“But you need someone here with you.”
“I need someone who has a clear head, and the only way that can happen is if you get some rest. Now please, go with Ryot, and I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe you can bring me some Frankie donuts tomorrow.”
“I’ll bring you whatever you want.”
Nichole smiles. “Then bring me a pistachio, red velvet, and that blueberry crumble goodness.” She squeezes my hand. “Seriously, go. And get some sleep. What time is it now?”
“Two in the morning,” Ryot says. “But that’s midnight for us, given we’re operating on Pacific Time.”
“After a big day. Don’t come back here until at least ten. Understood?”
“Nichole—”
“I’m serious, Myla. Don’t come back here until then.”
I sigh heavily. I don’t want to leave her, but I also know Nichole always gets what she wants, so if she wants me out of here to get some sleep, then that’s what I’m going to do. Doubtful I’ll get any rest, though.
“Okay.” I lean down and press a kiss on her bandaged head. “I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.”
“With donuts.”
“With donuts,” I say, and then I walk over to Ryot, who offers his hand, and I take it.
“Let us know if you need anything else, Nichole,” he says before we exit the room.
Together, we head toward the elevator and then out of the hospital in silence, where a car is waiting for us—different from the one that collected us from the airport. Ryot opens the door for me and helps me buckle up before he goes to his side and slides in toward the middle, where he loops his arm around me and pulls me in tight.
That’s when I break down again.
Through sobs, I hear him whisper about how much he’s here for me. How he loves me. How he will take care of me.
But none of it sinks in because all I can think about is how my best friend is dying, and I can’t do anything about it.
RYOT
“Hello?” I whisper into the phone as I step into the penthouse living room. I booked the place as soon as I knew we were going to Chicago.
“Hey, man, how’s everything going?” Banner asks.
“Not good,” I answer quietly. “Stage 4 liver cancer. Not sure she’s going to make it.”
He’s silent and then, “Fuck, are you serious?”
“Yeah.” I blow out a heavy breath. “Dude, I don’t know what to fucking do. I can see that Myla is spiraling, and Nichole looks sick. It’s all too fucking much.”
“I’m coming. I’ll book a flight today and be out there so I can help in any way needed.”
“Okay.” I drag my hand over my face. “I know this will be a really selfish thing to say given the circumstances, but dude, I think she’s going to pull away. I can feel it deep in my goddamn bones. This is our undoing.”
“You can’t think that way.”
“She was already acting weird after hearing about the ESPN thing, despite her saying she was proud of me, but this . . . this is it.”
“Let’s just focus on one thing at a time, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’ll let you know about my flight, and then I’ll meet you out there. Keep me posted.”
“I will.”
We say our goodbyes, and when I turn around, I find Myla standing in the bedroom doorway, her eyes sunken and bloodshot, her hair in a tangled mess, and her clothes askew.
Fuck, did she hear what I said?
“Hey, good morning,” I say, trying to act casual. “How are you feeling?”
“Who were you talking to?” she asks.
Yup . . . she heard.
“Banner,” I say.
She nods and folds her arms over her chest. “So you think this is it for us? That’s really what you’re thinking about right now? Our marriage?”
Fuck!
“No, Myla, that’s not . . . I mean, I’m worried about that, yes. But I’m also worried about you, about Nichole navigating all of this.”
“Or are you worried about yourself?”
I can see it in her eyes. She’s distancing and pulling away. She’s becoming emotionless and frigid because she doesn’t know how else to deal with her feelings. And whatever happens next, I know it’s because she’s having a hard time processing what’s going on with Nichole. Losing another person in her life is not something she’ll handle in a healthy way.
“I’m worried about you, Myla.” I take a step forward, moving slowly. “I’m worried about how you feel and how you’re dealing with everything.”
Her eyes well up, and she shakes her head. “How do you think I’m doing?”
My palms start to sweat. “Hurt. Scared. Fearful. Uncertain.”
“To name a few.” She glances away.
“How can I help?” I ask her.
“You can’t.” She stares out the window of the penthouse. “So maybe it’s best if you just . . . go.”
And there it is. I knew it was coming, but it still doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. Now the question is, how do I handle this?
“Myla, I know you’re hurting, baby, but I’m not going to leave, not when you need someone to lean on. So why don’t we just take a shower, get ready, grab the donuts, and go see Nichole?”
“I don’t need you holding my hand,” she says. “I can do this by myself. You don’t even like Nichole, so why do you even care?”
“I like Nichole,” I say. “We’ve had our differences, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel something for her. And you’re, well . . . you’re special to me.” I was about to call her my wife, but I think we all know sidestepping that was a smart choice. “And I don’t like to see you hurting. It’s important to me to be there for you.”
“Oh, so now you care?”
I grind my molars together and try to hold back my tongue. I know she’s attempting to keep me at arm’s length. It’s so obvious, and even though I know she’s doing it on purpose to protect herself, it doesn’t mean I’m not hurt or annoyed by it.
“I don’t want to argue with you. Let’s just get ready for the day, okay? We can talk about the semantics of everything later. I just want to get you to Nichole so you can be with her.”
I’m ready for her to tell me to fuck off or to keep arguing, but instead, she lightly nods and then moves toward the bedroom and into the bathroom.
I let out a deep exhale.
Fuck, this is going to be harder than I expected.
MYLA
“Where’s Ryot?” Nichole asks as she shakily lifts her donut to her mouth and takes a bite.
I shrug. “Somewhere in the hospital.”
“Why? Shouldn’t he be in here?”
“No. Why would he be in here?”
Nichole gives me a look. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to worry about. Now let’s talk about something else, like your treatment.”
“Do you really think that’s something I want to talk about?”