But I was so fucking wrong.
Had I known what I was about to hear, I would’ve told myself to brace for earth-shattering news and the crushing fear now consuming my every thought.
Cancer.
One single word has forever changed my life—will forever changeherlife. The woman I’ve loved for over ten years has stage two endometrial cancer and there’s not a damn thing I can do to make her better.
Well, that’s hopefully not true. I refuse to remain helpless. I still can’t believe I convinced Taevin to get a second opinion in Minnesota.
They kept her overnight for fluids and monitoring, and she was discharged a few hours ago.
I got my shit from my hotel suite and booked a private jet while she grabbed her things and tried to brush off Braidy’s protections and evade Kyle’s interrogation. I’m not sure whatthe deal is between her and Kyle; she said he’s her manager, but he seemed more upset about the prospect of her going with me than that she wasn’t going back to Nashville with him. He didn’t even argue the fact that she said she didn’t need Braidy to come and draw more attention to her when she had me to protect her, just seemed more upset that he too was being left behind.
Looking over at the plush seat beside me, I’m still shocked to see her just right there, sitting within reach and breathing the same air as me, after all this time.
Her raven hair is piled into a messy bun on top of her head, and some time over the past few hours the plane has been in the air, she got overheated and ditched my hoodie she’d borrowed. Now, as she uses said hoodie as a pillow, I take in her resting form. She looks so peaceful, and I hope for her sake she’s able to sleep for the remainder of the flight.
Instead of taking a nap, my eyes trace the lines of her face, noting the differences of the woman sleeping before me from the girl I fell in love with a decade ago.
In place of her typically makeup-free skin I saw when we were together, Taevin has dark eyeliner framing her eyelashes and to top off the look is what has become her signature berry lipstick that has had my mouth watering since I watched her apply it on the way to the airport. It almost felt like she was applying her armor as she prepared for battle; though, I’m not sure if she was going to war with the paparazzi that waited for us at the private hanger, or if she’s gearing up for her battle with cancer.
My stomach sinks further at the daunting prospect of her impending fight. Taevin shouldn’t have to do this, especially not after watching her own mother wither away from cancer when Tae was only a teen.
And what the fuck was that back at the hanger? I knew Tae was famous, but I don’t think I quite comprehended just how renowned she is globally. Both paparazzi and fans swarmed herat the private airport, and I had to step in front of her several times to shield her from the masses.
Blinking back to the present, I continue to take in the differences between eighteen-year-old Tae and the woman beside me. Possibly the most noticeable change from the church-going choir girl I knew back then is the half-sleeve of black ink covering the upper half of her left arm.
I’m no stranger to tattoos myself, and have them covering a lot of my body’s landscape, but even knowing she had them doesn’t prepare me for seeing them up close. Sure, everyone with eyes knows the famous Taevin Gray has these as well as several others covering her back, but as I take in their intricate detail, I’m mesmerized.
Her upper arm and over her shoulder is filled with black and white roses. I don’t miss the way the stems weave together and are full of thorns. The sight throws me back in time to when I gave her that nickname.
“Your perfume drives me crazy,” I tell her, inhaling deeply before placing open-mouth kisses on her collarbone. “Roses.” Kiss. “Cinnamon.” Kiss. “And hazelnut.” Kiss.
I’m spurred on when she leans her head to allow me more access to her neck, and the adorable snort she lets slip has me chuckling against her skin before she informs me, “That’s my hazelnut coffee creamer, not my perfume. And the roses are an homage to my mom; they were her favorite. Alright, back to the matter at hand, Superman. Less talking, more kissing.”
I gently bite down on her collarbone at her use of that ridiculous nickname. “Why do you insist on calling me that all of a sudden? I don’t have a hero complex.”
That comment seems to spur another snort from her. “You totally do! You’re always looking out for everyone but yourself. But that’s not why I call you that—well, not the only reason.”
Motioning for her to continue, I say, “Come on, spill. Why do you call me that?”
“Aside from the fact that you’re so selfless, you’re also like Clark Kent to me. Hockey player by day, musician by night. I can’t believe you’ve been holding back the truth from me for so long.”
“Does that make you my Lois Laine?”
“Nah. I’m more of the helpless heroine you have to save.”
“And what am I saving you from, Thorn?”
“Thorn?” she questions instead of answering mine.
“Yeah, you’re being a thorn in my side right now by delaying my reward for winning my game this afternoon. Also, I think I prefer when you call me Bear.”
“Wow . . . How sweet of you. You’re a real modern-day Romeo.”
“Romeo and Juliet’s love story ends in tragedy, Tae. There are no tragedies in the cards for us.”
My stomach sours at how wrong I was to say that back then just as Taevin stirs beside me. She blinks her eyes slowly and stiffens slightly when she realizes where she is. Then she sits up and, to my disappointment, puts my sweatshirt back on, covering her skin I hadn’t finished detailing to memory.
