Page 55 of Laugh

Marcus doesn’t open his eyes, but the side of his mouth tilts up in a small smile. “You’re never gonna catch me,” he mumbles, forcing a half laugh, half sob out of me.

I’m shocked at how quickly the hospital staff moves after I charge in, completely panicked and crying for them to help me.

Over dramatic much? Probably.

Did I randomly check myself to make sure I wasn’t covered in blood by the looks of panic on their faces? Sure fucking did.

Do I regret it? Absolutely fuckingnot.

Within ten minutes, we’re shuffled to one of the triage rooms and I tuck myself into the corner to stay out of the way. As they ask Marcus and me questions about his symptoms, I grow increasingly upset over the fact that I don’t know any of the answers because he hasn’t told me anything. For the most part, the questions are centered around his nausea and headaches, and they are quick to get him hooked up to an IV so he can get some fluids for his dehydration.

When the questions turn more specific and unexpected, I pull out my phone to take notes. This way, when I speak to his parents, I’ll be able to fill them in. It’s almost like the doctor and nurses are trying to gently lead him toward something, but I don’t know what they’re looking for. Probably why I’m not a damn doctor.

When Marcus answers the last question, my head lifts to stare at my friend in shock.

“Is there anything else that’s been going on that we should know about? Even if you don’t think it’s related to this?”

Marcus looks away from everyone, even me, when he answers, “I have a spot on the inside of my thigh. It’s gotten a little bigger since it showed up.”What the fuck? What spot?Quickly racing through my head, I can’t remember when his legs have been bare recently. Marcus has always been a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. He despises summer for the heat and much prefers to stay inside where it’s always cold.

“Do you mind if we see it?” the doctor asks.

If Marcus had any color in his features, I know he’d be blushing right about now, especially when he looks over at me. The doctor follows his gaze and asks, “Would you like her to step out while we check you over?”

My friend shakes his head, and instead of answering him, he says to me, “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you, Harry.”

Swallowing hard against the bile that’s stinging the back of my throat, I let him know without words that it’ll be okay. The moment the sheet is pulled back, and they shift his leg to the side to take a look at the spot, I realize I’m going to be sick.This is more than a little fucking spot.

He has a massive tumor that I’d guess is close to the length of my hand there, and the shock on everyone’s faces makes my head spin. Stepping up next to Marcus, I grab his hand and work the hardest I’ve ever had to in my life to get my words out.

“I’m going to step out while they check you over and give your mom a call. Is that alright? I’ll only be like ten minutes.”

Squeezing my hand hard, he begs me, “Don’t let her go to my place. I don’t want her to see it like that.”

Shaking my head hard, I promise, “I swear I won’t. I’ll take care of it tomorrow and Saturday. They’ll never know. I’ll be right back.”

He nods once, so I let him go and pull away as the doctor asks, “Marcus, I’m sure that this is the source of what’s causing all the other concerning symptoms. I’d like to know how long this has been here.”

I shut the door behind me after I hear Marcus’s answer, and immediately start sobbing into my hands.

“Four years… I think.”

Chapter 21

I’ll Fix It…

Beau

My ringing phone pulls me from the much needed, deep sleep I had sunk into. Squinting one eye open at my alarm clock on my bedside table, I groan into my pillow when I see it’s barely 7:30 in the morning.

Jensen better have a good fucking reason for waking me.

Getting a day to sleep in is rare, and he knows the mood I was in last night when we all headed home. Especially after an awkwardly cheerful dinner where my mom did her best to keep the conversation going. My father only grunted out curt responses and glared at me.

Grabbing my phone, I keep my face pressed into my pillow and mumble out a garbled, “What the fuck do you want, Jens?”

“It’s Addie, not Jensen.”

That wakes me up quicker than I thought I was capable of. “Addie? What the hell? What’s going on?”

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