Page 55 of Write Me For You
I inched closer and kissed him again. I wanted him to get things off his chest.
“I was naive, Junebug.” Jesse swallowed hard. “I was never going to be able to play for UT next season, not even if the treatment had worked during phase one.” He sighed. “I’m so depleted of strength and energy. Especially now the immunotherapy isn’t working.”
“Yet,” I added.
“Yet,” Jesse repeated, a curl of his lips telling me his emotional fog had lifted a touch.
I released one of his hands and pressed mine against his cheek. He turned into my touch and kissed my palm. My heart fluttered. “Jesse Taylor, you are the most incredible boy I have ever met.” He smiled a fraction more. “I believe that, even if playing next season is not in the cards, you will work hard to make the season after happen.”
He sighed. “I’ll be put on the injured list, and will have to work so hard to get off it.”
“We will get you through this.”
“We?” Jesse said, peace settling over him.
“What?” I questioned.
“You said we,” he said.
I smiled at him and melted when one of Jesse’s dimples popped on his cheek. “Of course,” I said. “It’s group two for the win, remember?”
I lifted my hand and held it out for a fist bump. But Jesse covered my fist with his hand. His smile fell and, imploring me to listen with his gaze, said, “I get so sad sometimes.” My stomach fell. But he was just putting into words what I hadalways suspected. I nodded at him for him to continue. “It’s rejection, Junebug. I just don’t handle it very well.”
“It’s understandable,” I assured. “You’ve been through so much.” Jesse blinked away tears, but a few escaped. I leaned over and kissed them away.
“It swallows me. The guilt of not being able to do what I’d dreamed for my mom and my sisters. So much that my doctor back home put me on meds for depression.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I said, voice stern. “A lot of people with cancer struggle with their mental health. We are constantly thinking and talking about dying, Jesse. That’s not an easy thing for anyone to cope with.”
Jesse nodded. “I think…” He paused. “I think today, seeing Matthew Banks—the guy I was talking to—it just hit me.”
“What did?”
“That my plan that I’ve had for so long won’t work. Even if we go into remission in this next phase, my body has been through a lot. Maybe too much to achieve those dreams.”
“Jesse,” I said, shifting so close we shared the same air. “I haven’t known your mama that long, but I can tell you, with one hundred percent certainty, that all she wants is for you to be happy. If that means still working to achieve your football goals, great. But if it doesn’t, I guarantee she would support that too.”
“I know,” Jesse said, body relaxing like he was releasing what looked like years’ worth of stress.
I leaned in and kissed him. I could taste salt on his lips from his tears. When I pulled back, I said, “I love you without expectation. I love you with all my heart because you are the sweetest, kindest boy I know.” I smiled. “You make me laugh and show me that life is more than I thought it was. I adore you. And I don’t care what you do with your life as long as I’m beside you.”
“You will be,” Jesse said, and I heard the truth of those words all the way down to my soul. “It’s you and me, Junebug. It’s youand me forever.” He kissed me again. “I love you. Please forgive me for pushing you away.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I said, and pulled my comforter over us both. We stared at one another until sleep began to pull us away.
And when Jesse fell asleep first, he seemed lighter somehow, but my heart felt the weight of all he had been holding. His father leaving had thrust him onto a path no child should have to travel. But I decided to make it my mission, for the rest of our lives, that I would be his reprieve when he put too many expectations on himself. I would be his gravity, grounding him, and I would be his sun, chasing away the dark clouds that would inevitably come.
I would be the girl who would cradle his heart until my very last breath—and even beyond.
CHAPTER 17
Jesse
“You ready for this next round?” Susan asked.
“That depends,” I said. “You got the sick buckets ready and waiting?”
“You know it,” she said, untying the tourniquet from around my bicep and placing my blood samples away for testing. Round two of immunotherapy began tomorrow. And I was as ready as I’d ever be. June had gone to see her parents in the parents’ residence while I got all my vitals checked and my blood taken. After our talk the other night, I felt better. I’d allowed myself to take some of the weight off and justbe. That, and I’d arranged to start talking with Michelle, the on-site psychologist. It couldn’t hurt and it was probably long overdue.
