “And I’ll bring in coffee and cookies.”

  “Sure, Mom, because coffee and cookies will make everything better.” His bitter tone matches the sour expression on his face.

  “I know this isn’t you talking,” she softly says. “Just go in the room and sit down. You’re wearing yourself out, and Gabby looks like she needs a seat.”

  Dylan looks at me with the saddest expression I’ve ever seen. “I wish you hadn’t come here, Dimples, but I’m really glad you did because underneath it all, I’m a selfish prick.”

  “Dylan. Please.” Heather shoots me a helpless look.

  “Come on, Freckles.” I loop my arm through his. “Something tells me both of us need to be sitting down for this.”

  “You look beautiful,” he tells me as we sit down beside one another on the couch.

  “Thank you. I’d like to say you look the same but—”

  “I look like shit,” he finishes for me.

  “Well, I would’ve been a little more eloquent, but, yeah, I’ve definitely seen you looking better.”

  He turns toward me, and I gaze upon a face I have loved for years. Gone are his sickly features, and he’s just the boy who claimed my heart when I was a kid. “Before I start, can I please just hold you?” he asks. “Because I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

  I desperately need a hug too. It’s been one hell of a day, and I know it’s only going to get worse. I slip off my coat and lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder as his arms encircle me. “I never stopped loving you, Gabby, you need to know that,” he whispers in my ear. “And I’m so unbelievably sorry for what I’ve put you through. I wish I could turn back the clock and undo everything. You are the last person I ever wanted to hurt.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed and just breathe him in. Instinctually, I know whatever he has to tell me is going to destroy me all over again, and I just want to savor this moment. To remember all the times he held me like this and how good it felt.

  “There are so many reasons to be angry these days,” he continues in a low voice, “but that’s the one that gets me the most.”

  I sit up straighter, resting my hands lightly on his chest. Tears gather in my eyes again. Pregnancy hormones are no joke. “Dylan, I can’t bear this a second longer. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “I wanted to spare you this, because I’ve put you through hell already, but I can’t pretend to be upset that you’re here when I’m not.” His lower lip wobbles. “I’m trying to be strong for Mom, but I’m failing miserably, and I’ve never needed you as much as I do right now.”

  “I’m here, Dylan.” I lower my hands, taking his callused palms in mine. “And I’m not going anywhere, but you need to tell me the truth before I throw up all over your floor because the anticipation is making me ill.”

  His eyes turn glassy as he peers into my face. “There’s no easy way to say this, babe. I can’t hide this anymore, and I can’t sugarcoat it.”

  My heart is jackhammering behind my ribcage, and I’m urging him to get it off his chest. “Just tell me, Dylan. Tell me.”

  “I lied when I said I had meningitis. I told you that to keep you away from me and from the truth, because it’s much worse than that.”

  “Your headaches,” I whisper.

  He nods. “I should’ve gone back to the doctor when you suggested it, but I knew, deep down, I knew something was very wrong, and I wanted to deny it. I think some part of me already knew it was too late.”

  “Dylan,” I sob, tears cascading down my face now. “You’re scaring the hell out of me.”

  He holds my face in his shaky hands. “I have a brain tumor, Gabby. Inoperable, terminal brain cancer. The doctors estimate I have four to six months left to live.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “No, Dylan! No!” My lungs tighten, my airways constrict, and I’m gasping, desperately trying to draw enough oxygen to breathe. “You can’t die! You can’t!” I fling my arms around him, clinging tightly to him as sobs wrack my body. My desolate cries are the only sound in the room, and if I thought I was in pain before, it pales in comparison to the heart-wrenching pain shredding my insides into itty-bitty pieces.

  “I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I could offer you hope, but it’d only be a lie. There isn’t anything that can be done.” My sobs pick up in earnest, and I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent while silently screaming in my head. He presses a kiss on top of my hair, hugging me tightly, and we cling to one another as Heather quietly slips in and out of the room, depositing a tray on the coffee table before she leaves. “It feels all kinds of wrong to offer up excuses,” he says, stroking my hair, “but the tumor is the reason why I changed. Why my life is an even bigger mess.”

  I lean back, staring at him through blurry eyes. “It altered your personality,” I say as it all clicks into place. “I should’ve realized.” I bite down, hard, on my lower lip. “That day I came to your place, the day Bianca threw me outside”—he winces, and torment radiates from the backs of his eyes—“I was trying to tell you I was concerned. I didn’t notice when I was living with you, but after time apart, I began to think there was a possibility that something was wrong. But I should’ve realized earlier. I’m a nursing student, for flip’s sake. I should’ve known you would never do those things to me without there being something behind it.” I drop my head to his shoulder again, and my voice is muffled by his shirt. “I’m so sorry I failed you.”

  He grips my shoulders, forcing me
to look at him. “No, Gabby. I won’t let you blame yourself. This is not your fault. Do you hear me?”

  “I should’ve made another appointment for you and insisted you get another opinion when your migraines came back in earnest. I was your girlfriend, and I should’ve known that version of you wasn’t you.”

  He grips the sides of my face, inspecting my tear-sodden eyes. “I will not allow you to take responsibility for this. You didn’t know, and why would you have thought it was anything different? You know I’ve had migraines on and off for years. Besides, even if you had somehow convinced me to go for more tests, it was already too late. I’ve had this tumor for longer than a couple months, Gabby. Although the symptoms were only noticeable recently, my neurologist said there was probably changes to my immune system that went undetected for much longer than that. There isn’t anything you or I could’ve done to prevent this, so please stop blaming yourself.”

  “We should seek out a different opinion. You have money, surely there are other surgeons who could operate to remove the tumor or some new radical treatment you can try? There’s got to be options.”

  “I’ve been to three different specialists, Dimples, and they all concur. It’s too late to save me. The tumor is pressing on the frontal lobe, and it’s too risky to attempt to remove it. It’s a glioblastoma grade four tumor, and it’s growing aggressively.”

  “This doesn’t seem real,” I whisper, as a strange kind of numbness seeps into my bones. “Why you, Dylan? You have your whole life ahead of you. This isn’t fair.”

  “Believe me, I know. I’ve spent the last few weeks so fucking angry. As if it isn’t bad enough that I’m dying, this illness has robbed me of my identity, caused me to lash out and hurt the people I love, to transform into an asshole I hate.”

  He runs his thumb along my cheek. “I’m on steroid medication now which helps reduce the personality effects, but I still react out of character at times. And I’ve been warned that the medication may leave me vulnerable to anxiety and emotional mood swings. If you’re going to be around me, you need to prepare yourself for that.”