Somehow.
I stood from the table. “You’re the best boss in the world, John, but I’m gonna stand you up today.” I coughed a little. “Gotta take a few days off.”
“Told you you didn’t need to work while you’re—”
“I’m not an invalid,” I snapped. “Not yet, anyway. I want to work…just not when I’ve fucked up and need to fix it.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m docking your pay.”
I smiled at his joke. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Marching to the back door, my legs filled with nervous energy. I’d woken this morning with an itinerary of fertilizing and weed-killing the back pastures. Nothing on that agenda said I’d finally have the guts to tell the love of my life I was dying.
But I couldn’t keep lying anymore.
I had another treatment next week. Depending on how well it went, I’d be tested to see if I’d responded. Either good news or bad…I wanted Della to be there.
“Before you go.” John lugged his bulk from the chair and moved toward the shelf where Patricia had grabbed the sex education book for an eight-year-old Della all those years ago. Pulling an envelope free, he came toward me. “No arguments, Ren. None, you hear me?”
I eyed him. “Depends…what is it?”
“I know you’ve been lucky enough to enter an off-label trial for your age group. But we don’t know how long that’ll last.” Shoving the envelope into my hands, he muttered, “This is for after. Just in case.”
Tearing it open, I didn’t find cash like I had on my first pay packet.
Instead, I found a contract.
A contract written up between Cherry River Farm and me, its employee.
John had found a way to pay for my treatment by legally making me his worker—someone who now paid tax with a notable salary. Someone who could receive healthcare.
My eyes met his. “How many times are you going to meddle in my future, John?”
He chuckled. “As many times as it takes.” Patting my shoulder, he nudged his chin at the door. “Go. Find your girl. Make it right between you.”
“This discussion isn’t over.” I shoved the contract into my back pocket. “I’m not putting you in debt. No matter how you word it in fine print.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go.”
I gave him a final look, amazed that in my short life I’d been victim to the worst of evil and son to the best of them.
Stepping outside, I squinted against the rays of fierce sunshine. Yesterday, it seemed as if winter would never leave, and this morning, spring had well and truly kicked its ass.
I hoped the nice weather stuck around for a while because where we were going, we’d have enough to deal with to worry about snow.
Jogging into the barn, I tried not to get my hopes up that my usual breathlessness was better today. That I hadn’t coughed as much. That the ache had faded somewhat.
I’d had two treatments of Keytruda, and, so far, I was lucky.
Barely any side effects and if possible…already some signs that the experiential immunotherapy was working.
Please, please, God, let it be working.
Tossing the gear we’d need into one backpack, I ensured we had water and snares and my knives were sharp and ready. Slipping on a black jacket that had seen better days, I hoisted the backpack onto my shoulders and made my way over the cobblestones to our one bedroom.
The Wilson’s guest bedroom was all well and good for now, but soon I’d need to figure out a way to give Della the house she deserved. A home of our own…before it was just hers.
Opening the door, I caught Della perched on the end of the bed dressed in her riding gear. Jodhpurs that clung to curves and a tweed coat that brushed her thighs.
Her hair was plaited down her back with her blue ribbon in a bow at the end. “Ren.” Guilt echoed in her tone as she slammed the laptop closed and tossed it onto the unmade sheets beside her. “What are you doing back so soon?” Her eyes travelled over me, making my body harden. “And why do you look like you’re going camping?”
“Because we are.” Moving toward her, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her from the bed. “What were you looking at?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes narrowed with her lie.
“Were you researching something?”
Her head tilted. “Should I be?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how much you already know.”
She gasped. “Are you going to tell me what I should know?”
My heart pounded. “I can’t keep lying to you.”
Tears welled in her gaze. “Does that mean I can stop hating you?”
I walked into her, slotting her body against mine. “I think it will only make you hate me more.”
She flinched, burrowing her face in my chest.
Squeezing her tight, we shared a hug full of sadness before I coughed gently and ruined it.
Her eyes met mine as I pulled away, reaching for her hand. “We need to talk.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Her tongue licked as a tear rolled past her lips. “What if…what if I’m not ready? For weeks, I thought I was. I’ve been so angry that you’ve lied…but now?” Her face drained of colour. “I don’t know if I’m ready, Ren.”
Kissing her sweetly, I stared into her, wishing I could protect her.
Wishing I could change our future.
Wishing I could stop this.
“Let’s go home, Della Ribbon. And then…we’ll talk.”
*
We set up the tent in silence.
The once familiar tasks a little rusty as we grabbed nylon and inserted poles.
Firewood had already been collected. A snare already set. Our camp as homey as I could make it.
The tent was the last thing, and the minute it was up and pegged securely to the ground, I spread out our yoga mats and made up a sleeping bag bed.
Della didn’t enter the tent. She drifted around the camp with an aura of loss and fear, kicking at pine cones and tugging her braid.
I let her drift because I needed the camp to be as perfect as I could before I told her…because once I did? Nothing else would matter.
Time was no longer relative.
Some days dragged with hazards and peril—every second doing its best to remind me that I no longer had the privilege of old age. And some days flashed past with peace and positivity—every heartbeat doing its best to assure me that I could beat the timeline the doctors gave me.
I’d been in Keytruda forums.
I’d read miracles and tragedies.
I aimed to be a goddamn miracle because there was no way I could leave Della yet. She was still so young; so pure and perfect. I didn’t want to be the reason she faded and found life anything less than extraordinary.
Once my chores were complete and I had nothing left to distract myself with, I looked up to where Della hovered.
It was as if she knew before I spoke a word. And I was stupid to think she didn’t. So idiotic to believe she hadn’t figured out something was wrong…seriously fucking wrong.
The forest became thick with everything we couldn’t say. Birds quietened. Trees stilled. Time itself slowed so we stood in a nucleus where nothing could touch us.
Her gaze shouted, her body swaying a little in disbelief to whatever she saw on my face.
Finally, when the strain grew too much to bear, I spread my hands in surrender with a dismal shrug. “I’m so sorry, Della.”
I expected a fight.
She was angry and hurting and, whenever those two emotions combined, she was vicious. But instead, she folded in on herself as if some beast crumpled her like a discarded piece of manuscript—erasing part of our story, deleting all the chapters that could have been.
With the softest, saddest cry, she broke into a run and slammed into my arms.
I stumbled backward, holding her, hugging her, stabilising both of us as her heart pounded against mine.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I murmured into her hair. “How I thought I could protect you from this. Please…forgive me.”
She shook her head, face wedging against my shoulder. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tell me. Don’t make it real.”
I sighed, pressure banding and pain throbbing. “It’s real. Whether I tell you or not, it’s real.”