And for Archie, I’m grateful. His friendship and chattering are clearly what’s been getting her through chemo up to this point.
He taps the end of his pen on his lower lip, stopping to scratch at his jaw where short, wiry grey hairs have grown in. “Two down, nine across: a male romantic partner,” he announces.
Adhira and I make eye contact, her lips pursing with a knowing look of disapproval, but neither of us calls him on it. “B-O-Y-F-R-I-E-N-D, boyfriend. Something I have never, nor do I currently, have.”
God, I wish that weren't the case. So long as the man in question is me, that is.
Archie’s eyes swing to her, flitting between us before he returns his gaze to his lap, pretending to fill in the word we all know doesn’t exist on his page.
“Would you like me to take over writing? Wouldn’t want you getting tired,” I say, goading him.
He slaps the book shut and sets it down beside him with his pen on top, waving me off, and I’m rewarded with a lopsided grin from Adhira. “No, no, lad. Not necessary. Let’s talk about the two of ya instead.”
“Let’s not.” Adhira groans, slumping in her chair. She wraps her arms around herself, rubbing her hands over her arms. I reach for my jumper collar, tugging it over my head, and lean forward to tuck it in around her. She doesn’t refuse me, just whispers her thanks and turns her attention to Archie, who’s grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“I’ll go easy on ye both. Favourite colour?” he asks.
“Sage green,” I answer at the same time she says, “Burgundy,” and I know I’m done for.
She clears her throat, stealing a glance in my direction that has my skin prickling with awareness. “His favourite colour is burgundy, and mine is sage green,” she clarifies.
Archie sucks his wrinkled lips into his mouth, attempting to stifle his laughter, to no avail. We continue on like this until his endless list of questions leads us to a discussion about music that has my ears piqued with interest. I pull out my phone, hanging on to Adhira's every word as she carries on about her favourite songs being basically anything by Hozier or Adele.
“Elijah, it’s rude to text during a conversation,” Adhira scolds, one brow arched, and I’m quick to shut off my screen and tuck my phone back in my pocket.
My cheeks heat. “Just taking notes,” I admit, to my utter embarrassment.
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. Archie is peering up at the ceiling as if there’s a smudge that looks like the Mona Lisa up there or something.
Jenna saves the day, returning to give Adhira the last of her medications, and when she’s finished, I almost beg her to let me carry her to the car.
We say our goodbyes to Archie with a promise to meet him for lunch to celebrate the good news of her remission, and to my surprise, Adhira leaves him with a bone-crushing hug. If I were a better man, I wouldn't be jealous of a seventy-year-old with cancer, but it seems all bets are off when it comes to Adhira.
By the time we’re back at our flat, Adhira has sagged into the car door, her cheek pressed against the glass, eyes cracked open.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Ready to go in?” I ask, and she nods, her body weak from hours of chemicals being pumped into her. She’ll likely sleep the rest of the day and into tomorrow, and it’s an honour to be here to help her through it.
I open the door for her, reaching in to unclip her seatbelt. She doesn’t fight me, either because she doesn’t have the strength or the desire, but I’m fine with either. She leans against me as we make our way to the lift, and I wrap an arm around her waist, supporting her the whole way up.
She’s barely able to keep her eyes open as I help her into bed, and a few hours later, when she texts me for help getting to the bathroom, it’s the greatest privilege to be the person she trusts enough to ask, though I’d be lying to myself if I said it was easy.
Nothingabout watching her deteriorate like my mother did is easy.Nothingabout being someone else’s caretaker iseasy.But I’d do it a thousand times over for this radiant woman, who’s managed to steal a chunk of my heart and heal old wounds I thought I’d already dealt with.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
My head is poundingafter three sleepless nights spent worrying that the cancer has persisted while my spirits have not. Every muscle is sore, but having Elijah beside me, quietly reading the book I got him while I try to drown out my sensory overload with my favourite orca documentary, is helping.
Rain continues pouring in thick sheets outside, the sky lighting up beyond the sliding glass doors. A crack of thunder, so loud it rattles my brain, startles me. I nearly roll off the sofa, but large, warm hands grip my hips, yanking me back onto the cushions. I blink at Elijah, processing what just happened, when a rumble shakes the flat, the room flashes bright white, and everything goes eerily silent, darkness falling around us as the power craps out.
I can’t help the whine that slips out or the pout that pushes my lower lip past my top one, disappointment swirling in mygut. “I just wanted to watch the orcas ram into boat rudders and fall asleep out here,” I groan out.
Elijah slides his hands off me, returning to planet Earth. He clears his throat. “I’ll go get candles, and we can figure something out to distract you.”
“Just nothing scented because I’ll v?—”
“I know, Adhira. I don’t want you puking all over me any more than you want to,” he says, chuckling as he stands and makes his way over to his room, the lightning outside illuminating his way.
