Unbroken Promises: a friends to lovers romance

by Nikki Ash

  On the way back, I think about Cole and Xander being without a family, and how even though there’s a chance I might not live a long time, I could be their family. Plus, my parents always wanted to have more kids but couldn’t. It took them over ten years just to have me. I bet they would really like Cole and Xander. I’ve only just met them, but I already like them a lot. So, when we pull back up to my barn, I tell them what I’ve been thinking. “I know you live with the Carson’s and we just met, but if you want, I can be your family, and I bet my parents will like you too.”

  Neither of them say anything at first, and I’m afraid what I said was stupid. But then Cole smiles and pulls me into a hug, and Xander nods, and I’m not sure but I think they’re both my family now.

  Once Xander parks the UTV in the shed, I try to say goodbye but they insist on walking me back to my barn. When I ask them if Mrs. Carson will care that they’re out this late, they both laugh and say that as long as they don’t get into trouble, she doesn’t care where they go or what they do. Her only rule is that they must be home before bed, and apparently their bedtime is way later than mine because it’s already almost ten o’clock and they don’t have to be home yet. According to Xander, Mr. and Mrs. Carson have five other foster kids to look after, so they don’t have time to watch their every move.

  “This place is really cool,” Cole says, eyeing my haybed.

  “If you lay down on it, you can see the stars,” I tell him. Cole and Xander lay down on my haybed, and I watch the two of them look up at the dark sky. For not being related, they look similar. Like me, they both have brown eyes and brown hair. The only difference is, where Xander’s and my hair is light brown, Cole’s hair is darker—closer to black. They’re both the same height, and I’m shorter than both of them.

  “Hey look!” Cole yells. “A shooting star!”

  “What?” I fall onto the haybed next to him, trying to see it before it disappears, but I’m too late. “Darn it.”

  “What’s wrong?” Cole turns his head to face me.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head to emphasize my point.

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s stupid.”

  “Tell me and I’ll tell you if it’s stupid.”

  “Fine.” I huff. “Every time I see a shooting star, I make a wish.”

  “What do you wish for?” Xander asks from the other side of Cole.

  “I don’t want to say because then it might not come true.” Tears build up in my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away, not wanting the boys to think I’m a baby.

  Cole stares at me for a moment before he says, “I don’t think that’s stupid, but you don’t have to tell us. I think I know what you wish for anyway.”

  “We better go,” Xander says, and the boys both stand.

  “Are you going to school tomorrow?” Cole asks. Tomorrow is the first day back to school after winter break and everyone will be returning but me.

  “No, I’m stuck being homeschooled because I get sick too much.”

  “How long will you be sick for?” Cole asks.

  “I have to do chemo for five more months. So if I’m still alive when it’s all done, I’ll go back to school next year.”

  “Cool,” Xander says.

  Cole walks closer to me. “You’re not going to die.”

  “How do you know?” I ask. He’s the first person to ever say that to me since I found out I have cancer. My doctors can’t say it because if I die, they can get in trouble for lying, and my parents never say it because they don’t make promises they can’t keep.

  “Because you’re my family now.” He shrugs. “And there’s no way God would kill more of my family.”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works,” I say, trying to remember what our pastor says at church every Sunday. He’s old and speaks really loud and fast, and usually I fall asleep during the service—until my mom nudges me awake and glares.

  “Well, I think it is,” Cole insists, and this time I don’t argue.

  Both boys climb down the ladder and tell me they’ll see me tomorrow. I don’t really think they mean it, but the next day when my mom isn’t looking, I steal some more blankets and pillows from the hall closet, and after having one of my dad’s ranch hands bring some more hay up to the second level, I make two more hay beds, placing them right next to mine.

  The next night, both boys show up just as they said they would, and when they see I have three haybeds, they each lay down on an outside one. Cole is technically laying on mine, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I lay down on the middle one between them. We spend the night watching for shooting stars, talking about their first day of school, discussing who their teachers are, and which kids are cool and which ones to stay away from. Xander is the same age as Cole and me, but because his birthday was in the beginning of the year, he’s a grade ahead of us. Even still, I know more people than he does since he’s only been living here for the last year while I’ve grown up in this town. My parents have the biggest cattle ranch in Brenton, and my grandparents own a bunch of stores in town.

  While we’re hanging out, I have to get up a couple times to throw up, but neither of them say a word about it. They stop talking while I throw up, and once I’m done and lay back down, they go back to talking like nothing happened.

  And this pattern continues every night for the next several months. Even on the nights when it’s too cold for me to be out in the barn, they sneak in through my bedroom window and hang out in my room with me. We usually watch television or sometimes a movie. While my parents never mention the boys sneaking into my room, I know they know they’re there. Mom always makes sure to leave leftovers in the fridge, and she never says anything when they’re all gone by the next morning. Dad doesn’t comment on the fact that there’s a ladder outside my bedroom window, and even though that same ladder was always stored in the shed, now it stays against the side of the house.

  One night when they come over, I tell them to go away. So much of my hair has fallen out that my mom felt it’s time to shave it. She bought me some wraps to cover my head. They’re pretty and in a bunch of different colors, but they don’t make me feel any prettier.

  “What? Why?” Cole asks from the top of the ladder.

  “Because I’m bald and ugly!” I cry out.

  The boys come up anyway. “You might be bald, but you’re not ugly,” Cole says.

  “And plus, your hair will grow back,” Xander adds.

  The next night when they show up, both of their heads are completely bald. None of us say a word but it makes me love them even more.

  When the chemo is over and I get to go back to school, we continue the same routine. The three of us are inseparable. It doesn’t matter if we’re at school or at home, we’re always together. They’re there the day I find out the cancer is gone, and they’re there the day we celebrate six months of me being in remission.

  The years pass by, and we grow up. Xander starts high school, and a year later, Cole and I follow. Both of them play basketball, and I cheerlead for their team. The guys have their friends, and I have mine, but at the end of the day, nobody comes before my boys, and I know they feel the same way about me. We’ve created a friendship that I know will stand the test of time.

  chapter three

  Delilah

  Present Day

  “Get in the water, Delilah!” Cole yells. He’s waist deep inside the lake and is trying to splash hard enough to get me wet, but it’s not working because I made sure to position my blanket far enough back so I won’t get splashed. Brenton Lake is located in a deserted field just outside of town. It’s where everyone comes to swim and party on the weekends. There are probably two hundred kids here with us celebrating our birthday, which is pretty much our entire Junior and Senior Class. Most are swimming and some are laying out in the grass. A few are dancing to Luke Bryan—who’s singing about kicking the dust up—which is blaring from someone’s truck speakers. And I’m pretty sure a bunch of teenager
s are in their vehicles or hidden in the fields, making out.

  Usually I would be in the water, but today I’m laying out on my blanket staring up at the sky. It’s not quite dark enough yet to see the stars but it will be soon, and I have a bunch of stars I need to wish on tonight. The song changes to If I die Young by The Band Perry, and I force myself not to cry. Clearly the person singing this song never experienced the real possibility of actually dying young, because if she had, she wouldn’t want to wait for people to know her thoughts until after she was gone when she could tell them how she feels while still alive. But then again, maybe she doesn’t have all the people I have in my life who want to hear me. Maybe she’s alone and scared that nobody will be interested in what she has to say until after she’s gone. How sad.

  “What has you so quiet?” Xander asks, sitting down next to me. He has a beer in each hand and offers me one. If the parents knew what their kids get into out here, they would skin us alive, even though they all did the same thing growing up. It’s the life of a small town.

  “Just thinking,” I say, taking the beer from Xander. “How’s school and basketball going?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “I love it. I love living in the dorms and playing basketball every day. There are parties happening all the time. The classes are kind of hard, but I’m handling it. I can’t wait for you and Cole to join me.”

  My head falls against his shoulder as I try to imagine what it will be like if I make it to Texas University. “You know I’m here to help you study,” I point out. Xander has always had a difficult time in school, but I’ve always been there to help him along the way. I hate the thought of him forty minutes away and struggling.

  “I know, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and I can feel his lips press against my hair. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “It’s probably nothing, but Dr. Morton ran my blood like he does every year, and usually that’s it, but this time he requested more blood and a CAT scan. So now I’m worried that my cancer might be back.”

  “And if it is, we’ll handle it together, the three of us, just like we did last time.” I love how much of a realist Xander is. If I were to tell Cole how I’m feeling, he would promise me it would all be okay. Xander just promises he’ll be there.

  “C’mon!” Cole yells, walking over to us. “Get in the water!” He reaches down and cups the water, splashing it at us.

  “Okay! Okay!” I yell, putting my beer down. “I’m coming!” After taking my shirt and shorts off—leaving me in my red bikini—I grab Xander’s hand and pull him up. He’s already in his board shorts sans shirt, so he drops his beer into the sand next to mine and lets me lead him into the water.

  When we’re deep enough, I dunk down under the water and come back up, brushing my wet hair out of my face. I look up just in time to see it, a shooting star. Closing my eyes, I make my wish, and when I reopen them, I see Cole eyeing me. He knows there is only one reason I wish on a shooting star.

  “I’m so sorry, Delilah. I know this is a lot to take in, but we have a plan put together to help you beat this.”

  Breast cancer. I’m eighteen years old, and I have stage two breast cancer. According to the oncologist, only one in a million teenage girls get breast cancer, and of course, I’m that one. I tune out Dr. Morton while I think about how two weeks ago I was celebrating my birthday with my friends, and now I’m being told I have breast cancer. Everything I had planned for my senior year won’t be happening anymore. I can’t cheer when I’m sick, and really, who wants to watch a bald, sickly girl shake her pom-poms anyway. I can’t party because being around crowds of people will only hurt my chances of beating the cancer when I end up sick with an infection, and drinking alcohol is a definite no-go. The ski trip that the guys and I wanted to take during winter break, and the road trip we mapped out for spring break, won’t be happening. For one, my parents will never let me out of their sight, and even if they did, I have to stay away from public places because my immune system will be messed up. Now, the only thing my Senior year will consist of is me trying to stay alive and—

  “...single mastectomy.”

  My thoughts are interrupted at those two words. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

  “We’ll need to do a single mastectomy.”

  “I’m only going to have one breast?”

  “Sweetheart,” my mom coos. “You can have breast reconstruction done, but the important thing is that we get rid of the cancer.”

  I’m aware of how extremely vain it sounds to be worried about losing a breast when I just found out I have cancer, but I’m an eighteen-year-old teenager who’s about to have a breast removed my Senior year of high school. It’s bad enough I’ve been known around this town as cancer girl my entire life, the last thing I need is another reason to stick out like a sore thumb.

  “How long will I have to go with only one breast?” I ask Dr. Morton.

  “You’ll be able to schedule the reconstructive surgery after the chemotherapy is over. The treatment plan we’ve put together will start with surgery. We’ll go in and remove the breast and cancer. Once we’ve confirmed it hasn’t spread to any other parts of your body, we’ll schedule chemotherapy. You’ll come in for your IV every other week for six months.”

  “Chemo again?” I question, my hand coming up to my hair. The hair I’ve spent the last four years growing back and it’s only just below my shoulders.

  “Yes, we feel taking an aggressive approach is the best option, especially since this isn’t your first time with cancer.” When he says ‘we’ he’s referring to his team. While Dr. Morton is my main oncologist, there is also Dr. Burger and Dr. Stone. The three of them have been my doctors since I was diagnosed with cancer when I was twelve, and they’re who I see every year to get checked to make sure the cancer hasn’t come back. Now they’ll be the doctors who hopefully make it go away once again.

  “What are my chances of surviving?”

  This time Dr. Burger answers. “You know we can’t answer that as everyone is different, but statistically, the five year survival rate for a woman with stage two breast cancer is about ninety percent.”

  “So, I still have a ten percent chance of dying.”

  “That’s a very low percentage,” my dad says encouragingly, but it doesn’t help.

  “I had a one in a million chance of getting breast cancer, and I have it,” I point out, and the room goes quiet.

  “When’s the surgery?” I ask.

  “We would like to schedule it as soon as possible.” Dr. Morton looks at his computer. “I have Monday open.”

  “This coming Monday? Like in three days?” A lump forms in my throat, and my breathing becomes labored as I come to the realization that in three days my entire life is going to change, again. Three days isn’t enough time to prepare. Abruptly, I stand and the chair hits the wall.

  “Delilah?” My mom turns to face me, her voice laced with concern. I glance around the room at my parents and doctors, and my hand comes up to my throat as I fight to take in oxygen.

  “I need...” I struggle to speak. “I need to go.”

  “Sweetheart.” My mom stands.

  “Please,” I say, pleading for her to understand. “I just need time to process this.”

  “Okay.” She reaches over and pulls me into her arms for a hug. “We’ll be at home when you’re ready to talk.”

  My dad stands and, pulling me out of my mom’s arms, brings me in for a hug. “We love you, kiddo.”

  I nod into his chest before I back away and run out of the office. I sprint down the stairs then out of the building. I don’t stop running until I get to my car. I drove to the doctor’s office myself since I’m supposed to meet Cole afterward for dinner. I turn the ignition on and take off down the road. My mind is racing and my heart is thumping against my chest. I have cancer again. I beat it once, but what are the chances of beating it a second time?

  “Damn it, God!” I scream. “Why me?” I
hit the steering wheel with my palm so hard I feel the pain radiate up my arm. My tears fall in bucketful amounts down my cheeks as I drive to my safe place. At one point, I’m crying so hard I can barely see, but I can’t stop driving. I need to get to the barn.

  When I finally arrive, I throw my car in park and run inside. “Cole! Xander!” I yell. I wasn’t planning on meeting them here, but I was hoping to find them here, which is stupid since they don’t even know what’s going on. Xander is most likely at school since he lives in a dorm on campus, and Cole is probably at home waiting for me to go to dinner. The barn is quiet as I climb up the stairs and throw myself onto the large haybed—what used to be three separate ones, over time has turned into one large one that we share. My cries get harder, more out of control, as I think about everything I might not live to see or do: going on my first date, going to prom, graduating from high school, going to college. I might never get married or have kids. Oh my god! There’s a chance I’m going to die before I even experience my first kiss or have sex! I’m not sure how long I’m crying for when I hear my name being called.

  “Delilah.” I can barely see Cole through my blurry eyes, but I feel him pick me up and place me in his lap, just like he did two weeks ago when he told me it would all be okay. Right before I went to the doctor and they asked to run more bloodwork and do a CAT scan. When I was done, I came back here, celebrated our birthdays, and tried to pretend like I wasn’t worried. Three days later, they did a biopsy on my breast, and now it’s been confirmed.

  “How did you know I was here?” I ask through my sobs.

  “Your mom called me. She was worried about you and asked me to find you and make sure you’re okay, but she wouldn’t tell me why.”

  “I have cancer again,” I whisper against Cole’s neck, and I feel his hold tighten around me. “I didn’t tell you before, but when I went to my appointment, my blood test came back abnormal, so they did a CAT scan. They found a lump in my breast and biopsied it, and it came back positive for cancer. There’s a chance I’m not going to live.” I pull my face back and look into Cole’s angry eyes. I can see the unshed tears he’s holding back as he glares at me.