“Styx, you’re sitting in a hospital waiting room miles away from home in a T-shirt and no shoes. Your nose is dripping, and you’re burning up.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t notice.”
“I know you care about Alaska, she’s a very sweet girl and we adore her too, but Styx, you have to take better care of yourself. You were in no position to drive halfway across the state on an impromptu road trip.”
“I love her, Mom.” I swallow hard. Alaska’s parents are permitted into the ER, and it takes everything I have not to demand they let me in. Mom and Dad both exchange a worried look. “This was my idea. Stones had nothing to do with it. It was all me.”
“It’s okay. We can talk about it later. Right now, we need to get you seen to and on a flight back home.”
“Home? I’m not going anywhere without Stones.”
“Honey, her parents talked to the hospital on the car ride here. They’re flying her back via Air Ambulance.”
“Air Ambulance?”
“The OR is already prepped for her surgery.”
I shake my head, looking between my parents. “She doesn’t want the surgery.”
“She doesn’t have a choice, Styx. Her tumors aren’t shrinking, they’re getting worse. If she doesn’t have the surgery, she won’t make it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
STYX
In the ER, the nurse changes the dressings on my port and takes blood. I’m also given an infusion of antibiotics because despite our best efforts to keep Alaska’s PICC line and my port from getting wet, they did. My skin is hot to the touch, and I’m sporting a nasty rash because of it. I guess that’s what I get for trying to be a regular teen, going down on my girl in the shower.
We fucked up. I fucked up, and we could both die because of it. That’s what’s so fucking tragic about this whole trip. We wanted to be normal teenagers. We wanted to forget about the cancer trying to kill us, and we just gave it ammunition, fuel to use against us.
The nurse begrudgingly sees to my care, and sometime around nine a.m, I’m discharged with strict orders to see my doctor as soon as I get home. Mom and I head for the airport. Dad will go back to the hotel and get mine and Alaska’s things, and then he’ll drive his truck back to SF.
Every second I’m away from her is torture; every hour that passes is hell. My body—so used to the feel of hers it mourns the loss.
I drive myself mad with worry. All I can see is her in that OR, alone, a team of doctors in charge of removing the tumors in her brain, but not one of them know what they hold in their hands. None of them know how precious and special she is.
I don’t talk on the plane ride home. I can’t. Instead, I close my eyes and pretend I’m asleep. I’m pretty sure my bouncing leg and the agitation rolling off me in waves give me away though.
When we land and find Mom’s car in the parking lot, I head to the driver’s side and hold my hand out for the keys. “I wanna drive, and I wanna see her.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“No, Styx. Your dad and I have let you get away with a lot up until this point.”
“I’m eighteen, Mom. You can’t make me do shit anymore.”
“I’m asking you, please? I know you’re worried about Alaska. I am too, but you need to think of your health now.”
I laugh without humor. “Fuck, don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters without her.”
“It matters to me!” Mom screams.
I snap my head up to look at her. Her words are like a bullet to the gut. Tears of pain and frustration spill over her cheeks, ruining her mascara. Guilt worms its way through my chest, and I can’t look at her. I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll shatter.
It makes no difference, because saltwater slides down my face anyway.
“It matters to your dad, and if Alaska were in this parking lot right now, she’d tell you it matters. You matter! What happens to you matters.”
“I need to be there. Please, Mom?” I sob. “Please?”
She winces, as if I’m breaking her heart, and nods. “Okay, I’ll take you. But I want you to promise me if it gets too much, you’ll come home.”
“I will. I promise,” I agree, throwing my arms around her. The tender flesh surrounding my port twinges, but I ignore it. If I don’t, she’ll notice, and she won’t take me to the hospital at all.
Stones was so afraid of this surgery, so worried she’d lose herself. I’m worried she’ll lose the way she feels about me. It’s selfish and stupid, I know. I should just be happy if she comes through it alive, and if I have to spend every day for the rest of our lives reminding her of who I am, I’ll do it. But there’s still a selfish part of me that wonders what if the piece they take out belongs to us? What if she doesn’t remember our Homecoming, our first kiss, Big Sur, or Pismo? What if they remove all the memories of us singing in my dad’s truck at the top of our lungs, making love in that shitty hotel room, or Disneyland?
What if she’s forgotten us?
My throat constricts and the tears come thick and fast. I don’t even bother to hide them because right now, the girl I love—my brilliant, talented crazy-beautiful girl—is across town in the OR, having her brain dissected. I may never get my Alaska back.
She’s inside that operating room, and she could be flatlining as we speak. God, I hope she doesn’t die.
Don’t die, Stones. Please don’t die.
I think of her body beneath me, her small frame perfect, her wispy strands of hair fanned across the pillow as she looked up at me with both fear and determination in her eyes. I’ll never forgive her, never forgive myself if she dies.
It’s funny. From the second I was diagnosed, I’ve prayed to whatever god or being, to the universe, to fate that I would make it through this illness, and right now, I’d give everything—every breath of air in my lungs, every beat of my heart, and every white blood cell in my body.
I’d offer them up gladly to save her life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
STYX
Mom shakes me awake. I hadn’t known I’d fallen asleep. I hadn’t known you could fall asleep in the hard, plastic waiting-room chairs.
“Honey, the surgeon is here,” Mom says.
I blink and bolt upright. The flesh around my port throbs and I flinch but quickly ignore it and get to my feet.
“How is she?” I blurt. Stones’ parents and the doctor all look at me as I barrel toward them. Mom walks up and squeezes my hand. The surgeon glances between us and Alaska’s parents. Mrs. Stone nods. Mr. Stone clearly isn’t ready to acknowledge my existence.
“She’s in recovery,” the doctor says.
A collective gasp of relief goes through the group.
The surgeon gives a pained smile. “It was a tough surgery. The tumor was embedded deeper than we expected. It’s encroaching on the optic nerve, but has also attached itself to the carotid artery. We’ve taken as much as we could, but I’m afraid we couldn’t remove it all.”
My heart beats double time, and my legs threaten to give out. My whole body is shaking. She’s alive.
Mom’s phone rings and she shoots the Stones and apologetic look as she steps away to answer it.
“It’s the hospital with your results,” she says. I nod and turn back around to the surgeon, but a motion beyond the waiting-room window catches my eye. Snow. There’s snow in San Francisco. In September. I move toward the window and watch the falling flakes.
The doctor goes on and on about Stones’ treatment.
“Look at this. Come look at this! It’s snowing.”
“Styx?” My mom’s voice is shaking, panicked. “Honey, it’s not snowing. That’s a cherry blossom mural. You’ve seen it at least one hundred times.”
I turn and look at my mom, her eyes are saucers, whirring and spinning as she races toward me. My heart beats double time.
“Mom, I don’t feel so good,” I whisper, afraid the Stones will hear and keep me from their daug
hter. I don’t like the way they’re looking at me with their red, beady eyes.
The next thing I know, I’m on the floor. My arm is throbbing, my head is too, and I can’t stop shaking. It’s so cold. So fucking cold I’m freezing my balls off. “I don’t wanna go to hospital. I don’t wanna go. Just let me die here in the snow. Please, please, just let me die.”
“Styx,” my mom says, shaking me. “Oh my God, you’re burning up. Someone help us!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ALASKA
The quiet beep, beep, beep of the hospital room wakes me. Not that I could get much sleep with all of the noise in my head.
I groan and clear my throat. My brain hurts. Everything hurts. I try to move my arm, but a hand reaches out and touches mine.
“Lie still, honey. You just had surgery.”
“Mom?” I blink several times, trying to focus on my parents. “Dad?”
“Yes, sweetheart?” my dad—who rarely uses terms of endearment—takes my other hand and squeezes.
“Where’s Styx?”
They exchange a pained glance.
The breath catches in my lungs. “What? He’s okay, right? Where is he?”
I grab the blanket and attempt to toss it off me, determined to go and find him myself if they won’t give me answers, but the pressure in my skull intensifies every time I move.
“We don’t know yet,” Mom says.
“You don’t know what yet?”
“We don’t know what’s happening,” Mom continues. “Viv is waiting to hear from the surgeon.”
“The surgeon?” Oh, God. Panic seizes my gut. “What’s wrong with him? Mom, I need to find Viv. I need to be there when he wakes up.”
“You’re in recovery. You focus on getting better,” my dad barks.
“In a few hours when he’s out of surgery, then you can see him.” Mom gives me a tight smile, but I can tell by the pitiful expression on her face that she doesn’t know if that’s true.
“I love him, Dad,” I snap. My head spins. Nausea roils through my gut. I’ve exerted too much energy, and the heavy tug of the morphine tries to pull me under. “Mom, tell him.”
“I know. It will all be okay. Your surgery went great, honey. You did so well. Your dad and I are very proud of your bravery. Just get some rest.” Mom pats my hand as if I’m a small child throwing a tantrum.
I don’t want to be coddled and cajoled. I want to know where my boyfriend is. I want to see him, touch him, and know that he’s okay.
Oh God, Styx. Please don’t die.
CHAPTER THIRTY
STYX
I open my eyes and stare up at the apparatus overhead. Three mechanical arms housing monitors, lights, and other annoying equipment that makes entirely too much noise, hovers over me.
Great. I’m in the fucking ICU.
I swallow hard and lick my cracked lips. My breath labors, and my throat is scratchy and dry. A small tube rests under my nose, forcing more oxygen into my body. I lift my hand to remove it, but my limbs are heavy with morphine, and I miss.
Alaska. Where is she right now? Did she make it through the surgery? I don’t remember anything past Mom getting me to the hospital and the wait with her parents.
I glance over at the corner of my room. My mom and dad are sleeping in hospital chairs, side by side, her head on his shoulder, his resting against her crown. Their hands are joined. For a moment, I just watch them, wondering if my recent brush with death will be the thing to bring them together. Will they comfort one another when I’m dead?
I feel like shit. I lift my head from the pillow and try to find my call button. What I find instead is a new Hickman line poking out of my chest. Fuck. As if I didn’t look like Frankenstein enough already, now I have more tubes sticking out of me. I glance at my torso. From armpit to neck, I’m covered in bandages. I try to move, but agony rips through my muscles.
“Mom?” I cry out.
She startles. So does my dad.
“Hey, there’s my baby boy,” Mom says.
“Hey, champ.” Dad rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“What happened? Did Alaska make it out of surgery already?”
“Yeah, honey. Surgery went great. She’s in the ICU too.”
My room is flooded with artificial light as a nurse bustles in from her station behind the glass sliding doors. “Hey stranger. Nice to see you awake.” Her face is vaguely familiar, but I don’t know this woman at all. “I’m Maggie. I took care of you after your resection a few years back.”
“Oh,” I say, annoyed at the intrusion more than anything. She continues to check my vitals, and jot her findings down on my chart. I just want her to go away, but she starts up a conversation with my dad about his college football team. “Mom, I need to see her.”
“Woah, you’re not going anywhere, young man.” Maggie pushes a button on the monitor beside my bed. “You gave us all quite the scare. We’ll need to run a few more blood tests, and you’ll need a few more rounds of antibiotics before you can leave this room.”
“But I’m fine.” I yank at the oxygen tube under my nose. Maggie touches my hand, obviously telling me to stop.
“Let’s leave this on a little longer,” she says. I don’t fight her because I don’t have the strength.
Mom sighs. “Honey, you had sepsis.”
The entire world turns on its axis. “What?”
“You went into septic shock, your port was infected.”
“Shit.” Oh fuck. An infected port is no joke, but sepsis? How am I still breathing?
Maggie tuts, as if she’s my goddamn mom. “Language.”
“They removed your port, but they had to clean away a little of the tissue that was infected too. The doctors say you’ll need physiotherapy to strengthen your right side.”
“This is serious, Styx. No more running away to Disneyland,” my dad says.
“Oh, Disneyland. That sounds fun,” Maggie says. My mom glares. “Right, well, everything looks good. We’ll come check on that wound and change your dressing a little later.”
Maggie finally takes the hint and makes herself scarce.
“We almost lost you, kid.” Dad runs a hand through his hair.
“But you didn’t,” I assure them both. “I’m still here, and I need to see her. Please? Can’t you go talk to Maggie, and Stones’ parents?”
“You heard the woman, Styx. You can’t leave this room.”
“Sepsis is not contagious.”
“No, it’s not. But, honey, Alaska just had brain surgery. Are you sure you want to take that risk?”
“Fuck!”
“Maybe in a few days,” Mom says, and grimaces when I shake my head. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, Styx, but perhaps you can visit with her once you’re up and walking around again?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I need to see her. I need to see with my own two eyes that she’s okay, but the Sepsis Nazi over there isn’t going to let me.
“Dad, did you get our phones from the hotel?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Did you give Alaska hers?”
He nods. “I gave it to her mom.”
“Can I have mine?”
“Styx, you need to rest,” Mom warns.
“I’ll rest when I know she’s okay.”
She arches her brow in that way that only seriously pissed off moms can, but she relents, fishes the phone from her bag, and hands it to me.
I tap the screen. The black abyss glares back at me. It’s dead. I want to fucking scream.
“It’s okay,” Dad says. “I’ll go get your charger from the truck. In the meantime, I’ll talk to her parents.”
“Thanks.”
“Jesus.” Dad shakes his head and turns to my mom. “Was I this much of an asshole when it came to you?”
“Completely.” Mom grins. I haven’t seen her do that in ... well, I can’t remember the last time.
“True
love, right?” Dad says as he heads out of my room.
“Asshole,” I say, but I glance at my mom, who’s gaping after him.
Maybe when I’m finally dead and buried, they’ll get their shit together.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ALASKA
I exhale a deep breath and close my eyes. His dad was just in here twenty minutes ago, so it’s not like I didn’t know Styx was still alive and well but seeing his profile pic flash up on Facetime makes my heart skip and stutter. I hit accept, and his face fills my screen.
“There she is.” He shifts against the pillows, his brows creasing with a wince. “Jesus, baby, you scared the shit out of me.”
“The feeling’s mutual, loner boy. Imagine my surprise when I woke after surgery to find that you’ve collapsed.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Typical. You’re always trying to steal my thunder.”
He smiles, and I smile back.
“They shaved the rest of my hair.” I point to the side of my head now covered with bandages.
“I see that.”
“Now I really look like I have cancer. You know, in case everyone couldn’t already tell by the Frankenstein scar on my head.”
“Nah, you’re a badass. You look like Charlize Theron in Fury Road.”
“But Asian, right?”
“That’s the best kind of badass,” he says in a husky tone that sends my heart racing and causes my flesh to prickle with heat. I remember that voice in the shower after Disneyland, as we’d touched, and he’d kissed me in places I didn’t know boys could kiss.
Before it all went to hell.
“It’s so good to see your face, Stones.” His smile is half dazed, like all he wants to do is look at me. As if both of us making it through surgery isn’t miracle enough.
“You should have been here when they took out my drainage tube. Not so pretty then.” I laugh, and white-hot pain shoots through my skull. My head swims and I close my eyes and breathe.
“Stones ... you okay?”
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