Love Always, Kate

by D. Nichole King

  “Yes,” I said, pushing Molly’s memory away. “It may be my only chance. And if I get it, my stats increase.”

  He scoffed. “It’s one helluva list.”

  “It is. But there’s always hope.”

  “Your folks aren’t a match?”

  I swallowed. “No, they’re not. They got tested last time. Their HLA type isn’t compatible.”

  “So, how do you get a compatible HLA?” His dimples deepened when he talked. It was hard to ignore.

  “The best matches come from siblings. I don’t have any.”

  His playful grin faded. “Yeah, me neither.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment. I stared at the linoleum.

  Damian spoke quietly. “I admire you. You’re strong.”

  I was strong because cancer is resolute, and I didn’t want the beast to win.

  “Now you know me. How about you? What’s your story?” I asked.

  Damian sighed and adjusted his nametag. “I’m the son of Jackson Lowell, Doctor Extraordinaire. That means I have a lot of time to myself. I play the guitar. Write music. I’ve beaten every Assassin’s Creed game. And I don’t live up to my father’s expectations. Hell, I don’t know if I live up to anyone’s expectations.”

  “I’m sure your dad just wants you to be happy.”

  Damian grunted. “Whose definition of happy? His? Mine?” His eyebrows rose. “Yours?”

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t happy only have one definition?”

  “Does it? Are you happy?”

  I thought about it for a few moments. I had beaten my disease twice before, and I was determined to do it again. More than anything, I was happy just to be alive. “Yeah, I am.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Having a tube sticking out of your chest, being hooked up to toxic drugs, getting sick—that makes you happy?”

  “Oh, well, no. But…”

  “Not that easy, is it?” The edge in his voice pricked at me. I couldn’t tell if he was talking about me or himself.

  “The outcome of—”

  “You don’t know the outcome.” He sounded angry, his eyes blazing. “You only hope it will make you happy, when it might kill you. That’s reality.”

  I pulled my lips tight. “True, but it makes my parents happy to see me fight.”

  “Bullshit. They’re not happy having a daughter who has to battle cancer. And if you die, well, how can they be happy about that?”

  “If—”

  Damian cut me off. “Yeah. If. So much is based on that word, and there are no fucking guarantees attached to it. What makes you happy now may be what destroys you later. Or those you love. Then what? Sometimes, being happy isn’t worth the risk.”

  “And sometimes it is,” I said quietly.

  Damian brightened again, offering a slight smile. “See what I mean? Nothing in this shithole life is easy.”

  “Just because it’s not easy, doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

  “So tell me then: is it worth it?” His blue eyes searched mine. “Worth all the time in this place?”

  It was a question I’d asked myself many times. One I didn’t have an answer for. Sometimes it didn’t seem worth it. If I fought and lost, no one gained anything. I’d have wasted the last years, months, weeks of my life on hoping. I’d be dead, my parents would be heartbroken. No one would win. If I stopped fighting, went off the chemo and accepted my fate, I could enjoy my last moments on this earth. My parents could enjoy them with me, making memories they could cling to long after I was gone. But if…

  What if I kept fighting? And won? Then we all won. The chances were slim, I knew that. Wasn’t it worth holding on to, though?

  I stared at the wall in front of me. “I don’t know."

  "I could do what makes me happy now and risk being miserable later.” I felt Damian’s gaze on me as he spoke. “Or I could please the good doctor and be miserable now. Choices come with consequences, some good, some bad. It’s risky, and it’s always, always based on if.”

  I swallowed hard and took a sip of my juice before lifting my eyes to him. “Does your dad want you to be a doctor?”

  Damian scoffed. “I’m sure he would. He had his career picked out when he was my age, med school and everything. Me, well, I’m just hoping to graduate.” He tugged up the corner of his mouth, showing off his gorgeous dimples.

  My stomach tightened. Not now. Not in front of Damian again.

  His smirk faded. “Hey, are you okay? You’re white. I can get Leslie.”

  I shook my head. There was no time. I shot my hand down beside me but the wastebasket wasn’t there. Oh no! I leaned forward and heaved. When I’d finished, I noticed Damian on the floor in front of me, holding the basket with one hand, his other resting on my thigh.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Feel better?”

  I nodded, surprised that he was there. His gaze was kind, his expression soft.

  “Can I get you some water or something?”

  “Yeah. Please.”

  The door opened and Leslie walked through. It only took her a millisecond to analyze the scene before she rushed over.

  “You all right, Katie?” She picked up the full garbage can. “Do you need some water?”

  Damian appeared next to her, holding a Styrofoam cup. “I’ve got it.”

  Leslie watched as Damian handed me the cup. She looked sideways at him and then at me. Her mouth opened as if she was going to make a comment then decided against it.

  “We’re fine.” He took the empty cup from me, then faced Leslie.

  What? Did he just say “we” were fine? As in, him and me together?

  “Well,” she drawled out. “Uh, I guess if everything is under control, I’ll just…”

  Leslie looked at me and sighed. I nodded, hoping to reassure her. I knew what she thought. The look in her eye said, Be careful, Katie. Leslie took a final glance at Damian before she walked out.

  “I’m real popular with the nurses around here,” Damian jeered at the closed door. “Especially that one.”

  “She’s just protective. This is the last place she ever wants to see any of us who’ve been here and left.”

  Damian sat down beside me and grunted. “I doubt that.”

  “You doubt what?” My eyebrows furrowed. “She cares about us, Damian.”

  “I didn’t say she didn’t,” Damian snapped, his blue irises drilling into mine.

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “The last place she wants to see you is in a coffin.” His words were hard and fell to the floor. As soon as he said them, his sad gaze shifted to his feet.

  Was he thinking about the last place he saw his mom and brother?

  I didn’t say anything. We sat in silence for a few minutes until he shifted his eyes to my lap. “What’s that?”

  “My diary.” It sounded so childish when the words came out. “Uh, cancer diary. It’s my cancer diary.”

  Yeah, nice cover-up, Spaz.

  “So, you write down stuff about cancer?” Damian asked, glancing at me.

  “Yeah. A nurse in my mom’s support group suggested it when I was first diagnosed.”

  “So, you’ve always written in one, huh?”

  I wanted to brush it off like it was no big deal. Just a dumb diary thing. But, honestly, it was a big deal. It helped me more than anything else. “I know it sounds stupid, but the diary gets me. I can talk to my parents, or the nurses, but none of them have to go through this. In reality, I’m alone. So I write down how I feel about having cancer, about the treatment, the side effects, about stares and whispers from kids at school. About anything. It helps me cope—like three-dollar therapy between two pieces of cardboard.”

  Damian chuckled. “Cheap therapy.”

  I tilted my head to him and chuckled. “Yeah.”

  The door creaked open, and we both jumped. Dr. Lowell cleared his throat.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but, uh, Damian, can I see you for a few minutes? In my office?”

/>   I couldn’t see Damian’s face, but his hand curled into a fist. “Sure.”

  Dr. Lowell nodded at me, then the door closed. Damian shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

  “Are we still on for dinner in the cafeteria?” he asked, standing up. “Crappy food, but hey, I’m paying.”

  I laughed. “Okay.”

  “When are you done in here?”

  I glanced at the clock. “Forty-five minutes.”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “See you then.”

  Damian flashed me a dimpled grin before he disappeared out the door.

  Unable to stop thinking about him, I opened my diary and wrote about our conversation and how he had sat right there while I puked. His expression showed the normal reactions of concern and worry, but there was something else, too. Something I didn’t recognize. I wrote about the feel of his hand on mine. How I couldn’t decide if the butterflies were because of the chemo, the fact that I just finished throwing up, or because his touch felt amazing.

  I was so engrossed in writing that I barely noticed Leslie standing next to me. When I looked up, I jumped.

  “Sorry, Kate. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Oh. That’s okay. I didn’t hear you come in,” I said, taking a deep breath.

  “Do you mind if I sit?”

  Odd. Leslie had never asked before. “Go ahead.”

  “I wanted to speak with you,” she started. “About Damian.” Leslie was older than my mother with two grown children of her own. She’d always treated me as an equal, but this was going to be a “mom” conversation, I could tell.

  “I know you said to stay away from him. Really, it just happened. Nothing is going on, though. We’re just friends.” I fidgeted with the corner of my diary as I fumbled over my words. “I don’t know if we’re friends. I mean, we’re not more than friends.” I flushed.

  Leslie’s voice was soft. “Kate, Damian is in a lot of pain.”

  “I know, but I don’t think that’s a reason to stay away from him.”

  “No, it’s not.” Leslie placed her hand over mine. “That’s not why I said that.”

  “Maybe him getting into trouble is his way of reaching out.”

  “It is,” Leslie agreed.

  I was confused. Last time, Leslie tried to scare me into having nothing to do with him. Now, she suddenly agreed with everything I said.

  “Then what? Why did you tell me to keep my distance?”

  “I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine. Like I said, there’s nothing going on.”

  Leslie sighed. “Kate, I saw the way he looked at you. I’ve never seen him actually interact with a patient before. What he did for you in here, well, that’s what scares me.”

  I shook my head. “It was just a kind gesture. Anyone would have done it.”

  “You’re strong, and you can handle it.”

  “Okay…?” I didn’t know where she was going with this. The expression on her face morphed from concerned to sad.

  “Oh, Kate. I’m worried about what you might do to him.”

  “What…what do you mean?”

  She glanced away, but not before I saw moisture in her eyes. Turning back to me, she cupped my hand in both of hers. “Damian is still mourning his mother and brother’s death. It’s destroying him. He’s destroying himself. Damian isn’t as strong as you are.”

  Leslie fell silent. I watched as she pursed her lips. She squeezed my hand inside hers. “If he falls for you, and something happens to you…” Leslie swallowed hard. That’s when I knew what she was going to say. That’s when I understood her warnings.

  I dropped my head, closing my eyes as Leslie finished. “If you die, if you don’t recover … Katie, it’ll kill him.”

  Chapter 4

  “They might look like mashed potatoes, but I guarantee, they’re not. I think they come from a box and are mixed with some sort of mashed turnip and white sand. May I suggest a baked one, instead?” Damian picked up a foil-wrapped baked potato and plopped it on my tray. He grabbed a dollop of butter in a paper cup. “The butter is actually real.” He winked at me.

  I giggled. In the back of my mind, Leslie’s words repeated over and over again. I saw the way he looks at you. He’s never interacted with a patient before. If he falls for you and you die, it’ll kill him.

  I just wanted to enjoy dinner. Okay, maybe enjoy wasn’t the right word. Tolerate dinner. Enjoy Damian. But how could I enjoy being with him, stare into his ocean-blue eyes and not think I could kill him?

  No. I shrugged inwardly. Leslie was obviously exaggerating. Still…Would I have one more person to disappoint if I couldn’t fight hard enough?

  One step at a time. Just concentrate on keeping this meal down in front of him.

  “Corn or broccoli?” Damian asked.

  “Hmm.” I shifted my eyes between the two. “I’ll go with corn. Is that safe?”

  Damian laughed. “Well, none of its safe.” He scooped up a heap of corn for my plate and dumped another on his. Like with school cafeteria food, there was no end to the horrible hospital food jokes.

  We found an empty table and sat down. “I still think you’re risking your life with that meatloaf,” he said.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure if that was chicken or cat meat.” I nodded to the chicken strips on Damian’s plate.

  “It’s hospital food, not Chinese!” He looked offended.

  “Either way, I think we’re doomed.” I laughed.

  “Cheers.” Damian held up his glass of Mountain Dew.

  Our glasses clinked as we hit them together, then we both took a sip.

  “So, tell me about life before cancer,” Damian said, taking a bite of his turnip and sand potatoes.

  I tilted my head and eyed his spoonful.

  He laughed. “I’m immune. Besides, I like sand.”

  “Well, during remissions, my dad and I would go to the country club and golf a lot. I don’t think I’d mind joining the LPGA. My dad says I’m pretty good,” I said, tipping my head up. “I really wanna make the varsity golf team at school this spring.”

  “Ugh. Country club brat, huh? You probably do everything your parents say, don’t you?”

  I forced a smile. After all they’d done for me, it was the least I could do. “Your dad’s a doctor; I’m sure you’ve swung a club or two in your day.”

  Damian grunted. “Cliché.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him and smirked. Damian licked his lips slyly, shook his head, and gave in. “Private golf lessons. Every summer. Since I was seven.”

  “I knew it!” I sat up.

  Damian laughed. “I haven’t set foot on a golf course in over two years.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “I never played with my dad. It was sorta me and my brother’s thing. And now…” Damian eyes clouded over, and his voice softened as if he just realized what he’d said. “Well, I don’t play anymore.”

  Damian’s head lowered, and he took a bite of his corn. I averted my eyes, embarrassed about bringing his brother to his attention.

  “Maybe we can play together sometime?” I said, wondering if it would be enough of a topic change.

  “I dunno. You’d probably kick my ass.” He shifted his weight in his seat. Then he cleared his throat. “God, I need a cigarette. Uh, I’ll be right back.” He almost tipped over his chair as he stood and hurried out of the cafeteria.

  I felt stupid as I watched him go. Alone, I plopped my elbow on the table and picked at the food. I ate a few bites then put the fork down.

  Part of me wondered if he would come back. I’d hit a nerve, a memory of Liam. “He’s not strong like you, Kate.” What a great first date. Was that what this was? No. I pushed the ridiculous notion from my mind. A guy sitting next to me in the chemo room and afterward meeting in the hospital cafeteria hardly counted as a date.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, mulling it over. When I looke
d at my hand, it was full of auburn strands. I stared at it. Why did I do that? The hair was soft and beautiful, but it wasn’t supposed to be intertwined in my fingers. What would Damian think of me with nothing but skin on the top of my head? “I saw the way he looks at you.” Would he look at me like all the kids at school? Feel sorry for me? Avoid me? I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

  Time passed at warp speed. I didn’t remember him sitting back down as I was still staring at my hair-covered hand.“It starts happening that quickly, huh?” Damian’s voice was soft.

  For a few moments, he didn’t say anything, and I didn’t look up. All I could think of was why I hadn’t tossed the hair away. Now, not only had he seen me balding, he’d also seen my insecurity.

  I lifted my eyes to him, nodded, untangled the hair out of my hand and wadded it up.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Some people do wigs, don’t they?”

  “Yeah. I don’t. They itch,” I said, dismissing how much it really bothered me. “It’s just hair. It’ll grow back. It always does.”

  “But you still have to deal with it falling out all the time until it’s gone. That’s just a reminder of what’s happening.”

  Did he really just say that?

  “Side-effect of chemo.” I shrugged, hoping he hadn’t heard the crack in my voice.

  I wanted to tuck my hair behind my ear, but I worried that another clump would fall out. Instead, I picked up my water and gulped it down.

  Damian’s phone rang—an old Journey song, something my dad listened to. He grabbed it then touched the screen. He tensed and shoved the iPhone back in his pocket.

  “If you have to go…”

  “No. It’s just the old man. He can wait.” Damian shoved a spoonful of food in his mouth. “So, where do you go to school?”

  “Roosevelt.” I hesitated. “You?”

  “I’m between schools right now. I’ll start at Valley in January.”

  I wanted to ask why he’d been expelled. Instead I blurted, “Why did you steal a car?”