Page 102 of I’m Already Gone

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, we couldn’t let her tackle that all on her own.”

He nods appreciatively, taking a slow sip of his beer. “So, how’s Lily holding up?”

“She seems to be doing okay. Better than me, honestly.” I scoff, the sound tight in my throat as I bring my beer bottle to my lips and take a long swig. The cold liquid is a small comfort.

Marcus nods slowly, his brow furrowed. “Man, I’m sorry. I really wish this wasn’t happening to her. To any of you.”

I nod back, a heavy knot forming in my chest. “Yeah.”

“How does it feel being back with them?” Marcus asks, popping a chip into his mouth with a crunch.

A genuine smile breaks through the gloom. “It feels… freaking fantastic, man.” I take another drink.

Marcus grins. “I got to be honest, I didn’t think she’d let you stay at her house.”

My smile fades as I lower my head, my fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle.

“Yeah, me either. Believe me. But I’m so damn grateful she gave me the chance to stay.” I look up at Marcus, and my expression softens. “But God, it kills me to see her so sick, man. It kills me that I can’t hold her like I used to. To comfort her the way I know she needs me to. How can I be so close but feel so far?” I shake my head slowly, turning back to my beer, staring into the amber liquid as if it holds all the answers I desperately need.

“Have you talked to her about how you feel?” he asks.

I nod, still not looking at him.

“And?” he probes.

I meet his gaze. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes me. “She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no either.”

I hope she realizes that all I want is to be by her side. Forever.

The comforting scent of cookies and popcorn still hangs in the air as I enter the house. I nudge the door shut, then secure it and activate the alarm.

Removing my shoes, I walk further into the house, my steps hushed, and a smile begins to form as I glimpse the living room. A fortress of blankets and pillows is scattered across the floor, illuminated by the soft glow of a night light.

Maddy is curled up beside Sam on the floor, and Ollie is nestled close to Lily on the chaise. My heart clenches at the thought of disturbing them, but Lily always gets cold at night.

I walk over, my steps light, and gently pull the blanket higher, tucking it snugly around them. I know I shouldn’t kiss her, not when I’m trying so hard to keep my promise to not push her, but I can’t help it. I lean down, pressing my lips against Ollie’s head, then move to Lily. My lips brush her forehead, and I let them rest there for a moment, just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin against mine and to breathe in her scent. Reluctantly, I pull away before the urge to scoop her up and carry her to my bed, to hold her close all night, becomes overwhelming. My gaze drifts to Maddy, and I place a kiss on her forehead before stepping back.

The living room feels too full, too heavy. I need to breathe.

I retreat into the kitchen, flicking on the small light above the oven, and pull a bottle of water out of the fridge. Twisting the cap off, I toss it onto the counter and take a long, desperate swig.

Suddenly, it’s like a physical weight drops onto my chest, crushing me. A wave of despair so profound it steals my breath away. Tears pour out of my eyes.

I stumble toward the counter, and my hand trembles as I set the bottle down. A quiet sob escapes, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably, unable to bear the weight of these feelings that are powerful enough to bring me to my knees.

My Lily. Why is this happening to her? This wasn’t supposed to be her story. Not her, not us. I gasp, trying to catch my breath, when two hands rest on my back. I don’t need to turn. I know it’s her. My Sunshine.

I glance at her from the side, my vision blurred by tears, and see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes as she takes me in.

I can see it, clearer every day, how much the cancer is slowly taking her away from me. Her skin is so pale now, almost translucent, with dark, bruised shadows beneath her eyes, and she’s lost so much weight that she looks delicate and fragile.

I suck in another shaky breath and turn, pulling her into my arms. We both cry, our tears mingling and soaking into each other’s clothes, in a desperate embrace that feels both like goodbye and clinging to what we still have.

Every feeling of shame, for not being enough, for not seeing, for abandoning her.

Every feeling of loneliness, even with her in my arms, knowing she’s slipping away.

Every feeling of anger at the unfairness.