Dr. Duncan stood there with a file.
Jesse clasped my hand and squeezed. He was nervous. Of course he was.
“Miss. Scott,” Dr. Duncan said. My heart was in my throat as I waited for what he would say next. “Jesse and I have already discussed this, but unfortunately, his blood work and scans have shown that his acute myeloid leukemia has returned.”
Dr. Duncan’s words circled my head, playing on a constant loop, breaking my heart into tiny fragments. I turned to Jesse. His back was straight, and he nodded. He was so strong. So perfect and brave.
I kissed Jesse’s hand, as Dr. Duncan said, “The good news is, we believe we have caught it early.”
“What happens now, Doc?” Jesse asked.
Dr. Duncan continued to study the file. “The same treatment as before. It worked the first time, so the chances of it working again are very high.”
I dropped my head to lean it on Jesse’s arm. Chemo—aggressive chemo and immunotherapy again. For the next several months.
Football…he won’t be able to play anymore this year…
“Okay,” Jesse said, his voice calm and unwavering. I looked at him then and he met my eyes. “Then I’ll just have to beat it again. Easy.” He tried for humor, but this time, it didn’t land. My lip wobbled and Jesse grew serious. “I’m not leaving you, Junebug. We have too much life to live together.”
I nodded, but sadness had captured my voice.
“I love you,” he said.
Finding my voice, I said, “I love you too, more than you’ll ever know.”
Jesse lifted his fist, and a wide smile took up his face. “Group two for the win…again.”
A strained laugh did slip from my mouth this time. But I held out my fist and bumped it against his. “Group two for the win again.”
And he had to win. I would entertain no other outcome.
Jesse Taylor had to live.
CHAPTER 24
Jesse
Itook a deep breath and sat down in Doc Duncan’s office.My mom answered the video call and gave me a strained smile. Today was the day. Another long, enduring phase of immunotherapy had passed, and today, we found out my fate.
Doc Duncan turned to me, and I held my breath as he said, “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, Jesse. But the treatment has failed, and we are now at the stage where we must switch to palliative care.”
My mom’s agonized cry filled the room from the phone, but I didn’t cry. I had known this was coming. I had felt it. It wasn’t pessimism or giving up—my body had told me.
Over the past several weeks, I had become more exhausted than ever before. My bones ached nonstop, and I was so breathless some days that I found it difficult to walk.
It wasn’t the side effects of the monoclonal antibodies. I had known, deep down in my soul, that the treatment hadn’t worked. And worse, as I looked at June every day, seeing her fading before my eyes, I knew it hadn’t worked for her either. We hadn’t spoken it aloud to one another, we didn’t want to out those words out into the universe while there was still a chance, but we’d known.
“How long?” I said, feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience. Discussing your mortality—limited to now a mere set of days—was the most surreal thing on earth.
Mom reined in her cries, and Doc Duncan said, “From your most recent results, I would estimate between four and six weeks.”
It was funny—as a kid, four to six weeks would have felt like a lifetime. Summer vacation seemed to last forever, long lazy days and nights. Now, four to six weeks felt like no time at all.
Sand in an hourglass.
“Jesse, I’m coming to the ranch. I’ll find a way,” Mom said, and there was no argument from me this time. Because this was it. This time, there was no miracle cure for me. There was no place to go but onto the next of life’s adventures.
Susan was in the room with me, and when I looked at her, there were tears in her eyes. “I’ll walk you back to your room,” she said.
