One Last Miracle [complete]

XXV

Medical inaccuracies galore. 

XXV

twenty-four days...

I'll be there in ten.

Dad wastes little time responding to my earlier text—which, is hardly surprising considering the severity of the circumstances. Just a quickly, I reply with an affirmative, leaning back into James' chest. Lying as we are, along the sand of Isle Beach, soaking in the falling sunset, we're the picture of relaxation.

Truth be told, though, I'm freaking out. Though there's no clouds overhead, I can feel them, foreboding and dangerous. Realistically, I know the feeling is irrational because this isn't my first hospital appointment, nor will it be the last, and by now I'm a veteran. Still, tamping it down is akin to climbing Mount Everest naked: you're facing defeat before you even have the chance to begin.

James is a welcome distraction, however. Last night, I tossed and turned all night trying to get some sleep, waking up every half hour, before finally giving up at three in the morning. James had been right there with me, waking every time I shifted. I suspect he was paranoid it was a fever—and after the last one, he wasn't taking any chances. Eventually, when it became clear that neither of us were going back to sleep, he decided to go on an impromptu road trip—though he didn't disclose where we'd be headed and I didn't ask. Isle Beach was a pleasant surprise, although the last place I expected, so James received no complaints as we made our way in the dimness to the shore.

Since then, we've been lying on the sand, James leaning back and me braced against his body. Fatigue wars at me, but I know I'll be able to sleep when we leave the hospital, when the speculation and ominousness of what if wares off.

Long story short, I've been using this time to revel in this moment. It's peaceful, just James and I in a moment of solitude, on an empty beach. When dad gets here he'll drive to a desolate, sterile hospital ward; a far cry from the picturesque scene around us now. Given the choice, I'd stay here forever.

That's a choice I don't have though.

Passing me phone to James over my shoulder, I sit up a little, dusting the sand off my legs. As he reads the text over, I shift my gaze over to the carpark. Dad's car isn't here yet, but I know he won't be far away.

Behind me, James sits up as well, moving his glasses atop his head. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, squinting in the glare. You okay, he mouths.

I'm tempted to nod—but that'd be a lie he'd see right through. So instead I just shrug in answer, to which James winces in sympathy.

Dusting the sand off his legs, he gets to his feet, holding his hands out. Pivoting where I sit on the towel, I let his pull me up, rocking into his weight when I'm upright. Without hesitation, his arms wrap around my middle, holding me to him.

Without hesitation, accepting my burden.

I try to imagine what it was like before James came into my life, before his support was there. It's hard—and I'm not sure how I coped. Sure, I've always had family there who have given up everything for me and who I'd do the same but outside of that... it just wasn't there. There's an obligation that comes with being family. James is here completely voluntarily. If he chose to, he could just simply leave, say it's all too much... and yet, he's remained through thick and thin.

That's something astronomical. Certainly something more than I deserve, but something I refuse to give up on.

Leaning up to him, I gravelly whisper, "Thank you," before kissing him chastely. The concern in his eyes is heartbreaking, an expression I've sadly come to associate in moments between us. I hate it. Resting my palm on his cheek, I run my thumb over the stubble that's beginning to grow there, trying to rub the expression away—without success. "Stop. I'll be fine."