"That's right," I whisper, my voice rough. "His loss."
She lets out a soft sigh. "You make me feel beautiful," she says slowly, almost as if she's dreaming. "Desirable. Even when I'mbald."
There's a small smile curving her lips, and a choked sound leaves me—half laugh, half ache—the fact that she would think hair could ever stop her from being gorgeous. The fact that she's still able to be silly while feeling like this.
God, I love this girl.
"Youarebeautiful," I tell her, my voice soft as I hold both of her hands in one of mine. "Always. The most beautiful girl in the world. Because you're Sophie—my otter—and I love you."
A tear slips out of the corner of her eye, and my thumb'salready there, brushing it away. My own eyes sting in response, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. Her pain is my pain.
"I love yousomuch," she breathes, the words slurring together as her eyelids droop. "That's why I don't want to go... please—don't let me go, Callum..."
The words pierce me sharply, and my throat tightens, but I force the words out.
"You're not going anywhere," I promise. "Except to sleep. Okay? Rest, baby. I'm here, I've got you."
She hums faintly, already halfway gone. "Mmkay..."
I brush my lips across her forehead, letting them linger there for a moment, the heat of her skin burning against mine. Pulling back, I see she's already asleep, and I tuck the blankets around her, making sure she's cozy before stepping back.
When I glance toward the doorway, I see my mom watching us quietly—hands clasped to her chest, eyes full of worry.
I need to set up this generator.
I need to call her doctor.
I need to fix this.
???
"Hey, Callum, what's up?"
Oliver's voice is casual and warm, the way he always picks up when I call for a catch-up. He doesn't know that I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin. It took an hour to get the generator going because the rain hadn't let up, and my mind kept drifting off to Sophie upstairs, worry making my hands feel relatively useless.
I'm soaked to the bone, but the generator is up and running, under its protective cover, and we have power again in the apartment.
I grab my phone and shakily call Oliver as I walk up the apartment steps, my wet boots and socks squelching with every step. I was hoping he wasn't with a patient so I could talk to him.
I know he's not an oncologist, and I should call Sophie's doctor, which I will when I get their number from her phone—but I trust Oliver. And more importantly, I would trust him with Sophie's life.
I need my best friend's voice right now to talk me down because I'm seconds from losing my goddamn mind.
"I think... I think Sophie's sick," I choke out.
There's a pause.
"What are her symptoms?" he asks, his tone changing immediately. My best friend Oliver is gone—this is Dr. Kennedy speaking to me now.
"She was hot—uh, drained. A little congested, coughing." I stutter through the list, my voice weak and cracking. "The chemo makes her really tired, I just thought—"
I step into the apartment, and the smell of rosemary and thyme hits me—comforting and warm. Mom's at the gas stove making soup, and when she hears me, she looks at me with pure concern in her eyes. I mouth 'OIiver' when she tilts her head, silently asking who I'm talking to.
Grabbing a towel from the linen closet, I run it through my dripping hair.
"What's her temperature?"
"Uh, I don't know—" I make a detour to the bathroom to grab our thermometer and walk back into my bedroom, and Sophie doesn't even move at the noise. Placing the thermometer up to her head, I pinch the phone between my head and shoulder and gently try to rouse her. "Hold on, Oliver."
