by James, Ella
I put my hoop on the table by the chair and reach for his handsome face. His eyes are full of pain. I want to kiss him, but at the last minute, I decide it feels better just to press my cheek against his.
“Kell...” My arm goes around his shoulders. “It’s not like that with us. You know it’s not.”
He inhales, and I can tell it hurts his ribs because he also tenses. He presses his cheek against mine and wraps his right arm tight around my back.
“What is it like?” he whispers. “Tell me.”
I curl my hand around his nape and kiss him near his ear. “It’s like I really care about you. I love you... and I just want to be here with you. Close, so I can see you every day.”
He pulls away. He looks anguished. “I feel like such a fucking bastard.”
“No.” I pull him back to me. “Why would you say that?”
I cup his head, and he lowers his forehead to my shoulder. His arm wraps back around me. I feel his fist clenched above my shoulder blade.
“Everything I do will hurt you.” His voice breaks. “I make you go...” He shakes his head. “I love you, I’m a liability to you. I fucking hate myself.”
“You are not a liability.” He lifts his head at that, his blue eyes wide and pooling with emotion. Which gives me hope. He cares what I say here. I brush his lips with mine. “I love you and I want you any way you are.”
His mouth tightens, as if my words hurt him. He hides his face in my hair again, and for a moment, I can feel him breathing hard.
“It’s gonna get worse,” he says in a broken voice. “You might... watch me die here. I don’t want that for you. Goddamn, Cleo. I want you to go. Just get as far away as you can and don’t look back. If I come through—” he shakes his head, his forehead rocking on my shoulder. “You’re never gonna need this shit.”
He lifts his head. His eyes are wide, intense. “Can you do that? Leave here after the donation?”
I smile sadly. “You know I can’t.” I drift my fingers along his collar bone on the side where he’s still bruised from the wreck. “I’ve got a total Heathcliff thing going for you.” I stroke his neck. “Now I know you know that. You’re English and finance, aren’t you? R. said he was an English major.”
He shuts his eyes. “Cleo, you aren’t Heathcliff. Don’t be. Please?” He peeks his eyes open and pulls me close enough to kiss me. But he doesn’t kiss me. His lips move against my chin, and I can smell the wintergreen mouth wash he’s been using. “You be Cathy. You be rational… Be safe.” His voice is soft and low. I love the sound of it. The feel of his words against my jaw.
“You know I’m the one who got your blow-up palm tree, right? And the bubbles for when the marijuana tincture gets here and you’re high? I’m not logical. I don’t want to be.”
I squeeze him to me, nuzzling his scratchy cheek. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and he’s looking rougeish. “Let’s lay down, okay?”
His eyes slip closed just for a second, then he nods. He reaches around me for the chair, and I step out of his way.
“Can I—” help, I’m going to ask. But he pulls himself up, wraps his hand around the IV pole, and steps over to the bed. I hang back and let him get settled on his own. It’s hard because I can tell he’s sore, and I feel so bad that I let him kneel there for so long.
When he’s lying on his not-sore side, I climb up behind him and snuggle up against his back.
Silence wraps its arms around us. I shut my eyes and focus on the heat of Kellan’s body. I promise myself he’ll be okay. All that stuff he said about me leaving... I tell myself it’s not some prescient feeling he’s having that things will go badly for him. He’s just showing me he loves me.
I rub his back, so smooth and warm, still rippling with muscle, which feels more rigid than it ever has. “I’m really not leaving. I need you to believe that... and trust me.” Tears make my throat feel thick. I swallow. “I don’t want to be away from you.”
I feel him stop breathing for a moment. “And if you stayed?” His voice sounds strong, more firm than what’s normal in the last few days. “If you stayed and...things end badly?” he says, quieter now. “How do you think you’d feel about it then?”
All his muscles tense as he awaits my answer. I close my eyes and try to really go there. To imagine if he wasn’t moving and his skin was cold, and this would be the last time I would be with him.
I swallow, because the first thing I think is, we would never get to be together in the long-term. Which makes it crystal clear what my heart wants. I press my forehead against his back. “It scares me...to keep saying this when I’m not sure how you feel. But I love you. I can’t help it,” I whisper. “I...need you. In this way that doesn’t make sense, logically. But feels natural to me.” My heart pounds, because it’s terrifying, being so straightforward. “But if you died? I think I’d get comfort knowing I was here as long as I could be. Kinda saw you through... and didn’t leave, you know?” Tears drip down my cheeks, trekking across my face toward the pillow. “I couldn’t leave you. I just can’t, so please don’t make me.”
I guess he hears the tears in my voice, because Kellan takes the IV lines in one hand and, with a wince, turns over to face me. He frames my face with both his hands, even though I know it hurts to move the left one.
“I didn’t think you’d come up here. I hoped you wouldn’t find out Ly was your recipient. But now—” he looks into my eyes—“I know I fucked you over. I should never have let things keep on with you. Selfish.”
The low beeping that I’ve almost tuned out picks up, and I realize his heart is beating fast.
“What were you really? You’re not selfish. Were you curious? Once you found out I was ‘sloth’... what was that like?” It’s a question I’ve been longing to ask him.
He shuts his eyes and squeezes my hand. “I loved you too. Before we even spoke. Just watching you.” His eyes open and focus on my face. “I didn’t know it at the time, that that’s what all the interest was. If you tripped on a fucking crack I wanted to go help you. You smiled at someone, I wanted that for me. I would watch your hair...” he works his fingers through it, “and I would want to touch it. See how soft it was. After a while, I realized I didn’t like it, knowing I couldn’t have you. Or anyone, because it wasn’t fair. To let anyone get close to me...”
He leans his head down to my chest and hugs me carefully. “The whole thing... started getting to me. I told myself I was pissed off that you were threatening the business. All the charitable deliveries, they depend on the sales. I thought I just needed to get you under heel. But I think even then I knew it could go more places than that.”
“I think we were meant to meet each other.”
Chapter Fourteen
Cleo
He looks away from me, and I can sense a wave of pain come over him. I can tell because his body tenses, and after a few seconds, he draws a deep breath.
His eyes shut, and slowly open. “You know, to meet you I have to be sick.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Both times I met you, it was because of cancer.” First because I donated to Lyon, the second time because Kellan was here getting diagnosed with his relapse when his dealers had a dry spell and noticed me.
He lays back against the pillows and pulls an arm over his eyes. “You know, sloth is a sin,” he says softly.
“I prefer to think of it as an adorable animal.”
He peeks at me from underneath his arm. His eyes are dark. “I knew in March.”
“That you had relapsed?”
He blinks. “Not ‘knew.’ ‘Thought.’”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he says bitterly. “I like numbers, remember?” He lets a sharp breath out. “I didn’t like the odds.”
I feel his jaw clench. “I drove off the bridge.”
Tears drip down my cheeks. “That hurts a little, not gonna lie. It makes me sad that you felt so backed into a corner. I wish you
had talked to me.”
He gets off the bed. Starts pacing. “I didn’t want you to be here. I didn’t want this.”
“You want me to go?” My heart pounds.
“Yes—of course I do.”
“You didn’t say that when I got here.”
“A moment of weakness.” His features tense, but that doesn’t stop a single tear from falling down his cheek. “I hurt...worse than ever. The bone pain...the wreck. All I could think of was your hands. I couldn’t live without your hands on me. I knew I couldn’t.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kellan
I step away from Cleo. I can’t think straight so close to her, so I grab a TwoCal Arethea left on the bedside table and walk around to the recliner, where I sit and take a long, disgusting swallow.
“Why’d you come here? Really?” My voice sounds hoarse. Because my throat is so tight.
Cleo’s sitting cross-legged on the bed now. She lifts her eyes to me, then drops them back to her lap. She plucks at the blanket. “I guess…it felt like my place,” she says. “Being here. I couldn’t stand the idea of anybody else being near you when I wasn’t.” Her eyes flash in my direction. “You’re mine. That’s what—” She shakes her head. “It felt like I should be here taking care of you. Me and no one else. I can’t explain. I…needed to in this weird way. I felt like that since we met. Like I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t even matter, though. I rolled with it. You’re stuck with me.” She smiles.
I swallow. Fuck, I love those words. I look down at my knees. What do I tell her? How hard should I try to drive her off?
Really hard, my conscience answers.
I take a breath and blow it out. “You know I’m going to get sick. Sicker than this. A lot sicker.”
She nods slowly. “I don’t want that, but if happens, I can handle it.”
She doesn’t know. She’s only had a taste of this, a few days.
When I look up again, I find her looking curious. “Did Whitney stay here with your brother, just like this?”
I nod, trying not to let her see that it bothers me to talk about him. “She would hold his hands while someone pushed a catheter into his cock. She would let him vomit all over both of them. She’s a freak, Whitney. Med student now.”
“Maybe I’m a freak, too.”
My stomach twists so tight I feel a wave of nausea. “I don’t know why you would be,” I rasp.
“Because I love you.”
* * *
Cleo
“Cleo…” I watch his Adam’s apple move along the column of his throat. He rubs a hand over his head, then folds his fingers over his eyes like a visor.
“It’s a burden,” he says quietly. “If you don’t feel that way, you haven’t been here long enough.”
“God. That’s what you really think? Who made you think like that?” I want to go and wrap my arms around him, but my chest hurts so much I can’t breathe.
I’m filled with rage. “I really want to know who made you feel like that. Was it your dad? Where is your dad?”
He grits his teeth. “He came and left before you got here. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does. Who else? Was it the last time? Who was here with you last time?”
“My college girlfriend came here once. She stayed for thirty minutes. And you know what?” He stands up. “She was shallow, nothing like you, but she wasn’t a bitch. It’s just too much. No one wants this. You’ll see.”
I slip down off the bed and step toward him, arms out. He doesn’t lift his head. His mouth is tight and hurt. I twine my arms around his waist and lay my cheek against his chest.
“K... You’re so wrong. You’ll see.” I nuzzle my head against his pec. “That girl was an idiot. I’m much better than her. I love you, and I want to help. It’s not too much for me. I love being with you. I would never change my mind.”
I rub his lower back, and he shakes his head. He clutches his forehead, fingertips digging into his hair. “You gave me love...” he rasps, “and all I can give you is pain.”
“That’s not true.” I look up into his tortured eyes. “Every moment that I’m with you, I’m happy that I am. You’re going to be okay—and in the meantime, all you have to do is talk to me and I’ll be super happy. I want to know everything there is to know about you, Kell.”
His mouth twitches. “I don’t know why.”
“Lie down with me…”
I take his hand, tugging him over to the bed, and hold his IV lines while he climbs up and settles on his side. I watch him shift his left shoulder a few times, then—when I think he seems comfortable—I climb up behind him.
“Lie on your back for a minute, so I can see you. ’Kay?”
He shifts onto his back, his eyes wary. I trail my fingertips over his forehead, just the way I know he likes, and he stares at the ceiling.
“Close your eyes, baby. Focus on my fingers.” I kiss his chin, and keep on tracing the planes of his face. “Is your father your only living family?”
“No.” He shifts his jaw. I feel his chest sink with a slow exhale. “I have a brother. Barrett. He’s a Ranger, special forces. Just retired,” he adds after a moment.
“You’re not very close to your father, am I right? I remember that from R.’s letters. And at your house, I remember you said some things about your dad. Some conflict between the two of you.”
His eyes open, blazing. “Lyon had a heart attack because the chemo was too harsh. He wanted to withdraw from the trial we did, but my dad pushed him to stay in. That’s how he is. He wants me to be alive, I guess, but none of the details matter.”
God. None of the details… Quality of life. How hard he has to fight for it.
“I’m so sorry.” I wrap my arm over his chest and snuggle close to his side, my fingers still smoothing over his head. He shuts his eyes, but I can feel the tension in his body.
“The details do matter,” I say softly.
I think about the burn of his forehead on my chest when he’s fevered and I’ve got him pulled close to me. The way his hands crushed mine during the bone marrow biopsy.
“You’ve had so many hard details. Ones I can’t even imagine.” I press my face against his bicep, feathering my lips over his smooth skin. “I’m so glad you came back here. You’re so fucking brave. Because I get it, why you wouldn’t want to. I’m not sure if I could have.”
My throat tightens when I think of Kellan coming here alone that day. How hurt he was, physically. How hard it must have been, coming to this place of nightmares. Tears fill my eyes as I meld myself around him.
I feel him shift a little. Feel him breathing. I want to see his face, but I don’t lift my head from where it’s pressed against his shoulder.
“When I first came to New York,” his low voice rumbles, “I wasn’t staying in the hospital. I was living out of this hotel, The Carlyle, and after hours I would go to bars, and drink and smoke. And fuck. I had a— I had been with someone, sort of.”
“The girl you mentioned?” I ask softly.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. His arm, around my back now, shifts a little as he strokes along my spine. “It was just an off-and-on thing. Back at school. But I was here and started...needing sex. I had a central line like this—” his right hand hovers above his chest— “so I would tie them up and…take them from behind. Some of them knew me. From TV, you know? They would do whatever I wanted.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and try to picture this—my Kellan with some New York girl. I feel a well of sadness where I had expected jealousy. “Had you ever tied anyone up before? Or was that the first time?”
His hand spreads out over my back, pressing me closer to him. The silence cradles us.
“It was the first time,” he says finally.
I hug his chest tighter, taking care not to press myself too hard against his sore ribs.
“That must have been so hard,” I whisper.
His forehead furrows.
“Clearly you
were in denial, right? You were getting treatment and out partying?”
“It was definitely hard,” he says dryly.
I tuck my leg over his and wait for him to speak. His fingers play along my spine, but he stays quiet. Waiting, I think. For my questions.
“Where was your brother during that time?” I ask.
“He was inpatient. He had a bad reaction to the chemo from day one. It made his heart fuck up.”
I think on that. I try to picture Kellan Drake, star quarterback, at a bar, smoking and drinking and picking up women. Then going back to…what? Chemo pills? Covert hospital appointments? Did he wear a ball cap? Shades? Poor K. And worried about his twin the whole time.
I think of Kellan holding the counter in his kitchen, chewing a Xanax because he missed his brother so much. I meet his gaze. It seems to shove at me.
“I could have stayed with Ly.” He grits his teeth. “I didn’t. He was by himself. Whit had no idea. After the night on the yacht—after we found out he had AML—he broke things off with Whitney and he left the team. People found out he left the team and left town too, but no one knew what happened. Some fuckhead made a crack about him, how he wasn’t good enough to hold his spot on the team, and I kicked his ass outside a bar one night. So when I got my diagnosis, my coach used me as an example.” Kellan’s teeth come down atop his lower lip. “It was different with me than with Ly. The whole thing became more of a secret.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted football for a career. We thought I would do the treatment, then come back. Be fine. If no one knew, I’d still get scouted just the same. Now, they would find out—they look at your medical records—but I’d still be in the running. I could still move forward.”
It didn’t happen that way. I don’t know the whole story—the story of the first bone marrow transplant, or why the cancer came back this year—but Kellan’s chemo consent forms say that this is his seventh cycle. I nuzzle closer to him.
