I suck in air. “I know,” I say, pressing my face back into her stomach.
I’m such a fucking idiot. Why did I have to say that about the song? It’s important to her, so it should be important to me. And it is.
Her hand comes back to my hair, her fingers slipping into the strands. “We’ll get our song one day,” she says softly.
“No.” I turn my cheek back to her stomach. “You’re right. It is ours. It might not be perfect…but it’s ours. Only I can’t sing it to you because I don’t know all the words.” I grin.
Laughter falls from her lips, and my heart feels light again.
“Play it to me?” she suggests.
Sitting up, I get my phone from my pocket and find the song in my playlist. I press play and set my phone on the bed beside her. Then, I lay my cheek back on her stomach, and I stare up at her face while our song plays.
“What changed your mind?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes come back to mine, and I know I don’t need to elaborate because I see the understanding in them. She knows I’m asking about having the surgery.
“You. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after you left. The things you said. And my heart…she’s kind of weak when it comes to you.” She smiles sadly. “Also…Eddie came to see me.”
“Eddie?” I sit up. “He came to the hospital to see you?”
“About an hour after you’d left, he turned up. He said he was due to start his shift. Wanted to check in on me. See how I was doing.”
“And what else did he say?”
Her eyes come to mine. “He told me that he knew…what I was planning to do.”
“I’m sorry.” I push a hand through my hair. “I was a mess. I needed someone to talk to. Cam and Eddie are my best friends.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind that you told them. It was the truth.”
Was being the operative word, thankfully.
“So, what did Eddie say?” I ask, laying my head back down on her stomach.
Her hand comes back down to play with my hair. “He didn’t beat around the bush. He was pretty straight to the point, but that was okay because I think it was what I needed.” She blows out a breath. “He said that we all die someday, under different circumstances, and he asked me why my day had to be today—figuratively speaking. He knew that I wanted to be with my family, but he said that my family would want me to live, and that…I would be with them one day. It just didn’t have to be right now. That I had someone here, who loved me.” Her eyes soften on mine. “And he said to be loved by you…that was worth fighting for. Life was worth fighting for.”
My throat feels all choked up. “What else did he say?”
“Not much. He left soon after that.”
I don’t care that Eddie’s words were the turning point for her. I just care that she changed her mind. I guess, sometimes, it takes someone on the outside to make you see sense.
Guess I owe Eddie a pint. Or maybe his own private jet.
“After Eddie left, I couldn’t get his words out of my head and all the things that you had said to me…knowing that you love me. And knowing that I love you and you didn’t know…I just had to see you. Tell you that. I guess…” She bites her lip. “I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced that I wasn’t still going to go through with it…but then, when you walked in and I saw you standing there, I just knew that I couldn’t leave you again. I know that makes me selfish.”
I lift my head. “Wanting to live isn’t selfish.”
Her head tips back, her eyes going to the ceiling.
“Babe, what happened to your family…it wasn’t your fault. You have to know that.”
She exhales a sad breath. “I want to believe that…and I hear everything that you’re saying…but I just don’t feel it in here.” She touches her hand to her chest, over where her heart lies.
“After you lost your family, did you talk to anyone?”
She brings her eyes to mine. “Like a therapist?”
“Yeah, like a therapist or a grief counselor.”
Turning her face to the window, she shakes her head.
She’s been struggling through this alone for all this time. The thought of her alone and hurting kills me.
“Boston…I think talking to someone who understands these kinds of things would be a good idea. I saw a grief counselor after my mum died. It helped me a lot.”
She blows out a tired-sounding breath. “Yeah, I guess I could talk to someone.”
After the surgery and she’s better, I’ll arrange for her to see a therapist. I will do anything to help her.
She takes a breath, and it sounds shaky.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I hear tears in her voice, and it guts me.
“For not telling you I was sick right from the start.”
She turns her face back to mine, and I see those tears shimmering in her eyes.