Page 2 of Lose You to Find Me

Inhaling deeply, I let out an unstable breath and slowly start shaking my head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Caleb.”

No matter what, I’m going to break his heart. Whether it’s now or ten years into the future.

With a glassy gaze that I fight, I stare down at the gorgeous ring that I want so badly to be wearing on my finger right now.

Despite the crack that becomes bigger and bigger in my own heart, I whisper, “I can’t.”

Chapter One

CALEB

Lingering eyes watchme as I walk down the narrow hallway dimly lit by fluorescent lights. One of the rectangular fixtures flickers, making my eye twitch until I force it still and ease my tense facial features. I’m exhausted though. Tired of saving face and trying to act like my world isn’t about to collapse around me.

It’s day four in the new unit.

Same group of overworked nurses.

Same grumpy, elderly oncologist.

Same distraught, teary-eyed mother.

Consoling her has been nearly impossible, but it doesn’t stop me from trying. If there’s anybody who deserves to be bitter with the world right now, it’s Denise Anders. After thirty-six years of marriage, she’s going to have to say goodbye to the man she’s considered her soulmate from the day they met.

I can’t even pretend I understand what it feels like to lose the love of your life, because I’m not sure the girl I thought was mine ever was. Not after how easily she gave us up.

I’m so sorry, Caleb. I can’t.

Three months later, and those words still haunt me. You’d think after nearly a decade together I would have known what to expect from Raine. Specifically, the three-letter word to the question I’d been wanting to ask her for a long-ass time.Y-E-S.

Turns out I didn’t know shit about the freckle-faced redhead.

“They know,” Mom says under her breath, peeling me away from my pitiful thoughts. She muffles her soft sniffle with the tissue I passed her when we entered through the sliding doors of the hospital. Her eyes go to the staff as we pass by them. Sad, sympathetic smiles flash in our direction, only adding to the anger festering inside me.

I want to rip those smiles off their faces. Every single one. “They don’t know anything,” I tell her as she blots her reddened, puffy eyes. They’re the same color brown as mine, but the tears have made them darker than the bags resting under them. “Miracles have happened before.”

Do I believe it’ll happen here? No. Dad’s brain cancer was diagnosed too late and spread too quickly. A week and a half ago, we were told by the oncologist that all they could do is make him as comfortable as possible at this point.

The door is ajar when we approach it, and I see the same pretty nurse, Emma, on morning rotation taking his vitals. He’s awake and talking to her, a tired smile on his face that somehow still manages to meet his eyes, especially when he turns to see Mom and me enter the room.

“You’re here,” he greets in a hoarse voice. He coughs into the fist that isn’t hooked up to tubes and wires, shooting an apologetic look to the petite raven-haired girl documenting his vital signs on the computer.

Mom instantly walks over, pecking Dad’s temple before brushing her hand through the stubble of hair growing back from where they needed to shave his head for surgery. It came back whiter than ever. Dad said that if he grows out a beard, he could play Santa in the town’s next Christmas parade.

What none of us bothered to say was that we aren’t sure he’ll make it that long. I think he knows that too, but that’s Dad. Always making plans. Always optimistic.

“Hey, old man.” I walk over and clasp his hand, not squeezing nearly as hard as I want to. He returns the gesture, his strength not even a third of what it used to be. The man who would always amaze me as a child for being able to loosen rusty bolts, rebuild car engines, and spend hours in the hot sun helping Great-Uncle Joe with hay season on his farm now amazes me for something completely different.

For simplybeing hereand fighting.

That’s all he’s done since they found the tumor on his head scan.

Dad looks between Mom and me. “Did you eat something before you came? The food here is awful, but sometimes Emma”—he shoots his nurse a playful wink—“sneaks in snacks and leftovers from the break room.”

My eyes go to the girl in question, but she won’t meet my eyes. Instead, Emma focuses on finishing up what she came here to do before rolling the computer into the corner. “You’re all set, Mr. Anders. I’ll check in on you later.”

Mom doesn’t notice the small wave she offers them, but I do. I look at my parents for a moment, who are already lost in murmured conversation, before I slip out the door after her.

“Wait up,” I call out, jogging over to where Emma has stopped. She’s fidgeting with the badge clipped to the breast pocket of her pink hospital scrubs. “Hey,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Look, I’m sorry about the other night. I got pretty swamped at the store, and by the time I closed, I was exhausted.”

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