Page 133 of Break Me

“This isn’t a diagnosis we can outrun. The doctor said the cancer is advanced. There isn’t a surgery that’ll fix this.”

“That’s not—” He runs a hand through his hair. “You don’t know that. We don’t know that yet.”

“I do.”

The quiet between us deepens.

“I don’t want my last months measured in treatment cycles,” I say carefully. “I don’t want to be sick from something that isn’t going to save me.”

The hope in his eyes dims. “We don’t know that.”

Simple. Human. Painful.

“The doctor said weeks,” I remind him gently. “Maybe months.”

Sam looks like I’ve struck him.

“I don’t want you remembering me in a hospital bed,” I continue. “I don’t want you remembering me hooked to machines.”

“I won’t,” he says immediately. “I won’t care.”

“I will.”

That stops him, and I step closer.

“I want to feel like myself for as long as I can. I want to walk to the creek. I want to ride with you while it’s still warm. I want to be here.”

His eyes search my face like he’s looking for hesitation.

There isn’t any.

“So, you’re just quitting.”

“I’m not quitting,” I tell him softly. “I’m choosing.”

“You’re asking me to just let it happen.”

“No,” I say. “I’m asking you to be here with me while it does.”

That breaks something in him.

“I can't lose you,” he says, the words catching before he can force them out.

“You don’t lose me yet.” I reach for his hands and lace our fingers together. “You still have me.”

The fight drains out of him. He exhales long and heavy as he steps into me. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him. I feel everything, the way his body shudders once like something in him finally gives way.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits against my hair.

“We’ll figure it out,” I whisper and tilt my face up toward his. “Kiss me.”

He hesitates only a heartbeat before his mouth finds mine. He moves like he's afraid to rush any of it, like every second matters more now. His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones the way you handle something irreplaceable. I feel the tremor in them even as he holds steady.

My hands slip under his shirt, needing the feel of skin, of muscle, of something alive and solid beneath my palms. He's warm. Real. Here. I press my hands flat against his back and breathe him in.

He gathers me into his arms without a word. He's carried me like this before, laughing as I protested, but tonight there's no teasing in it. Only quiet care as he carries me to the bedroom and settles me gently onto the bed. His hands linger for just a moment, reluctant to let go.

I catch his wrist before he can step away and draw him down beside me.