Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
“Ten more months, Zo. Ten more months and you’ll be at UA with me.”
She nods, and after having her in my arms for the last hour, her lips finally come down on mine, and with that single kiss, every last of my fears fade away. No matter what, at the end of the day, she has me, and I have her. And with something so fucking powerful, how could anything ever tear us apart?
41
Zoey
It’s exactly 4:38 p.m. when Mom’s phone rings on the kitchen counter. Both Mom and I freeze for a moment as our gazes collide over the kitchen sink.
It’s been a little over a week since my appointment at Dr. Sanchez’s office, and every moment since has been nothing but pure torture. I’ve been through this a million times, waiting for the results of my blood tests and bone marrow aspirations, but none of them have had me in a chokehold the way this one has.
Every time the phone rang over the past week, a piece of me died. The anticipation and anxiety have been like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
The kitchen is silent apart from the sound of Mom’s phone ringing, and I watch as she glances down and sucks in a breath. “It’s Dr. Sanchez,” she murmurs, her gaze flicking back to mine.
My knees shake, and I grip the side of the counter as the pulse in my ears quickens, thumping so loudly, it’s deafening. Mom’s hand moves toward the phone, and I watch her like a hawk as my dad moves in behind me, his hand gently resting on my back for support.
Mom glances at Dad over my shoulder, and as one, we all seem to take a collective breath as Mom accepts the call and lifts the phone to her ear. “Hello,” she says, her voice shaking.
“Erica, hi. It’s Nicole,” Dr. Sanchez’s voice seems to boom through the phone, despite the call not being on speakerphone. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I can’t imagine what must have been running through your mind over this past week. However, I’ve just received Zoey’s results. I think it’s best you come down to the office tomorrow.”
“No,” I breathe, my tone barely audible.
If it was good news, she would have just said I was clear. She would have put us out of our misery. She’s a highly sought-after oncologist with many patients going through the worst kind of hell. Her time is too important. She wouldn’t be careless with it or waste an appointment like that.
“Of course, we’ll clear our schedules,” my mother says, her voice breaking as she holds Dad’s stare, both of them utterly terrified. “But with all due respect, Doctor, we’re all here right now. None of us are going to get a wink of sleep until we know. Please,” she begs. “We need to know now.”
There’s a short silence, and as Dr. Sanchez lets out a pained sigh, Mom’s unshed tears spill down her cheeks.
“Okay,” Dr. Sanchez says soothingly, prompting Mom to put the call on speakerphone. She walks around the kitchen counter, pulling me into her arms and holding on tighter than ever before. “I prefer not to give this kind of diagnosis over the phone, but considering your circumstances, I’m happy to make an allowance.”
Dr. Sanchez pauses for a second, and by the time she goes on, my whole body is violently shaking, the tears already streaking down my face. “Zoey, honey, are you there?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice breaking.
“I’m sorry, but your suspicions were correct,” she tells me, sounding just as broken as I feel. “Your blood tests and bone marrow aspiration are showing an overwhelming amount of leukemic white cells in your system.”
I suck in a shaky breath, so loud it cuts her off, and I crumble in my mother’s arms as Dad grabs my waist to keep me on my feet. “No,” I cry, the tears coming so rapidly that my vision blurs as Mom’s heartbroken whimpers sound through the kitchen. “No, I can’t do this again.”
“I’m sorry, Zoey. I know this isn’t easy news to hear,” Dr. Sanchez tells me, her soothing voice doing nothing to ease the terror blasting through my chest. “It’s fairly aggressive. However, I will need to run more tests to determine just how advanced your case is and to determine if these cancerous cells have spread and how far. From there, we’ll be able to work out a treatment plan.”
The sobs break from the back of my throat until Mom and Dad can no longer hold me up, their own grief claiming them as we crumble to the kitchen tiles together.
My face falls into my hands, the tears pooling in my palms.
Mom and Dad pull me into their arms as Dr. Sanchez continues, saying words that don’t register to my ears as her earlier words play on repeat in my head.