Page 69 of We Drank the Dawn

As she continued her tirade, all I could think was how much I didn’t deserve her.

“All your attempts to protect me are just hurting my feelings.” Her voice began to crack from all the yelling. “I want you to want me in this with you. So stop pushing me away.”

Genuinely, I didn’t know how I ended up with someone like her. She was funny, kind, selfless, loyal, brave, and full of life. And so pretty. Suppressing a groan, I let my eyes wander over her soggy clothes that clung to every curve, the mascara running down her cheeks, and the strands of her fiery hair sticking to that perfect neck.

Once I started chemo, there would be days I wouldn’t even be allowed to kiss her due to all the drugs wrecking havoc on my body.

Something in me snapped. My hands reached for her, yanking her face to mine.

Undeterred, she continued, “And I want you to⁠—”

But our mouths crashed together, angry and hurt and falling to pieces. Our arms squeezed, pressing and pushing, unable to get close enough quickly enough. Water ran between our lips as I tilted my head in the downpour, diving in. My fingers shot up the back of her neck, tangling in and tugging on her soaked hair. She whimpered into my mouth, fueling the fire of need in my torso.

Pulling back, just enough to speak, I whispered, “I want you with me, Sarah. Always.”

Her response was a heady humming sound and a shift of her hips, aligning us. Her kiss stoked an urgency that egged us forward, and I wondered how I could love one person so much. How I could be so ready and scared and hopeful and out of control all at the same time.

Letting my hungry groan free, I hauled her soft curves into the hard planes of my body. And she weakened, nearly slipping through my fingers as I backed her to the car, reaching around to jerk the Accord’s back door open.

“Get in,” I hissed, water flicking from my lips with my heavy exhale.

Without letting her waist go, I directed her inside, and she shimmied over until I could slip in beside her. When I closed the door, the deluge muted, the dull thudding sounds mixed with the sound of our frantic kisses. We were getting water everywhere, but I didn’t care. Curling my arms around her lower back, I moved her to my lap then leaned, spreading our bodies across the expanse of the back seat. There wasn’t much room. But it was enough.

I kissed her like we were running out of time.

But, for all I knew, we were already out of time. We could be in the final seconds and not even realize it. My mouth left hers, roaming down her neck and onto her chest. She turned her chin, granting me access, repeating my name.

What if I never got the chance to grow old with her?

My mouth returned to hers, so damn scared.

“I love you, Sarah.” I whispered, my lips grazing hers. “I love you.”

Her fingers tangled in my hair and her legs wound around my waist as I peeled off her shirt and then I took and took and took until we were panting and sweating and crying, too. And I couldn’t pull myself away from her as a very real truth swam over me.

I was panicking. This was panic.

I wanted to curse myself for jumping the gun on so many things. For asking when I should’ve waited. For taking when I should’ve given. For letting fear make my decisions. For hurting her with so much unknown. But I didn’t know what else to do. Dammit, I didn’t know.

The worst case scenario flickered into my mind—Sunshine Girl’s eyes growing dark, her shoulders drooping, her vigor for life and adventure whisked away by grief carried too early, too young. An era of night for the girl who only wanted the sun.

“My life will be ruined either way, Peter. If you die, I die.”

Her words echoed in my mind, but I could only pray to God that they weren’t true. And even while I loved her, I promised myself—if I got a future with Sarah, I would be more careful, less selfish. I would make her choose her own best, not mine. I would protect her from any of my stupid decisions. I would make sure she got the beautiful, to-the-brim life she’d always wanted.

And, as far as it depended on me, she’d catch that damn sun.

TWENTY-THREE

Peter

The middle-aged nurse, Kay, pulled the blue rubber tourniquet tight around my bicep. “Okay, hun, now make a fist but don’t squeeze.”

I did, and she tapped around the inside of my elbow, looking for the perfect vein.

With ease only provided by years of experience, Kay effortlessly inserted the needle and within seconds my blood gushed into colorfully capped vials. She pulled the loop on the tourniquet, releasing my arm. Funny, before my bone marrow transplant, I had A type blood. Now, I had O.

Once a year, I had routine lab draws to make sure my counts were good and no blasts had reappeared. They were absolutely essential to my ongoing health and I never missed an appointment. When I was nineteen, these routine check-ups were the reason we found out I’d relapsed. Had I not gone when I did, the leukemia would’ve progressed. And who knows how the story would’ve ended.