“You heard the lady,” Heather says, looking every bit as angry as I am. “Get out of my house, and never come back. You’re not welcome.”
Dylan encloses his arms around me, rubbing a hand up and down my back while Heather escorts her outside. “Calm down, Dimples. It’s pointless getting worked up over her.”
“I can’t believe you paid her off! We could’ve taken out restraining orders.”
He tips my chin up. “Yes, but that wouldn’t have stopped her. She’d have found other ways to torment us. This way, she’s gone for good.” He smooths his thumbs along my furrowed brow. “Don’t be mad, Dimples. This was the best way I could protect you and our son. She’s out of our lives now, and that was worth every cent.”
Four days after the Bianca meeting, Dylan had another seizure, a more serious one this time, and he ended up hospitalized for a few days. His medical team told us to prepare ourselves and confirmed time is running out.
Even though I’m furious with God, and questioning whether he even exists, I still pray every night. Begging him to keep Dylan alive long enough to meet our son.
Dylan threads his fingers through my hair as I’m curled up beside him in bed. It’s hard for him to get downstairs now, so I spend the majority of my time in his room these days.
For a while, we were sharing a bed again at night. Nothing sexual happened, because Dylan has respected my wishes and it’s at the point where he wouldn’t have the stamina anyway. Apart from the odd few kisses, and the fact Dylan is dying, we are basically back where we started—as close as two friends can be. Sleeping beside him has been comforting for both of us. I’m less anxious knowing he’s close, and he gets to sleep with his arms around my expanding belly. Every night, without fail, he speaks to my belly, talking to our son with so much love and adoration in his voice it chokes me up. And every morning, the first words out of his mouth are “Good morning, beautiful, and how’s my precious son today?” He says this while showering kisses on my belly, and it’s hard to keep my emotions in check.
I’m so grateful I made the decision to defer college and move in here. I wouldn’t have missed these last few months with Dylan for anything. And I’m glad my pregnancy has been plain sailing. While I’m suffering a little heartburn right now, and sleeping is quite uncomfortable, I really have very little to complain about.
“I’ve been thinking about names,” Dylan says, breaking through my reverie.
It’s only four weeks until my due date, and we haven’t agreed on a name yet. It’s hard sometimes to focus on baby stuff when Dylan’s condition takes up most of our time. Now that Rowena is here, we have more time to discuss the important stuff.
Dylan insisted on hiring a nurse when he began to need help with bathing and using the toilet. He refused to let me or Heather assist him and I understand it. He wants to hold onto his dignity for as long as he can, and it’s easier to let a stranger help with those things.
I cried myself to sleep the night we had that conversation, cursing God and cursing cancer. I’ve so much hatred, anger, and frustration locked up inside me that I worry I’m going to self-combust one of these days.
“What were you thinking?” I ask, lightly resting my hand on his bony chest.
“What about Billy Paul Woods?”
My throat swells, and it’s difficult to speak. “I love it,” I croak, after a bit. “Naming him after both our dads is perfect.”
“Are you sure, Dimples? Don’t just agree because I’m dying.”
That makes me angry. “Don’t you dare say that to me! I would never concede on something so important unless I was in complete agreement, and you can’t say that to me, Dylan. Not ever. Because I’m trying so fucking hard to be strong for you and that, that … you saying that breaks my heart.” Tears fill my eyes, and I can’t work out if they are angry or sad tears. Probably a bit of both.
“I’m sorry.” He holds me closer. Well, as close as we can get with my monster belly in the way. “And it was uncalled for.” He presses a weak kiss to my cheek. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, but I’m worried you’re bottling all your feelings up inside. We need to face facts, Gabby. I’m dying, and we both know I don’t have long left.”
“I don’t want to be selfish, Dylan. I can’t admit what I’m feeling.”
“You can tell me, babe. I guarantee everything you’re feeling I’m feeling too.”
As soon as he gives me permission, the floodgates open. “I hate that you’re leaving me and I’m so angry. At you. At God. At life.”
“I was angry too, but it’s a pointless emotion. It won’t give me back my life, and I don’t want to waste the time I have left. I’m so grateful I got to spend these last few months with you.”
I draw a shuddering breath. “Well, you’re clearly a much better person than me, because I hate God for giving me such little time with you. I’ve researched it, and some patients with GBM survive for years! And you’ve only had a few months. It’s not fair.”
“I know, babe. It isn’t fair, but there’s nothing we can do to alter it.” He leans his head on mine. “What else?”
“I’m scared you won’t be around to see our son being born.” My voice shakes, because this is my biggest fear right now. “I want you to meet Billy. To get to hold him. Even if it’s only one time.”
“Fuck, Gabby, I’m terrified of missing out on that, and I promise you I’m going to hold on. I’m going to meet our son. Trust me. I will hold Billy in my arms, even if it’s with my dying breath.”
I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, hoping to ward off the tears threatening to fall. “I trust you, Dylan, and I know you’ll keep your promise.”
“I’d like you to do something for me,” he whispers.
I look up through damp eyes. “Anything. I’ll do anything for you.”
“I want you to let Slater attend the rest of your appointments, and I want him to support you through the delivery.”
I blink several times, resisting the urge to tug at my earlobes, sure I must have heard that wrong. “What?”
“Don’t get mad, but I’ve spoken to Slater about this, and he’s happy to be there for you, if you’ll let him.”
I’m shocked into absolute silence. Both that the boys were talking behind my back and that they seem to have reached some kind of agreement. I don’t know how to feel about it. I’m a third mad, a third happy, and a third confused.
“I know this might seem strange,” Dylan continues. “But he loves you, and I trust him to take care of you. We both know I can’t be there for you, and I don’t want you to do it alone, Gabby. Let Slater do this. Let him hold your hand and help you through it.”
I tell Dylan I need a day to think about it, and I force Myndi to come to the house the next day for lunch, because I need to bounce it off someone. To run through the pros and cons. She confirms Slater asks about me all the time, and she encourages me to go for it. After some further internal debate, I agree, even if I’m scared of doing it too.
Letting Slater adopt some kind of pseudo-father role is dangerous because I don’t want to raise his hopes only for me to let him down again. He deserves so much more than I can offer him right now. I cannot even consider what my future holds, beyond making plans to care for my child.
Slater shows up on Thursday to drive me to my appointment, and I’m as nervous as a ninth grader starting high school when I see his SUV pull up to the curb outside. “That’s my ride,” I tell Dylan, stepping away from the window.
He smiles. “Relax, Dimples. It’s only Slater.”
“I’m not nervous,” I lie, bending down to kiss his forehead.
“Message me the minute you come out.”
“I will. See you soon.” I blow him a kiss as I close his bedroom door.
Slater is talking with Heather when I waddle downstairs. He stops talki
ng mid-flow when he spots me. We stare at one another, and I feel my cheeks turning hot as his gaze rakes over me. It’s been months since I’ve seen him, and he’s still as jaw-droppingly gorgeous as ever. My heart thumps ecstatically, and my body is dancing a tango, both clearly forgetting the memo: the one that says he’s no longer mine to swoon over. I give himself a quick talking to and smile at him. “I know, I look like a hippopotamus squeezed into this dress, but most of my maternity clothes are way too tight, and I simply refuse to waste money buying more when it’s so close to my due date.”
Slater’s lips kick up, and my pulse races. “You’re cute when you’re babbling.”
I roll my eyes, and Heather smiles, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Good luck at your appointment, and text me the second you get out.”
“I’ve already promised your son the very same thing. Don’t worry. I will.”
Slater takes my bag without asking, placing his hand on my lower back and urging me forward. “Don’t worry, Heather. I’ll look after our girl.”
Warmth from his hand heats me on contact, and my body tingles in anticipation. It’s been so long since my lady parts have had any action I tremble at the slightest touch.
At least, that’s the excuse I tell myself.
“For the record,” he says, as soon as we are outside, “you’re the most beautiful pregnant woman I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s only because you haven’t seen that many,” I instantly retort.
He laughs while helping me down the steps. “A rephrasing is clearly in order.” He turns me around so we’re facing one another. “You’re beautiful, Belle, even more so with that beautiful new life growing inside you, and you should never doubt that.”
My lower lip wobbles as pregnancy hormones strike again. “Damn, Slate. You can’t say stuff like that to me. Not when I’m all hormonal and I cry at the drop of a hat these days. I even cried watching The Bachelorette the other night, and that’s just plain embarrassing.”
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” he quips, unlocking his SUV. “And I’m not going to lie. If you look beautiful, I’m gonna tell you you look beautiful. It’s as simple as that.” He helps me into my seat, before running around the car and sliding behind the wheel.
“Thank you for doing this.”
“It’s my pleasure. I meant it when I said I wanted to help, and this is in no way a hardship.” He maneuvers the car out on the road.
“Well, I appreciate it. And I’ve got to say I nearly keeled over when Dylan told me you two had spoken. What I wouldn’t give to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.”
“I was pretty shocked myself, but I’m glad he reached out to me even if you didn’t.” He glances briefly at me as he takes the next junction, heading toward the highway.
“You know why I didn’t, Slate.” I pin earnest eyes on him.
“I do, and it’s fine, Belle. I’m just glad to be here now.”
The next couple weeks roll by, bringing us closer and closer to the two big impending events. It’s hard to get excited about the birth when Dylan goes downhill with every passing day. Heather cries herself to sleep every night, and her anguished sobbing destroys me, but I can’t cry. I’m in this kind of hazy bubble, where I’m aware of the ticking clock but it’s like it’s not real. I know it’s a form of denial, but I’m doing whatever I can to survive.
This particular night is a huge test in self-control. Dylan has been throwing up relentlessly even though there’s barely any contents in his stomach to expel. And he’s angry and aggressive even though he’s weak. I felt the need to intervene when I heard things being thrown around the room.
Rowena was on the verge of tears when I forced her to take a break. Now I’m sitting beside Dylan, listening to him rasp and curse and scream while sweat rolls down his face and bile dribbles from his mouth. Every time I try to blot the sweat from his brow or wipe the vomit from his chin, he swats my hand away. “Get out, Gabby! Just get out!” he yells. “I want to be fucking alone.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I fucking want you to leave me alone,” he roars with more strength than I’d expect. His body may be failing him, but that old Dylan Woods tenaciousness still lingers in his tissues.
“Well, tough, because I’m not going anywhere.”
“I want Rowena.”
I push my hurt aside. “Rowena needs a break, Dylan. She’ll be back soon, and then I’ll leave.”
“You don’t understand.” Sobs wrack his thin frame. “I hate that you have to see me like this.” His chest convulses as tears deluge his face. “I don’t want you to remember me like this.”
I can’t stop my own tears from falling. “I know, baby. I know, but don’t push me away. I love you, and I will always remember you the way you were before you got sick. You don’t need to doubt that.”
“I don’t want to die, Gabby,” he sobs, and my fragile heart cracks a little more. Dylan hasn’t ever admitted this so bluntly. He’s been so strong and so accepting, and it’s difficult to hear this. But he let me vent before, and he needs to get this out. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to miss out on my son growing up. I fucking hate this!”
I rest my head on his chest, sobbing along with him. “I know, Dylan. I don’t want you to go either.” He rests his quivering hand on my back, and we cry together. My heart is so full of anguish it almost feels like I’m dying too.
Gradually, our sobs subside, and we just lie there like that, holding one another, both consumed with agonized thoughts.
“I’m sorry, Gabby. That was selfish of me.”
I look up at him through tear-stained eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize for how you’re feeling.”
“It’s weak, and I don’t want to add to your load. I already know how hard this is for you and Mom.”
“Dylan. Expressing your innermost thoughts isn’t weak. You are the most incredible man I’ve known. The way you’ve carried yourself throughout this is nothing short of inspirational. But you’re only human, and it’s not wrong to feel like this, and you shouldn’t be afraid to offload on me. I love you.” I take his hand and press a kiss to his palm. “I love you enough to handle it.”
“I’m so lucky to have had you in my life, Gabby. I hope you know that. Loving you has been the very best part of my existence. I know our son will grow up loved and cherished by an amazing mother, and that helps me deal with this.”
“I promise I won’t let him down. I will do my very best by him, and I’ll make sure he knows who his daddy is too. He may not have the chance to get to know you in person, but he will know how amazing you are.”
“I have every faith in you, babe.” He pats the empty space beside him. “Come lie with me. I promise I’m done shouting and throwing things.”
I lie down beside him, and his hands gravitate to my belly. “There is something important we haven’t discussed, and I think it’s time.” I probe his eyes. “You know I stopped believing in God the night my dad died,” he starts explaining, and I nod. While I wouldn’t quite call Dylan an atheist, I know he’s struggled with his beliefs for years. Heather turned to her faith after her husband died, while Dylan chose the opposite path. “And I sure as fuck don’t believe in him now. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t have a funeral or be buried. I was tempted to leave instructions in my will telling you to throw a big party instead, but I can’t do that to Mom.” He stops to draw a breath. Talking for long periods tires him out all too quickly.
I run my hand over his smooth skull while he gathers his strength. He likes me doing that or so he says. He closes his eyes briefly, and a little contented sigh slips out of his mouth. After a couple minutes, he opens his eyes, smiling. “I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you too.”
He takes my wrist, bringing it to his mouth and planting a
soft kiss on it. “I’ve made arrangements for my funeral and burial. It’s all taken care of you, so you won’t need to worry. My attorney, David Weston, has all the details. I decided it doesn’t really matter what I believe or what I want. Funerals aren’t for the dead. They’re for the living.”
“I’m sure that will be of huge comfort to your mom.”
“I hope so, because it’s mainly her I’m doing it for.” He rests his forehead on mine. “I know it’s not easy for us to sleep beside one another anymore, but stay with me tonight?”
I look into his eyes, and all I see is the boy I grew up loving. I can look behind the pallid skin and the sunken eyes that have lost their sparkle and see the boy who twirled me for hours on the dance floor at prom. The guy who carried me for miles uphill the night I sprained my ankle. The man who made sweet love to me all night long the first night we got the keys to his condo. And there are a whole host of other memories lying in the back of my mind as I look at him.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” I say, snuggling into him and closing my eyes.
Chapter Forty-Two
The following evening, my water breaks, and it hits me that this is finally happening. I’m sitting on the chair in Dylan’s room, waiting for Slater to get here, trying to keep my panic contained. I’m not due for another eighteen days, and I’m worried something is wrong.
“Come here, baby,” Dylan rasps, removing the oxygen mask from his mouth momentarily. He pats the space alongside him, and I perch my fleshy ass on the corner of the bed. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much,” I semi-lie. I’ve experienced far worse pain with my endometriosis, but I know these achy waves rolling through me have the potential to reach epically painful proportions.
“How far apart are your contractions?”
“About every twenty minutes.”
“Okay, so that means you’re still in early labor.” Dylan ingested books on pregnancy and parenting the first couple months after we found out, so it’s no surprise he’s well informed. “There’s plenty of time to get to the hospital, and Slater just messaged me to say he’s only ten minutes away.”
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