Page 117 of My Best Years

But I’m completely zoned out.

I can’t focus on anything other than the achingly beautiful man walking toward me, looking completely shattered.

Nothing about his posture or expression gives me solace.

He looks defeated. Hopeless.

Water droplets collect in his midnight-black hair before trickling down his curls and splashing against his smooth skin. His gray T-shirt is soaked, sticking to his skin like a glove and outlining the ridges of his chest and abs. The muscles in his arms extend as he rotates between flexing his fingers at his sides and balling them into fists.

He’s getting completely drenched but doesn't seemto notice or care. Instead of running to get inside the dry car, he walks intentionally slowly, as if he’s trying to avoid reality for as long as possible.

Whatever news he just got inside Dr. Sharpe’s office is eating at him from the inside out. It’s written all over his face. I already know it’s bad.

My heart sinks to my stomach as bile rises up my esophagus. I dig my fingers into the leather seat and breathe through my nose, trying to tame my nausea.

Get your shit together, Birdie.

You need to be okay for him.

You have to be strong for patients every day. You can be strong for him. You have to be strong for him.

I’m somehow able to put on a subtle smile as Callum reaches for the driver's door and opens it. I sit up straighter as he drops his large body into the car and shuts the door with thud. The earthy aroma of rain fills the small cab, smelling of moss and damp wood.

I used to love the smell of rain.

I fear it will now be the scent I hate the most.

Aside from the rhythmic sound of our breathing and the pattering of rain, the space between us is quiet and still. Callum hasn’t looked at me since he got in the car. He keeps his gaze fixed forward, staring out of the blurred window.

My chest constricts when he lets out a choppy breath and rests his forehead against the steering wheel. My hand trembles as I reach across the car and run my fingers through his wet hair.

I’m not sure why, but I don’t speak. I just feel like Callum needs my silence right now. No questions or prodding. He just needs me here while he processes whatever news he just received.

I lose track of time, caught off guard when he finally speaks.

He mutters two words that shift my world on its axis. The breath escaping my lungs comes out shallow and quick.

“It’s MS,” he says weakly with his head still against the steering wheel.

My heart shatters into a million pieces when I hear the crack in his voice.

“Cal…” I breathe. My brows furrow with heartache as I massage my fingers down the back of his neck and into his hair.

“I have Multiple Sclerosis,” he says out loud for the first time.

Jesus Christ.

I tighten my fingers in his silky hair and lean across the console, placing a lingering kiss to his temple.

It’s been a while since I’ve read about MS in my textbooks, but off the top of my head, I know that it’s a chronic condition that affects the central nervous system. Basically, your immune system starts to attack your nerves, causing symptoms such as muscle spasms, weakness, numbness, fatigue, and so on.

Even though the condition is very serious, I know that with the right care, it’s possible for people with MS to live a normal lifespan. It’s not always a death sentence like other neurological diseases.

As a person with a career in the medical field, my first thought is for Callum to get a second opinion. I’m sure Dr. Sharpe is fantastic, but with any serious diagnosis, it doesn't hurt to have it confirmed by another doctor.

And if he does get that confirmation, we will find Callum the right care. The absolute top-notch medical team. I don’t care how much it costs or how far we have to travel. He will have nothing less than the best.

There are so many things I want to tell him right now. I want to tell him that everything is going to be okay. I want to tell him that even though this news is devastating, the diagnosiscould be worse. That people with MS can live long and healthy lives. I want to ask if he’s open to getting a second opinion. I want him to know that there are treatment options that can relieve his symptoms and prolong his life.

---