Page 143 of While I’m Still Here

“Thank you,” Bea whispers against my chest.

“For the penis?”

“For coming.”

There it is. Fear tries to climb straight up my throat. I swallow it, and I kiss the top of her head instead. “Wouldn't miss it.”

“You have work.”

“So do you.”

“I have cancer.”

“Always fucking competitive.”

Her laugh vibrates against my chest, and I hold her for another second. Then another. Probably too long, but I don't care because she smells like the shampoo she always uses and she is warm against me and the word chemotherapy has been circling my brain for days like a fucking vulture. Eventually Bea pulls back. Her eyes search mine, and then her expression softens. There. That's the bit I was trying to avoid. Before she can ask whether I'm okay on the morning poisonous drugs are about to be pumped into her body, I tap one finger beneath her chin.

“That's mine.”

Bea frowns. “What's yours?”

“The scared bit.”

She stares at me.

I shrug because I need this to sound easier than it feels. “You don't need to do anything with it. You don't need to make me feel better. I'm scared because I care about you. That's a perfectly reasonable consequence of having excellent taste in women.” Her eyes fill. Fuck. “No crying,” I tell her.

“You're the one being nice.”

“I'm never nice.”

From behind me, Colin makes a noise, and Bea's head snaps towards him. Colin is leaning against the kitchen doorway with his arms folded. “You know he messaged me at half past one this morning asking whether ginger sweets actually help with nausea,” Colin tells on me like a fucking child.

Traitor.

Bea slowly turns back to me. “You messaged Colin?”

“No.”

“You literally did,” Colin says.

“Stay out of this, Fletcher.”

“You asked if she owned a thermometer.”

“I was being thorough!” I defend.

Marcus puts his mug down. “She does.”

I turn towards him. “Of course you know.”

Marcus frowns. “I bought it.”

“Of course you fucking did.”

Bea hugs Derek against herself and beams at the three of us.

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