My responsibility is tofix shitfor the welfare of my team.Make it right.Because one broken link in a chain can lead to disaster.
I can’t fix this, though.What the fuck and I supposed to do?
I don’t even have a basic understanding of what was just dumped on us.I must act.I must dosomething.
I should make some calls.Talk to Summer’s doctors at length and figure out how to get a second opinion.I should do my own research.Read the medical journals and read the biomedical and pharmaceutical research papers.Visit the patient advocacy websites.Assemble everything into a format I can understand.
I need details.I need the big picture.And I need options.
And while I do all this, I will stay at Summer’s side.I will help her and love her and fight with her—andforher—every step of the way.At the same time, I will somehow hold back on my own fury and grief and devastation so that Summer has room for her own.
I will listen more than I talk.
But right now?
Right now, I want to fucking smash my fist through the Jeep dashboard.I want to demolish things and bust shit up.Crush things with my bare hands and run out into the pines to scream my lungs out in the hopes that I can release some steam from the pressure cooker I’ve suddenly become.
I can’t help but think of my mother, though I’ll never say as much to Summer.It’s my point of reference for this disease.My mother died of breast cancer when I was eleven.Watching her go from a vibrant and take-charge woman to a hollowed-out husk was the most gruesome nightmare of my life.
I can’t let that happen to Summer.Iwon’tlet it happen.
I’ll figure out a way.
We reach the cabin in silence.I help her out of the passenger door, hold her hand as we climb up the porch steps, and open the cabin door for her.Her hand feels strangely limp in mine, like we’re disconnected.I don’t like it.
At all.
We’re barely inside when she turns to me.
She grabs me by the lapels of my coat and pulls my mouth down to meet hers.Her hands are in my hair, yanking me tighter to her.Then she’s ripping off my coat, undoing my jeans.Her hands are frantic, and her kiss is frenzied.
This isn’t playful and it isn’t loving.It’s desperation.
“Summer.Baby—”
I try to pull away.She’s not having it.She shoves my jeans down my thighs and tries to struggle out of her pants but nearly trips.
I haven’t even had the chance to flip on the light switch.
This won’t make anything better.
“Stop.”I yank up my jeans, lift her up, and cradle her in my arms.She falls apart instantly, sobbing and hanging tightly on to me, like she’s afraid to fall.Her face is buried in the crook of my neck, and I feel her tears.
“I’ve got you.I’ve got you.”
I flip on a light so that I can see.I carry her to her bed and lay her down, taking my time as I remove her boots and socks and jeans and tuck her under the covers.I sit down on the edge of the bed and brush hair from her face, and gaze down at my beautiful Summer.
My wife.
“Please,” she says, her eyes imploring me.“I don’t want to feel like this, like I’m already dead.You’re my lifeline, Declan.Please make love to me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say.
“You won’t.You’ll be saving me.”
I smile gently at her while I remove all my clothes, then I climb in with her under the covers.I pull her against me and clutch tight.She’s not crying anymore, which I think is actually a bad sign.
Her breath is shallow.She’s stunned.
