When we’re out far enough that half our bodies are immersed in the water, Ethan moves my body from behind him to in front of him. My legs latch on to his waist and my fingers run through the strands of his hair.
“Hey,” he murmurs. In the dark, it’s hard to see him, but once my eyes adjust, I can make out his gorgeous features. He’s grinning from ear to ear and his light brown eyes are filled with love. “I hope you didn’t have some fantasy of fucking in this water because my dick is hiding behind my balls.”
I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “No, but when the water is warmer, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.” Then it hits me… there’s a chance I might not be here when the water is warmer. If I have to do this surgery—which I know I will—there’s a chance I won’t wake up, or if I do, if they can’t get it all, I could still die.
“Don’t go there,” Ethan says, reading my mind. “We’re adding it to your damn list: fuck in the ocean.”
“I already have: have sex in a crazy place.”
“And we’ll do that too. But we’re still adding it, and when the water is warm, we’re coming back out here and I’m going to fuck you in this ocean.” I hear the words he’s not saying:you’ll be alive for me to fuck you in this ocean.
I take a moment to assess his features. He’s changed so much since the night I attacked him at the club. He’s not as hard, as scary.He’s softened. I never imagined he would make a good husband, but he’s the best husband. He’s caring and devoted. He always puts me first and he loves me unconditionally. Instead of running away when he found out about my tumor, he pulled me in closer. If I were to guess, when he was younger, when he was with Kelsi, this is who he was, but after what happened, after he lost them both, he became a ghost of himself.
“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” he asks, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.
“Ethan, if something happens to me—”
“Nope, not going there, Angel,” he says, cutting me off.
“But if something does…” I cover his mouth with my hand. “Promise me you’ll find love again.”
He shakes his head.
“Yes,” I argue. “I’ve seen both sides of you… the man who was heartbroken and lost, and the man who allowed love back in. Promise me, if something happens to me, you won’t revert back to that scary, growly, mean guy.”
Ethan closes his eyes and I remove my hand. He dips his head until our foreheads are touching. “You’re not going anywhere, Nevaeh,” he whispers. “I need you.”
I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of the ocean mixed with Ethan. “I need you too,” I say, shivering from the cold. “But I need you to promise me that if something happens to me, you’ll move on.”
Ignoring my plea, he moves me to his back and says, “Let’s get you inside and warm.”
And for the second time since my brother died, I send a prayerup to God, pleading with him, that if something does happen to me, he helps Ethan find the strength to move forward.
TWENTY-FOUR
ETHAN
“After lookingover everything Dr. Phillips sent over and running my own scans, I agree with his prognosis. Because the tumor has grown quicker than expected, I am recommending surgery. Once we’re in and remove it, we can then determine if chemotherapy and radiation are necessary. Oftentimes, it’s not, but we won’t rule it out until we get the mass to the lab.”
I’m sitting next to Nevaeh in Dr. Bromfield’s office. Her hand, which is clammy and cold, is squeezing the hell out of mine. I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, but if she were in my lap, I would be too distracted by her to focus on what the doctor is saying.
“How long can I wait to have the surgery?” Nevaeh asks, her voice cracking with emotion.
I jump in before the doctor can answer. “You’re not waiting.”
“But—” she breathes.
“While it’s not life or death, I wouldn’t recommend waiting too long. The reason why you’ve been getting headaches and feeling dizzy is because of the size and location of the mass. I would also recommend you not drive anywhere as you are susceptible to seizures as well.”
Nevaeh nods, resigned. “Okay, I guess we might as well schedule the surgery for as soon as possible.”
“Nevaeh,” Dr. Bromfield says softly, hearing the worry she isn’t voicing. “You have a higher chance of dying from the Meningioma growing than you do from the surgery itself. As with any surgery, there are risks, and we will go over them beforehand, but they are a small risk in comparison to what you’re facing if you don’t have the surgery.”
“How long will I remain in the hospital afterward?”
“We’ll get you admitted the day before the surgery, run your bloodwork, and get you prepped. You’ll be put to sleep while I perform a craniotomy. I can’t tell you how long it will take, as that will depend on how everything goes, but I can tell you the process and what to expect. We’ll shave a small area, then I’ll go in and remove the tumor, and then stitch you back up. I’ll have the mass sent to the lab and we should have the results back within a few hours. If all goes well, I’ll get it all and you’ll never have to go through this again. You will remain in the hospital for a few days and then on bed rest at home for a few weeks. We’ll know more once you wake up, though.”
Nevaeh sighs and glances over at me, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. I squeeze her hand to silently let her know I’m here and not going anywhere. I’ll be by her side every step of the way. “How soon can we schedule?”
