Page 110 of Three Hockey Hotties

“That has always been my greatest fear,” my mom says. “That it would come back. That we would have fought so hard, given it so much of…everything…and it wouldn’t matter in the end.”

Same. Exactly the same. This is why I called her.

I kick off my shoes, drop onto the couch, pulling the throw blanket off the back and draping it over me, huddling underneath.

“That was absolutely the scariest time of my life and the idea that it could start all over again is unimaginable,” my mother goes on. “Even thinking about going through all of that again…” She gives a heavy, sad sigh.

“He was only ten,” I say. “He was young when he went into remission. That should’ve been enough.”

“That’s what the statistics tell us,” my mother agrees.

“But it can still come back,” I say, unnecessarily. None of the “good” statistics are one-hundred-percent.

“Of course it can,” my mother says, not mincing words. “But you are well past the window where there’s a good chance of that,” she adds.

Those are her first encouraging words, and I take them seriously because my mom doesn’t say things only to make me feel better. She’s right.

“I know,” I say quietly.

“I don’t know what I would do,” she says. “It’s so damned hard to watch someone you love be sick and hurt.”

A heaviness settles over me and presses in, and I let it.

If I got sick again, I would have to tell this woman that her greatest fear has come true. That she would have to relive those years all over again. That everything she gave the first time—money, energy, time, her relationship with her other daughter—was for nothing.

And now I would have to tell three of the best men I have ever met the same news.

I know that Dash, Kane, and Benjamin love me. And that means that my cancer returning would absolutely break their hearts. I know watching me get sick, go through treatment, and not know what might happen would be so hard on them.

I think about the past few weeks. All the happiness we’ve experienced. All the fun. The laughter, love, sex. All the plans we’ve made. Like Thanksgiving.

I could shatter all of that.

I could make Benjamin’s house a place full of sadness and fear and pain instead of happiness and contentment and hope. The kitchen countertops could be covered with medicine bottles instead of the wine we drink on the patio at sunset, and the fancy olive oil Benjamin and I used for cooking pasta the other night, and the strawberry sauce we used for a very fun, sticky sexcapade on that same kitchen counter after dinner.

The couch where I was just cuddling with Linda and Benjamin could become where I lie sick after chemo, where they nurse me instead of fuck me.

I cover my face. I could ruin everything.

“I’m so sorry about your friend,” my mom says after the silence has stretched for several long seconds.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice choked.

I hear her sigh. “No one should have to go through that. I’ll be praying for his mother and father.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” I admit.

“There’s no ‘supposed to’ about it,” my mom says. “However you’re feeling is the right way to feel.”

We’re quiet for another few seconds.

“Do you want to come home to visit?” she asks.

I think about that. “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

Right now, I feel like I just need to be alone.

“Well you know you’re always welcome. I love you.”