“Then we live within the pages.”
June’s lips twitched at that. She liked how that sounded as much as me.
“Anyway, I have this theory,” I added casually, trying to lighten the mood.
The grin June had been fighting began to win out. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” she said, sass in her Texan twang.
I narrowed my eyes. “Junebug, jocks can have good ideas too.” She rolled her eyes. “What if the Jesse and June in your book are out there, in a parallel universe, waiting for you to breathe life into their story.”
June’s head tilted to the side. She was intrigued, I could tell.
“What if the June in that world is writing a book too, only in that version, her story is the you and me ofthis world—us here, on the ranch, clutching our ten percent with both hands.”
“A parallel universe? Look at you pulling out the big guns,” June joked, but there was interest in her expression. I could almost hear her mind ticking with excitement.
I took one of her hands in my own. “I want us to live, June. If the only way we get to do that in the end is in your book, then at least I’ll have the comfort that somewhere, out there, in a parallel universe, we are really making a go of it. And that even though life has roughed us up a bit, we’ve turned it around and made it ourbitch.”
June dropped her head forward and giggled at my word choice. But she understood the sentiment. I knew she did. Her body had relaxed against mine. When she lifted her head, she said, “I like that, the idea that my words, my story—ourstory—is just the narration to an already-existing life in another world.”
Excitement built within me. The spark writing brought to her soul was magnetizing. I kissed her fingers, just needing to be close. “What is your dream with writing, Junebug?”
Her eyes lost focus as she thought through her answer. When she met my gaze again, a small smile on her lips, she whispered, “I want to leave my fingerprint on the window of the world.”
“Wow,” I said, feeling those words hit me. “That’s beautiful. I’m not sure I have that type of depth or the capacity to have that effect on anyone.” She was incredible. How could she ever doubt why I loved her?
“Jesse, you have a deep soul, full of love and kindness. Your art leaves everyone who sees it speechless.” June kissed my hand this time. Looking me dead in the eye, she said, “And you make me happy. Truly happy.” Her eyes shined. “I’m quite literally dying, yet you make me feel so ridiculously alive. That is who you are. Andthat, Jesse, is gift from God.”
My throat clogged at her words. I made her happy. I didn’t think there was an accolade in life that was greater than that.
I hooked my hands under June’s arms and lifted her to me. I kicked back the comforter, placed her beside me, covered us back up, and dimmed the lights. We just stared at one another, holding each other’s hands.
“If I die,” I whispered a while later, “I want to go just like this—with you next to me, holding my hand.” June’s lips trembled. But she nodded, making me that silent promise. “Write our story, Junebug. Let our parallel-universe selves live the best lives they can. We deserve to have our happily ever after, even if it’s in another life.”
“I will,” she whispered, then her beautiful, brown eyes began to drift close. “I love you so much. Good night, Junebug.”
“I love you too, Jesse. Sleep tight,” she murmured, half asleep.
I closed my eyes too, content in knowing that I had at least several weeks left with the girl I had fallen madly in love with.
CHAPTER 13
June
Jesse and June’s Happily Ever After
The room looked strange now that all my things were packed. The wall opposite my bed was bare, free of Jesse’s many drawings of me, of us, of Ginger, and all of us Chemo Club members together in the movie room. They were some of my most-prized possessions and were tucked safely in a folder in my suitcase.
I exhaled a long sigh. We had all come here dying, with mere months—maybe even just weeks—left to live. But the ranch had become a place of healing, of laughter and love, and now we were all cancer free and graduating from high school and from the new treatment that had worked so well on us all.
I took my headscarf off the bed and ran my hand over my scalp, the feeling of hair growing back again making me smile. I’d gotten used to the smoothness. I moved in front of the mirror, finally recognizing the girl before me. She was a warrior, and she was perfect. Though I adored seeing my new dark-brown fuzz.
I fixed my headscarf in place and smoothed my hands over my dress. It was the sage-green one I’d worn my first day here—I knew it was Jesse’s favorite.
A familiar knock on the door filled the room. When I opened the door, my mouth parted seeing Jesse Taylor on the other side. Gone was the boy who lived in T-shirts and faded jeans, and instead, he wore a linen button-down and navy-blue shorts.
“Jesse…” I said as he leaned his arm against my doorframe. In the past several weeks, Jesse had begun building up his muscle mass and weight. In mere weeks, he would leave for preseason training at UT. I would follow after that, when the nonathletic freshman class arrived. Jesse had done it. He had taken his short window to get fit and turned it into gold.
We had made it. We were in remission, and we were going to UT.
