Page 75 of Stuck with Mr. Grump

A shiver rolls through me. It’s like I already know even before she says anything. You can always tell when something’s about to break your heart.

My chest tightens. “What’s wrong?” I ask gently.

“I have cancer,” she whispers.

The first thing I feel is a rushing through my ear. Disbelief pulses through me, followed by the need for it not to be true.It’s a good thing I was already sitting because I don’t think I have any control over any of my limbs at the moment. I stare at Marissa, dumbfounded, as she continues.

“Pancreatic cancer. I was already at Stage 3 when it was discovered. I found out a couple months ago, which is why I left. My dad has a friend in Germany with a hospital that was founded primarily for treating my form of cancer. I’ve been getting treated all this while, radiation therapy and chemotherapy.”

I exhale harshly, trying and failing to come to terms with everything she’s telling me. Marissa’s always seemed so strong, unbreakable. Hearing this breaks my heart.

“But you’ll be okay, right? You’re getting better?” I ask hopefully.

Marissa shuts her eyes with a slight shake of her head. I watch as a tear slides down her cheek.

“The doctors said the cancer’s progressed. I don’t think I have much time left, Sterling.”

My jaw tightens. “Hey, don’t say that,” I say forcefully. “You’re going to be okay. I wish you’d told me about all this from the jump, but you’re here now. You have Sean and me. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to help you, alright?”

“You sound like a knight from all those fairy tales,” she says on a smile.

“And that makes you, what? A troll?” I drawl, trying hard to ignore the fear spreading through my chest.

She laughs. “You’re a jerk. I missed you so much.”

I stand then, settling down on the bed next to her. She allows me to pull her into my arms, holding her body to my chest.

“You did so well on your own. I’m proud of you,” I say quietly.

“I’m scared, Sterling,” she whispers, hugging my waist tight.

“I know. I’m scared, too. But we’ll face it together. I promise.”

It takes me approximately a day to stop feeling numb. To start facing the reality of my new situation. In that one day, I’ve managed to come up with a plan of action of some sort. I’ve worked out the first steps and I’ve started making preparations.

Sean got to see his mother on his birthday, just like he wanted, and he was so happy about it. Marissa and I have come to a decision not to tell him anything yet. We’re going to let him be happy with his mom for as long as he wants. And if things don’t get better, we’ll try to explain what’s going on. But I’m optimistic that things will turn out alright.

It’s funny; I’ve never thought of myself as optimistic until now. Nothing’s ever worked out the way I wanted simply because I wished it to be. But with Marissa, I hope with every single thing in me that things will turn out okay. Because I’m not sure how I’ll be able to handle it if they don’t.

Not surprisingly, after making all my plans and preparations, the next thing on my mind is seeing Emilia. It’s 9 p.m. when I hear the door to the bar being opened. I smell her before I see her.

Her scent surrounds me, something I’ve become so accustomed to. Same as her voice, her smile, that cute snorting sounds she makes sometimes when she laughs. Every sense in me is wired to her, reacts in her presence. I don’t understand why. But I’m glad that she’s someone who can make me come alive.

Emilia places a purse on the stool next to me, and when I glance at her, her blue eyes are peering at both me and the bottle of whiskey in front of me.

“I’m start to think you’re an alcoholic,” she mutters.

I chuckle. I’m very aware that alcohol’s a terrible coping mechanism. But it’s what I always turn to when I feel my life derailing. Thankfully, I don’t get that feeling too often. But twice in two months isn’t really something I’m happy about. Especially because it feels like Emilia only gets to see the worst of me.

“Hey, angel,” I say softly. “You look beautiful.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Are you already drunk?”

“No, I just got started. And you seriously need to learn how to take compliments,” I state.

She shrugs. “Compliments make me feel like a person is trying to get me to take my guard down.”

Would that be so bad?I want to ask. But instead I smile. “Only you, Cameron.”

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