"It's my choice."
"Right." Nixon nodded. "And I get that, believe me, but sometimes our choices aren't just about us — but the people that love us, the people that have to stand by and watch us suffer."
"He doesn't love me."
Nixon said nothing.
I squinted, waiting for him to agree with me.
Instead he shrugged and walked out.
Well, that was helpful.
****
Two hours went by.
And then three.
Around eight that night, Sergio finally returned. He held two small cups in his hand.
No words were exchanged. Instead, he put both cups on the tray and moved it to where I could reach then sat in the chair.
He handed me a spoon.
And dug into his own cup.
Ice cream.
I vaguely remembered him promising me ice cream.
Guilt slammed into me as I grabbed my spoon and then my cup and started eating.
The hum of the TV and the beeping heart monitor were the only sounds emitting from the room. It may as well have been nails on a chalk board.
"So," I said finishing my ice cream. "You were gone a while."
"Yup." He eyed the TV.
"Thanks for the ice cream."
"I keep my promises." His gaze still didn't leave the TV.
"Look." I took a deep breath.
Sergio held up his hand, finally turning toward me. "Let's not do this."
"But—"
"No." Sadness filled his eyes. "I know what you're going to say."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yup… you have that look. May as well paint guilty across your face. It's the same look I saw on Nixon earlier. He told you. Now you know. Whatever."
"That's not what I was thinking." I lifted my chin in defiance.
Sergio's mouth tilted into a small smile. "Oh? Enlighten me."
"I was thinking about the kiss," I blurted.
Sergio's smile quickly turned into a cocky grin. "Were you now?"
"It's probably why I got dizzy and passed out," I pointed. "Your fault."
"So…" Smile gone. "…my kiss makes you sick?"
"That backfired," I grumbled.
He let out a humorless chuckle. "Andi, what do you want?"
Loaded question.
I wanted so many things.
I wanted to live. I wanted to hope that a transplant would work. I wanted to see what this thing was between us. This attraction that neither of us were actually admitting to.
I wanted to kiss him again.
I wanted him to want to kiss me.
"It's not rocket science, Andi. Just tell me right now, in this moment. What do you want? More than anything."
"You know how long it's been since anyone has actually asked me that?"
Sergio moved until he was sitting next to me on the bed.
I acted on instinct and reached for him.
"I want to hold your hand." The scary words were out before I could stop them. I always expected an irritated reaction out of Sergio.
But this time, he reached for my hand and interlocked his fingers, then brought my hand to his lips, kissing it gently. "That, I can do, Andi."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sergio
SEX REMINDED ME OF NUMBERS. It was mechanical; no love needed to be present. It simply existed to bring pleasure, and once the pleasure was done, you parted ways.
It was easy.
Not hard.
It made sense to me, a simple cause and effect; your body physically reacted; therefore, your hormones demanded you respond.
This whole time, out of sheer paranoia, I'd been avoiding sex with her, avoiding something that would bond us physically, something that would tie us together even more than we were already bound.
What I hadn't realized…
What I hadn't factored in…
Was the simple gesture of holding her hand.
The minute our palms pressed together, our fingers linked, something snapped inside of me.
I'd later come to realize it was that moment.
Not just any moment.
But the moment I fell for Andi.
And as our hands clenched, something inside of me shifted, my heart pounded a little faster, my breathing was a little quicker, and I realized, Nicolai, had been right.
Because my heart was invested.
And I knew it was only a matter of time before that investment turned on me.
Before the simple act of holding her hand would bring about a chaotic destruction I wouldn't be able to protect myself from.
He 'd been right.
The Russian bastard had been right.
Because I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that at the end of our time together, I was going to ask him — no, I was going to beg, on my hands and knees if necessary — to take the pain away.
To take the searing loss I'd feel.
When she left this life.
When she left me.
When I was without the sun — without her.
I glanced at her sleeping form. We had to stay in the hospital overnight. I knew the doctors wanted to monitor her. I also knew firsthand what their expressions meant. They were grim, hopeless, the same look my mom's doctor had had.
Unable to sleep, I picked up her chart and read through it again. She was on a list, but I knew unless a miracle occurred, she wasn't going to be getting any transplants soon.
A perfect match.
That's what she needed.