"What do you mean he's sick!" Brad hisses, as the doctor steps back slightly. "He can't be! There's not one cell of cancer in his genes! The results are wrong! Test him again!" brad insists,
"I apologise Mister Evans but— " Brad's insides warm involuntarily at the name, he wasn't married to the blond but he had to pretend to be if he wanted to know his results, "—but the tests are always correct, your husband has sadly been diagnosed with cancer. Chemo therapy is always an option, but it's not guaranteed to work," the doctor explains.
Brad sighs, "Fine . When can he start it?"
"In about a month, we need to get him on it as soon as possible if he wants any chance at living," the doctor explains. Brad hums in agreement quickly. "The cost will be emailed to you, you just need to fill out some documents and we can start prepping him in about a week then start it next month."
Brad gulps nervously, he could not afford the chemotherapy. He already knew it. But he would do anything to save his tristan. He already knew Tristan's family wouldn't pay for it, they hardly see him and when they do; hell breaks loose. "Mister Evans, where is Tristan by the way?"
"Um, he's resting back in our apartment. After he collapsed yesterday, he needed as much sleep as he could.." Brad shrugs, which was the half-truth. Tristan and him were cuddling before Brad snuck away after he fell asleep.
"Ah, alright. Well; we also need him to sign some things, so if you both could drop by my office tomorrow around three, we can begin."
Brad nods, "We'll be there."
