Page 71 of Write Me For You
“I’ve got an Uber coming. Two minutes,” Chris said, and pulled me along to where it was picking us up. I heard an ambulance in the distance and wondered if Jesse was in it.
“June, listen to me,” Cynthia said. “I’ll call ahead to the hospital and tell them you’re coming. I won’t be able to get there until tomorrow and he needs someone with him. I’ll get you permission to be by his side.” Her voice cracked, and it causedmy numbness to break and fear to race through me. “You okay, sweetie?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, just as a white SUV pulled up beside us. “We’re leaving now.”
“Call me as soon as you know anything,” she said.
“I will,” I whispered, hanging up as Emma pushed me into the car. We set off, and it only took me a few minutes to realize the radio was the commentary of the Longhorns game.
“We’re waiting on any word from the Longhorns on the status of quarterback Jesse Taylor…”
Tears built in my eyes, and Chris leaned over to the driver and said, “Can you turn the channel, bro?” The driver did what he said, but I noticed his curious glances.
“He’s gonna be okay,” Chris said, reaching across Emma squeeze my hand.
“He is,” Emma said, linking her arm with mine. “It was probably just tiredness or overexertion.” They were trying to make me feel better, but none of us were saying what we were all thinking—that his cancer might be back.
Dr. Duncan had said 50 to 85 percent chance of relapse.
The traffic to the hospital made it take forever, and by the time we got there, all my darkest thoughts were filling my body with dread. I was terrified of walking in there and being told he hadn’t made it.
“June?” Chris said, and I realized I was standing, unmoving, in the entryway.
I shook my head, and tears fell from my eyes. “What if he’s not okay?” My feet were rooted to the spot. I couldn’t move. “He’s the love of my life, Chris. He’s my everything.” I looked at my two friends. “What if he’s not okay?” My voice shook. “What if it’s back, only this time it takes him from me?”
“We can’t think like that,” Emma said, but I heard the concern in her voice.
“We have to go in and see how he is,” Chris said, holding out his hand. I felt like if I took his hand that would make all this real. And if I didn’t, this would just be a bad dream that I would wake up from. “June,” he said again, only ripping me from my fear when he said, “he needs you. Jesse needs you.”
My feet began to move then, and the sound of the hospital engulfed us. Chris spoke to a receptionist, and I briefly heard him mention my name, but I just held onto Emma, trying to keep it together.
“We need to have a seat while they find out what’s happening,” Chris said, and led us to a nearby couch. “I’ll get us coffee,” he said, and walked away to a vending machine.
“Are you okay?” Emma said. When I shook my head, she put her arm around me and just stared at the doors that seemed to lead deeper into the hospital.
Chris came back with coffee, but I let mine go cold in my hand. It felt like we waited forever before a man in a white coat came toward us. My eyes widened when I saw it was Dr. Duncan.
He headed straight for us. “Chris, Emma, June,” he greeted.
“Is he okay?” I whispered.
Dr. Duncan regarded me silently, then said, “Please come this way.” My heart beat so fast, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Then it hit me: Dr. Duncan was here—it had come back. Jesse’s cancer had come back.
I didn’t realize I had stopped until Dr. Duncan turned around and said, “Please, come this way, Miss Scott.”
My palms were sweaty as I followed him down a hallway. It took so long it felt like a marathon until we arrived at a door. Dr. Duncan walked inside, and a sob tore from my throat when I found Jesse in a bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He was no longer in his football uniform; instead, he had on a hospital gown and an IV of fluids in his arm.
At my cry, Jesse’s gaze snapped to me, his eyes filled with sorrow. “Junebug,” he rasped, and I ran to him, throwing myself over where he lay. I looped my arms around his neck and vowed to never let go. He wrapped me up in his strong arms and held me back. I felt wetness on my neck and pulled back to see he was crying too.
“Jesse?” I said, a question in my tone.
Jesse nodded, and I collapsed against on his chest, holding him again.
It was back. The cancer was back.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t lose him. We were just getting started. And, oh God, I had forced us into a break; I had wasted precious time not being by his side.
“June,” Jesse said, and rubbed my back. I lifted off him, and Jesse motioned with his head to the foot of the bed.
