Page 59 of Better as It

I manage a weak smile. “Guess adrenaline only goes so far.” Then it all goes black.

I wakeup to the sterile white of a hospital room and the beeping of machines I hoped I’d never hear again.

Dia’s standing at the foot of the bed, arguing with a nurse.

“I’m not getting checked until you check him. I’m fine. The baby’s fine. You check him.”

I let out a hoarse laugh. Her head snaps toward me. Relief floods her face, then frustration right behind it.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she snaps, walking over.

“I told you not to worry.”

“You’re pale as a damn ghost. You could barely stand. You haven’t eaten in days.”

“They’ll give me Jell-O here I’m sure,” I joke weakly.

She glares. “Not funny.”

Then her expression softens. She climbs onto the hospital bed, big belly and all, and curls beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Your cell counts are dangerously low,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead to mine. “Your immune system’s tanked. You can’t keep skipping treatment and not hydrating.”

“I didn’t mean to.” I give her a look. “Kind of had my mind on other things. Everything just moved fast.”

“I need you to fight,” she says, voice cracking. “Not just show up. You can’t save me if you don’t kick cancer’s ass. I need you. Stay.I need you to stay.”

Her words take me back to one of the early nights, me picking her up.

We’re on her porch. The silence between us is thick. I take one step backward. Inside I’m challenging her to invite me in, outside I’m trying to find the strength to walk away.

Dia stands there in front of me, leaning against her doorframe. Her expression is soft but not unreadable.

“You always this quiet?” She asks with curiosity dancing in her eyes.

I shrug, “not always. Just, when I’m thinking too much.”

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

I look down, then back to her. “You,” I tell her the truth.

Her breath catches. I hear it, sharp and light. Then she lets out a nervous laugh, “that’s dangerous, Hellion.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I retort.

She leans her shoulder into the frame a little more, shifting and settling in for something, “try me.”

“You really want the truth?”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.” She has fire in her. A quiet, burning confidence. Not a fake bravado, but a real soul deep acceptance of who she is. It’s sexy as hell.

I run a hand through my hair, debating what is too much to share with her. “I think about how easy it would be to mess this up. To say the wrong thing, make the wrong move. Cross the line.”

“What line?” she whispers.

I step up closer. We’re inches apart. I’m not touching her. God, I want to, but I don’t. “The line that keeps you safe from me.”

There is a pause. Her mouth parts, then closes without her speaking. She studies me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to sort the pieces of. “Do I look scared of you?”

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