“LikeThe Breakfast Clubbut for sick kids,” Jesse said, that humorous tone in his voice back. I’d missed his jokes so much. He snapped his fingers. “Ah-ha! I have it.” He paused dramatically. “Chemo Club, where, just like the John Hughes film, we get up to our own shenanigans.”
“And by shenanigans, do you mean puking and cold sweats?” Chris said.
Jesse winked at Chris. “You’ve got it, bro.” Jesse looked to me and said, “Does that sound good, Junebug?” There was almost a nervousness in his timbre, like he was worried I might say no. That I might not want to be part of Chemo Club and retreat to my own room again.
He didn’t want to be alone. I was again seeing more of his hidden vulnerability. “It sounds perfect,” I said and was given the beautiful gift of a wide Jesse Taylor smile that I knew would send many girls’ hearts skipping.
Just at that second, Chris grabbed a bucket and retched into it. Bailey must have stayed close by, as he was there in seconds, helping him through.
Jesse leaned over and held out the fist of his hand that wasn’t holding mine. “You still group two for the win, Junebug?”
“Always,” I said, and bumped his fist.
When Chris finished throwing up, he said, “We best keep the volume high on these movies, or we’re not gonna stand a chance of hearing them when we all start upchucking.” We laughed, only for me to suddenly need my bucket too.
Jesse kindly rubbed my back as I wretched.
Together, Neenee had said. We would get through this better if we stuck together, so that’s what I intended to do.
The ticking of the clock on my bedroom wall was going to make me scream. Sleep evaded me, an effect of the steroids we’d been given. It was the same every time I had been on them throughout the past year. I looked up at the time and saw that it was just before five in the morning.
I was an early bird by nature, though never quite this early. But I adored sunrises, so I decided to go outside. I needed fresh air anyway. Another week had passed and we were on our break from the antibody treatment. My mama and daddy were in the parents’ residence, and I was alone.
Throwing a blanket around my shoulders, I opened the doors to the porch outside. It had chairs and a swing and a sweeping view of the horses in the field. Darkness was slowly lifting, and the sun was rising, bringing a golden glow over the ranch. It looked unnatural, like it was some fancy CGI edit on a movie.
I stepped off the porch and headed to the paddock. Ginger, the chestnut gelding I came out here often to fuss, came toward me. He suited his name—he was as vibrant in color as hisnamesake spice. I ran my hand down his blaze like he preferred and pressed a kiss on his head.
“You’re such a good boy,” I said, and patted his neck.
I listened to Ginger’s breathing, it’s rhythm steady like a meditation. I inhaled and exhaled only to hear, “If I let you kiss my forehead, will I be a good boy too?”
I laughed before I’d even turned around. Around Jesse Taylor, I had laughed more in a week than I had in the past year. I had no idea how he did it, but he definitely made life much more entertaining.
Without turning my head, I patted Ginger and said, “Is the big, bad QB jealous of a horse?”
“Hell yes I am!” he said, and this time, I did turn, only to see him swinging in an egg chair on his suite’s little porch, a red plaid blanket over his legs. He was wearing a long-sleeve black top, and this time, his head was free of a cap. I realized I didn’t have my headscarf on either.
I froze, and anxiety rocketed through me. I was never without my headscarf. It was silly, I knew it was, but it crushed me to be seen without it. My breathing came fast, and I found myself looking down at my hand. I flexed my fingers to be sure they felt like my own.
They did for now.
“Junebug?” Jesse’s voice made me look up and broke me free of my spiral.
I placed my head on my hand on reflex, and Jesse frowned. “I’ll just retrieve my headscarf,” I said, and made a move to go back to my room. I rushed and, in seconds, was back outside, my headscarf firmly in place and my anxiety settled.
Jesse watched me closely, and I could clearly see the question on his face. But he was a gentleman about it and didn’t comment.
I approached where he sat, keeping the blanket around my shoulders for warmth. I was feeling the chill constantly these days. Jesse nodded in the direction of Ginger. “I think he’s been waiting to see if you’d come out.”
“He has?” I asked, looking back at the gelding who was stealing my heart.
“He wasn’t the only one,” Jesse said, and I whipped my attention back to him. My blushes had lessened around him, though the butterflies hadn’t—not even a smidge.
“How long have you been out here?” I asked.
Jesse shrugged. “A coupla hours maybe. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Steroids?”
