My throat feels all choked up. “What else did he say?”
“Not much. He left soon after that.”
I don’t care that Eddie’s words were the turning point for her. I just care that she changed her mind. I guess, sometimes, it takes someone on the outside to make you see sense.
Guess I owe Eddie a pint. Or maybe his own private jet.
“After Eddie left, I couldn’t get his words out of my head and all the things that you had said to me…knowing that you love me. And knowing that I love you and you didn’t know…I just had to see you. Tell you that. I guess…” She bites her lip. “I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced that I wasn’t still going to go through with it…but then, when you walked in and I saw you standing there, I just knew that I couldn’t leave you again. I know that makes me selfish.”
I lift my head. “Wanting to live isn’t selfish.”
Her head tips back, her eyes going to the ceiling.
“Babe, what happened to your family…it wasn’t your fault. You have to know that.”
She exhales a sad breath. “I want to believe that…and I hear everything that you’re saying…but I just don’t feel it in here.” She touches her hand to her chest, over where her heart lies.
“After you lost your family, did you talk to anyone?”
She brings her eyes to mine. “Like a therapist?”
“Yeah, like a therapist or a grief counselor.”
Turning her face to the window, she shakes her head.
She’s been struggling through this alone for all this time. The thought of her alone and hurting kills me.
“Boston…I think talking to someone who understands these kinds of things would be a good idea. I saw a grief counselor after my mum died. It helped me a lot.”
She blows out a tired-sounding breath. “Yeah, I guess I could talk to someone.”
After the surgery and she’s better, I’ll arrange for her to see a therapist. I will do anything to help her.
She takes a breath, and it sounds shaky.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I hear tears in her voice, and it guts me.
“For not telling you I was sick right from the start.”
She turns her face back to mine, and I see those tears shimmering in her eyes.
“I know it was wrong of me, not telling you, but…” She nervously bites her lip. “Well, a part of me doesn’t regret not telling you, and I know how awful that sounds. But it’s because…well, maybe if I had told you from the start, you wouldn’t have stayed.”
“Boston”—I brush my fingers over her cheek—“I would have stayed.” I tell her this with the certainty I know I feel. “I would have stayed because I’m pretty sure I was in love with you from the moment you surprise-kissed me on the plane. You had me instantly. I wasn’t going anywhere then…and I’m not going anywhere now.”
I run my thumb over her brow, her eyes closing as I do.
The song has long since come to an end. I pick my phone up, moving it to the nightstand by the bed.
“You’re tired. You should get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Sleep with me.” She moves over in the bed, pulling the blanket back.
I don’t need a second invitation. I kick my shoes off and climb into bed beside her.
She pulls the covers over us both and lays her head against my chest. I put my arm around her and start playing with her hair.
“Hunter, do you think they’ll take my earrings out for surgery?” Her fingers touch the airplane earrings that I bought her.
“I don’t know, babe. Maybe.”
“I hope not. I don’t want the holes to heal over. It kinda hurt when I had them done. I don’t want to go through that pain again.”
I chuckle. My girl is about to have major surgery, and she’s worried about having her ears pierced again. Now, that’s the Boston I’ve come to know and love.
And at least she’s talking like she intends to come back. It’s a far cry from where we were this time last night.
And her coming back…well, that’s all I need to hear from her right now.
She goes quiet, her body relaxing into mine, and then, out of nowhere, she tenses up.
“Hunter…I have to tell you something.”
My heart pauses. “What?”
She tilts her head back, staring up into my face, and she bites her lip so hard that I’m worried she’s drawn blood.
“I can’t have children,” she blurts out. “Not in the proper way. The radiation therapy I had because of the first tumor made me infertile. I did have some eggs frozen back then, so I can have children but not in the regular way. Not that I think you and I are going to have kids, but I just thought you should know what you’re getting into.”
“Babe”—I curl my hand around her cheek—“it doesn’t matter to me. All I want is you. Anything that comes after will be a bonus. But it’s not a bonus I need.”
“You sure?” she whispers.
“I’m sure. Now, sleep.”
I’d guessed that she might be infertile, and I was telling the truth when I said it didn’t matter. Do I want kids someday? Yeah, I guess so. But I can live without having them.
I can’t live without her.
She shuts her eyes and lowers her head back down to my chest. I snuggle down in bed, putting my nose close to her hair. I breathe her scent in.
“I’m going to lose my hair. They’ll shave a section off for the surgery, and the rest will fall out with the radiation therapy.”