Page 45 of Buried

And just like that, I was lost in him. A complete fucking goner.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Adelaide

Hitching Axel higher on my hip, I pushed open the door to Tristan’s room near the back of the clubhouse. He was having another one of those days I remembered his sister having all too well.

The days where he could barely find the energy to get out of bed.

It had been almost four months since Tristan had informed me and River of his condition. I was getting hopeful. He didn’t seem that sick, even though he was in stage five of his cancer. River had him religiously going to cancer treatments, even if the doctors weren’t optimistic. Hell, even River and Joey had managed to talk Tristan into handing over his cut and giving Jesup the reins on what was left of the Sons of Death so he could focus on getting better.

I was hoping with every fiber of my being that Tristan could beat this.

Tristan slowly opened his eyes when I opened the door to his room. He gave me a small smile, holding his hand out to me.I quickly moved toward him, placing my hand in his. My belly was swollen, preventing me from getting too close to him. I was honestly due any day now. My due date was only a couple of days away, but my doctor had a feeling that I was going to go past it. Jaxon wasn’t settled correctly yet.

Being stubborn just like his damn father.

“You should eat something,” I told him, watching as he only shut his eyes again.

“I’m not hungry, Addy,” he told me gruffly. “I just want to sleep.”

I sighed, taking a seat on the bed beside him as I held Axel on my knee. Without opening his eyes, Tristan settled his hand on my belly. Jaxon nudged his hand. “Tristan, not eating isn’t going to help you keep any energy,” I reminded him. The cancer treatments really fucking drained him.

He groaned. “It’s only feeding the fucking cancer, Addy,” he told me, his tone harsh. I sighed, staying silent. “It’s killing me anyway,” he grumbled after a moment.

I frowned. “Don’t talk like that,” I scolded. He slowly opened his eyes. “You can’t leave me, Tristan.” My voice broke as a lump lodged itself in my throat.

“I’m sorry, Addy baby,” he whispered.

A tear slid down my cheek. Reaching up, he brushed it away. “I wish I had done shit differently, even if you still ended up with River. Joey got it, but I never did. I never wanted to. Now, your memory of me will always be tainted with the pain that I caused you.”

“No,” I choked out, shaking my head. “You gave me so much hope and light when we were younger, Tristan,” I reminded him,more tears sliding down my cheeks. “There were plenty of happy moments between us. This shit between us… it’ll never taint those memories.”

The door opened again, and River’s large frame filled the doorway. He shook his head at me and stepped into the room. Leaning down, he brushed my tears off of my cheeks. “Don’t cry, darlin’,” he crooned.

I sniffled. He leaned down and lightly brushed his lips with mine. “Easy,” he soothed. I nodded my head and reached up to wipe at my eyes. He straightened and looked at Tristan. “Come on, Grim. Up off the bed. Reina hasn’t been barking orders at the women about breakfast for half the morning for no damn reason.”

I stood from the bed, and River pressed a kiss to my temple. “Go eat,” he told me before he looked down at Tristan again. “Come on, Tristan. Get the hell up.”

Tristan huffed and sat up, coughing as he did so. It was a bad cough, too. His whole body shook with it, his chest rattling, and his face screwed up in pain. I stopped on my way to the door, worry clenching my chest.

River nodded his head towards the door. “Darlin’, go,” he coaxed. “I’ve got him.”

With a sigh and a clenched jaw, I left the room, worry settled deep in my bones for Tristan.

I hadn’t heard him cough like that before, and now, I was worried that he had been leading me to believe he was still mostly okay.

Because a cough that bad? That meant the cancer was worsening.

Right then, all of my hope rushed down the drain.

Chapter Thirty-Three

River

As soon as Adelaide stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her, Tristan snatched the trash can from beside his bed, spitting out blood into it. I grimaced and shoved my hands into my pockets. “How much longer do you have?” I asked as he set the trash can back down and ran his hands down his face.

Tristan shrugged. “Doctor is giving me a month. Two if I’m really lucky,” Tristan told me. “But he said a month is probably wishful thinking. Lung cancer of all fucking things.” Tristan shook his head. “I don’t even fucking smoke.” He released a bitter laugh. “What a fucking way to go out.”

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