I must’ve slept more than an hour because when my eyes open, Bruno’s next to me, fully dressed and sleeping on top of the covers. His chest rises quickly and falls slowly, steadily over and over as I watch him. I turn over and tuck my hand under my cheek to stop myself from touching him. This is my chance to get a good look at him without having to deal with him staring back. I smile, almost giggling at the thought of him catching me.

His dark, loose curls rest around his forehead haphazardly. The color of his hair is chestnut—warm, full, and thick. His wide, protruding jaw is extremely masculine and lined in stubble, but it matches his hair perfectly. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating his face and giving him an angelic glow. I snort a little at the thought of Bruno and anything saintly.

Why did he stay?

We aren’t anything to each other. He isn’t mine and I’m not his. We’ve spoken a few times in passing, but other than that, he has no reason to care. I reach out and touch his arm; it’s soft and hard all at once. His skin radiates enough heat to warm a small room and feels good against my cold hands. The hair on his arms is soft and thick yet darker than that on his head. Large veins protrude from his forearms, and I trace them lightly while he sleeps, because I know this is the only time I can touch him.

I’ve always liked Bruno. Always thought he was handsome in that forbidding yet sexy way. We’d spoken briefly in the past but never spent more than a few minutes together. Since college, I’d see him occasionally when Becca and I would go out to the club he frequented. Never did I imagine that he had a softer side. He didn’t seem the type. But last night, he showed it to me. I can never unsee it. Never. But the funny thing about it is that I know I want more.

“Enjoying yourself?”

My eyes shoot to his before I pull my hand back. “Sorry,” I whisper, giving him an innocent smile.

“Don’t stop,” he tells me and closes his eyes again.

I don’t know what to do. Basically, I’m molesting him in his sleep. It was only his arm, but I still didn’t have a right to touch him. Lord forbid if I woke up to him stroking my arm. I would’ve gone ballistic. I think…

When I don’t touch him again, he rolls to his side and faces me, the brown in his eyes not as dark as I’d thought. They are like a deep honey color and not the black that I saw the night before. No longer can I escape his gaze, but it has changed. It isn’t skeptical or accusing, but caring and concerned instead. “Ready to talk?” I shake my head. He reaches out and brushes a hair off my cheek, but I don’t move or speak. “When did you find out?”

“Monday.” I seal my eyes shut.

“Are you scared?”

I can’t imagine Bruno has ever been scared a day in his life. If I were him, I’d walk around knowing that no one could hurt me. They’d be crazy to even try. I’d fuck shit up.

“I am,” I confess for the first time. I haven’t even uttered those words to Dr. Craig.

He mimics my posture, sliding his hand under his cheek and resting the other one next to my elbow, touching my skin with the tips of his fingers. “I know how you feel.”

My eyes widen at his admission. “You’ve been scared?”

His eyebrows draw together and some of the darkness creeps back in. “I’m human, Callie. Of course, I have been.”

“But I thought…”

“Everyone assumes I’m a beast and have no feelings.”

“Well, I just—”

Again, he places his finger over my lips and his forehead softens. “My sister had cancer a few years ago. I’ve never been so scared in all my life. I thought I’d lose her.”

“Oh.” My assumptions make me feel like an idiot. We aren’t what we look like. We all have feelings. Even the people we label as “bad guys” have a heart buried somewhere inside.

He pulls his hand away but not before gently dragging his finger across my bottom lip, and I suck in a breath. “She beat it, though.”

“That’s good.”

She’s lucky. So few make it out from under the shadow of cancer. It lurks in the background for years, lying dormant before it strikes again. Life becomes about the next scan or test and praying it doesn’t come back.

“She had breast cancer. Before she went through chemo, she had a double mastectomy to give herself the greatest chance of survival.”

“God,” I whisper and my chest feels heavy. “I couldn’t imagine making that decision.” Life is so precious, but deciding to have both breasts removed would be hard for anyone. It still takes balls to willingly lose part of yourself.

“It wasn’t hard. She was pissed and didn’t want to be beat. She did it to survive. Just like you will.”

“I don’t know.” My soft voice conveys exactly what I feel—doubt.

“Cal,” he whispers, touching my chin and forcing me to look at him, “you will beat this.”

I try not to cry. “I hope so.”

He sits up, pulling my body across the bed before placing me in his lap. “Listen to me,” he whispers in my ear, sending chills down my spine. “You need to get mad. Be angry this happened.”

“I am,” I whisper and look down at his hands holding mine.

“You’re not.” His warm breath tickles my ear and it takes everything in me not to move. “You’re giving up. I know the difference.”

I open my hands and feel his fingers against my palm. “I’m not.” I’ve never been super touchy-feely, but for some reason, I like when he touches me. It just isn’t like me. Maybe I need to feel something other than the emptiness and despair I’d felt since hearing my diagnosis.

“I need you to get pissed.”

“Bruno,” I say softly and finally look up at him confused.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

Reaching up, I take the opportunity to run my fingers across his stubble, wishing I could feel the softness of his cheek. “Why do you care?”

He sighs but keeps his hold on me. “I have a confession.” He pauses and I hold my breath out of fear. “I’ve always liked you.”

What? Bruno likes me?

I would’ve never imagined that. Even in our brief conversations, he’s never let on. “You do?”

“Yeah. So I want you to get mad and fight.”

Huh. I’m sitting in his lap, wrapped in his arms, and in complete shock. “Okay,” I whisper, unsure of what else to say and unable to speak any louder.

He swallows hard, the sound so close to my ear I can hear his uneasiness. “When Rebecca showed up at the club last night and said something was wrong with you, I didn’t hesitate. I came with her immediately. I would’ve killed someone if they’d hurt you.”

Looking up and into his eyes, I hide my smile. “I just wanted to be left alone. Can you understand that?” He nods but remains silent. “Rebecca can be a little much at times.”

His laughter makes my entire body shake. “I’ve realized that. That’s why I made her leave last night.”

“But you stayed.”

“I can be here yet not be in your face, Callie.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You kind of are right now.” Although I wanted to be alone, I like his being here.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

“No,” I blurt out and shock him as much as myself.

He turns my body so that I can rest against him. “What kind of cancer is it?”

My hand finds its way to his hair and I wrap a few pieces around my finger. “Leukemia.”

His hold tightens around me. I hear the grunt he tries to hide clear as day. “What did the doctors say?”

Doctors lie. I know that. I’d been in the field long enough not to believe their words. They never want a patient to give up. Getting them to tell you how long you have to live is even harder. They want patients to keep fighting.

“It’s treatable.”

What does that even mean? I know what it means to other people, but I am too close to the disease. Knowledge isn’t always power. Sometimes, it means knowing what you wish you didn’t. It’s cruel. I know too much, and it paralyzes me.

“Then we fight.”

“We?” I’ve buried my face in his shirt because I want to feel the heat of his skin against my face like the sunshine on a warm summer day.

“I confessed that I want you. There’s no way I’m turning back now. We’ll fight this together.”

How odd. Suddenly, I’m part of a we and no longer just me.

I wince and feel oddly uncomfortable. “Um, I don’t think it works that way, Bruno.” When I finish, I hold my breath and wait for him to blow.

“It does.” He kisses the top of my head and adjusts our bodies again so that his back rests against the headboard.

Should I be afraid? This is Bruno, after all. “I’m not yours,” I argue.

“You are.”

What the hell? Is he delusional? “I’m not, Bruno.”

His hand strokes my thigh, and I shiver from the contact out of lust and apprehension. “Yep,” he tells me.

Even though it’s nice, I don’t want anyone telling me I’m basically his property. “Bruno,” I warn, the anger building inside of me. How did I lose all control of my life so quickly?

“Shh.” He pulls me tighter against him.

That’s it. I’ve had enough. I sit up, facing him, and hit his chest. “Get the fuck out!”

“No.” He keeps his cool and doesn’t flinch from the impact.

“Yes,” I scream and hit him again. “Go!”

He stares down at my hand. Tears sting my eyes and I hit him again and again. Every time a little harder until I’m screeching and beating on him like a punching bag. Bruno just sits there, taking all of it without a word.

My demands for him to leave transform and become more about my life and less about him. My anger manifests and changes direction. I am hitting him, but I’m cursing God for giving me this awful disease.

“Why me?” I scream and punch him square in the chest with all my might. “I don’t fucking deserve this.”

“Does anyone?” he asks and places his hands at his side, letting me whale on him.

I may have been materialistic and a little too concerned with things that no longer matter, but I never expected this to become my life. I excelled in my work. I tried to find ways to heal people, to make the disease go away, but it wasn’t enough.

“Fuck cancer! Fuck everything!” If I had more energy, I would hit him a few more times, but my arms start to feel like jelly. I erupt in tears, sobbing uncontrollably until I collapse on top of him.

“Shh,” he whispers and starts to rub my back in a circular motion. “Let it out.”

“Why?” I cry into his shirt, my ears throbbing from the pitch of my voice. “Why me?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re going to fight this and you’re going to beat this, Cal.”

I want to believe his words. More than anything in the world, I want to believe, but I can’t. I’m not there yet. I can’t see through the darkness and visualize anything other than death before me, waiting for me to come and stalking me until I give in.

He strokes my hair and rubs my back while I sob into his T-shirt, mumbling something about the darkness. I listen to the steady beat of his heart until my eyes grow so heavy I can’t fight it anymore.