“Have you talked to your mom about it?” Erik asked, and I shook my head.
“You know I can’t talk to her about anything. She’ll lose her friggin’ mind.”
“Is it serious?”
“To her it would be.”
“And you can’t tell me?”
I smiled finally, resting my head on my uncle’s shoulder. “Not yet. I need to tell her first.”
“Ah.” Hansen nodded, looking thoughtful, but he didn’t press the issue, which was one of the many reasons I adored him. It was Thursday, and I was working my afternoon shift on the ambulance. My bone marrow test was tomorrow morning, and more than once I’d almost cancelled, just because I was afraid to go. But I couldn’t. Apparently, my life depended on it.
I wanted to tell Hansen about the leukemia. Every time a comfortable silence settled between us, I wanted to open my mouth and spill my guts, to tell him everything I knew, everything the doctor had said. I wanted to be afraid, and I wanted him to reassure me. All my life Hansen had been a saint to me, my strong, afraid-of-nothing uncle who talked me up when I was down and promised to have my back.
But I couldn’t tell him, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t because of my mother. In fact, I was dreading telling my mother. I guess it was just because...I was still hoping that it wasn’t actually true.
“Hey, guys,” Paisley said, stepping up behind the open doors of the ambo. “Everything alright in here? Erik, you’re wanted in the training room.”
“All is great,” I assured her, and Hansen kissed me on head before standing to hop out of the back of the ambulance where we’d been sharing the last few Oreo cookies. He poked his head back in as Paisley walked away.
“I’m here for you, kid,” he said. “Keep that in mind.”
“I know,” I said, nearly stopping him again. “Thank you.”
Chapter 39
Jayce
By Saturday I stillhadn’t seen or spoken to Macey, despite the calls and texts I sent throughout the day, every day. I didn’t see her on her usual route to school, and I of course didn’t see her Saturday night at our home game, as ERU students crammed in and around the enormous bleachers outside to watch us play. I was distracted tonight, my eyes too frequently darting towards the bleachers, scanning the crowd for a long braid of brown hair or topaz eyes that I’d notice from a hundred feet away.
But she wasn’t there. And I knew that.
We won the game, but not by much at all, and coach reamed our asses afterwards in the locker room for it. He was shouting, per usual, but even as his screams filled the crevices of the locker room, even then I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t pull the fuzziness out of my head.
“Hey, man, what the fuck?” Dalton said, punching me in the arm after the team had showered and dressed, either heading home or out for a beer. I stopped when he hit me. The pain barely registered.
