Bruno’s at my apartment waiting for us when we walk up the steps. Pacing in front of my door like a caged animal, he’s muttering softly to himself.

Becca and I both stop dead when we see him. “Bruno?”

He freezes and turns on his heels to face us. “Fuck, Cal. I’ve been worried.”

“About?” I ask, taking a step closer and holding Becca back with one arm.

He comes closer, reaching out for me with a wild look in his eyes. “You.”

My cheek presses against his palm and I close my eyes. “I was at chemo. I told you about it.”

“I wanted to take you,” he tells me and runs his thumb down the apple of my cheek.

I glance up at him and smile, trying to make him relax. “Becca took me. I was in good hands.”

He looks over my shoulder and tries to smile. “Is she okay?” he asks her and ignores me.

“I am here, you know,” I tell him and tap his chest.

“Yeah,” Becca ignores me too. “Better than I thought she would be.”

“I got her from here.”

“Hello?” I question, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Still here.”

Becca comes up behind me and kisses my cheek. “I’ll leave you in very capable hands.” She stifles a giggle as she whispers in my ear.

“Bec.”

“Call me if you need anything. I have to run to work. I’m late for my shift.” Before I can argue, she turns and almost skips down my hallway before disappearing into the stairwell. Becca isn’t late. It’s only three, and I know she doesn’t need to be at the bar to work her second job until after seven.

“Hungry?” he asks, turning his attention back to me.

“Are you calmed down yet?” I place my palm flat against him, relishing the feel of his heart pounding beneath my hand.

He laughs softly. “I’m calm. Just a shitty day at work.”

“No one to butcher?” I make light of his job, whatever it is, even though I haven’t figured it out entirely.

“Nope. Everyone survived today. So how about something to eat?” he asks, pulling my key he’s never given back from his pocket and unlocking my door.

“I don’t feel like eating. My stomach isn’t feeling so well. I ate crackers during chemo,” I tell him as he ushers me inside with one arm around me. “But I don’t think they’re going to stay down for too much longer.” Without hesitation, he scoops me into his arms and carries me toward the bed. “Bathroom, please.”

“Bed.”

“Bruno.”

“Callie.”

The man is impossible.

When he sets me down, he leaves the room and I hear movement in the kitchen. Before I can climb to my feet, he’s back and has a bowl in his hand. “Use this.” He places it on the bed next to me.

I grimace, wrinkling my nose in disgust. “What?”

“I’ll clean it. I don’t want you lying on the bathroom floor anymore.”

The thought of him cleaning up my vomit makes my stomach turn more. “No. I rather go into the bathroom.”

“Just stay here.” He pushes me back and lifts my legs, positioning me against the headboard as if I’m a decorative pillow. “Relax. I’m taking care of you. If you’re going to be sick, do it in the bowl.”

Men are weird. I wouldn’t clean up his puke. Even if I loved him, worshiped the ground he walked on, I just couldn’t do it.

“I’m going to make some soup while you rest.”

“What if I don’t want soup?”

“It’s the best thing for you.”

When did he become my mother? “Who says?”

“Lee.”

Well, okay then. If his sister, the one who survived this disease, tells me to have soup, I will.

He leaves and I listen to him as he starts the soup…from scratch. Yes, from scratch. Who the fuck is this man? I expect Campbell’s or maybe some other store-brand canned shit, but that isn’t Bruno. He doesn’t do anything easy.

I think about Lee and wonder how she handled it all, especially him.

Me: Hey, Lee. It’s Callie. I hope I’m not bothering you.

I don’t know what else to say. I’ve only met her once, but we have two very important things in common.

Lee: Hey! It’s so good to hear from you. How are you holding up?

But she makes it effortless and puts my mind at ease.

Me: I’m okay. Just got home from round 2. Not feeling so good and waiting for it to get worse.

I slouch down against the pillows and pray that I don’t throw up all the dry crackers I consumed earlier.

Lee: Are you alone?

Me: No. Your brother is here pretending to be Emeril Lagasse and making me soup.

I giggle at the thought. Images of him looking like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets fill my mind and my laughter grows. Maybe he yells, “Bam!” when he throws in the spices to make it manlier. I wish I had a clear view of him from where I sit, but I only catch a glimpse every once in a while.

Lee: He’s good like that. Soup is a great idea. Trust me, I know.

Me: Bruno said you told him I should eat it.

Lee: We learned it was best after chemo. It’s easier to toss up soup than crackers. I learned the hard way.

Oh, shit. Crackers would probably feel like glass as they climbed up my throat. They sure don’t feel gentle on the way down.

Me: Tell me it gets easier.

Lee: It gets easier.

Me: Yeah?

Lee: No.

Well, at least she’s honest, which makes me laugh because I would’ve been okay with a lie.

Lee: What kind of soup is he making?

“Bruno, what kind of soup are you making?” I yell because the smell hasn’t hit me yet to be able to answer.

“Thai Ginger.”

My face scrunches at his response, but I send her the message anyway. Thai Ginger? I thought Chicken Noodle was the go-to soup, but apparently, I’m wrong.

“Why?” he yells back.

“Lee.”

“Ahhh,” he says, walking into the room and drying his hands. He leans against the doorframe and watches me before throwing the towel over his shoulder.

“Ginger is good for you.”

I nod, remembering what Lee told me before. It makes complete sense.

“Need help?” I ask, but I know I’m not going to move from this bed.

“Nope. I have it.”

“Okay.” I smile at him and take in his beauty. If I felt better, I’d be on him like white on rice. The tight black T-shirt hugs every muscle, showing off the curve of every crevice that I want to lick and explore. His thighs bulge from under his jeans, straining against the material to come closer to me.

“Need anything?” he asks, the look on his face making me think he can read my mind.

“Nope,” I tell him and keep ogling his body.

“Back at it.” He walks back into the kitchen, whistling a tune I’ve never heard.

Lee: Perfect choice. I wouldn’t expect anything else from Bruno.

Me: He’s sure a conundrum.

Lee: You have no idea.

She doesn’t give anything away and neither does he, but I’ll never forget their conversation outside my door when they thought I wasn’t listening.

Me: So I was wondering…

Lee: Yeah?

I want to ask about Bruno, but I decide against it.

Me: Am I going to be sicker after this round?

Lee: Probably. The side effects will change. Besides being sick, you’re probably going to go through some rather odd and scary things.

Maybe I should’ve asked about him instead. I don’t think I wanted her to continue her statement. Before I can type back, my stomach decides it doesn’t want crackers anymore. Pulling the bowl in front of me, I toss up everything inside and feel every cracker cutting on its way up.

Bruno’s in the room before I can pull myself together. He has a glass of water and a towel in his hand, holding it out to me.

“This is gross,” I complain, setting the bowl in my lap and taking the towel to wipe my face.

“I know.” He shakes the glass, urging me to take it. “Water.”

Bossy man.

My eyes tear, making it hard to see. But as soon as I find the glass, I grab it and start to drink. The cool liquid sliding down my throat soothes the burn from being sick.

After drinking every drop, I sigh and relax against the headboard.

“You good?”

“Good.” I close my eyes.

The bowl moves from my lap and he leaves, heading toward the bathroom with it in his hands. “I can do that,” I yell out and feel guilty he’s cleaning my vomit.

“I got it.”

Me: How did you deal with this man?

Lee: It gets easier.

Me: I doubt anything about him is easy.

She sends back an emoticon with a tongue sticking out.

She gets it. All of it.