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My pile of paperwork doesn’t seem to be getting any smaller today, and when the chime of a text message breaks through my concentration, I realize it’s late. The office is mostly empty, a light down the hallway marking the spot where another colleague is caught up working late into the evening.

I grab at my phone, my first thought always Griffin. I feel so bad leaving him home alone when he’s going through the after-effects of the radiation. He always says he’s fine when I call and ask, or when I get home at night, but he’s lost so much weight it’s frightening, and he looks like hell. It scares me.

Strange how it makes me love him even more, ache for him more than ever.

Or maybe it’s not strange at all. Ever since I met him, it’s as if his every pain and sorrow is mine. I want it. I’d take it all from him if it would make him better, make him happy.

Sometimes I can’t remember his smile, his real smile, not the faint, pain-tinged one he gives me sometimes. Have I ever seen it?

The text message is not from him, though, and I fight a surge of mixed feelings—relief and disappointment.

Relief nothing has happened to him, that he isn’t so bad off he’d text or call me, something he’s only done the couple of times: the times his body reacted so badly to chemo it almost killed him and I rushed to drive him to the hospital.

And the inevitable disappointment that it’s not him.

I mean, after the talking and kissing and the sex, I’d thought... I’d thought we’d reconnected, gotten over the biggest hurdles, understood each other.

Wanted each other.

The text is from my sister, and I wonder what she wants. Mostly she sends me sugary sweet pics of herself and her boyfriend, Merc—and their cat, Hiccup. I do love getting them, and I couldn’t be happier for her. Cosima put her life on hold for me for so long, it’s only fair. Her happiness is mine, too, even if...

Wait a sec.

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO US,’ reads the text.

Our birthday? It’s today? A reluctant smile spreads on my face. Time has become irrelevant since I found Griffin again, especially over these past few months.

I prepare to call her, wish her many happy returns, when I receive a picture. I click on it, and freeze.

It’s my sister and Merc sitting on my sofa, in my apartment.

And there’s Griffin with them. He looks like death warmed over, and my heart skips a beat to sorrow, to fear, to love—until I lean closer to see better and realize they’re all holding... wine glasses?

Even Griffin. Though the liquid in his looks... blue? Like his electrolytes drink. What the...?

‘Waiting for you,’ my sister texts me. ‘We brought cake to celebrate.’

They’re at my place, with Griffin.

Not killing each other.

Having drinks and waiting for me.

Have I landed in an alternate universe? Did I fall asleep on my keyboard? Cos hates Griffin. Or so she let me understand the few times we discussed him. She thinks he’s taking advantage of me, that he’s not in love with me and so...

So I should let him go.

My fingers tighten on my phone. My eyes burn. Does she even know what it means to me that she’s making an effort to get to know him?

And should I worry? Is the picture staged in more ways than one? Is she holding a knife to his back to get him to participate? When I left this morning, he was dozing fitfully, and had looked so exhausted I’d tiptoed out hoping not to wake him.

Lately he seems to have reverted to his usual quiet, brooding self. I understand that he is worried about the tumors coming back, about having to undergo more radiation therapy, but it’s not that. It feels as if he’s gone right back into his armored shell once more.

It worries me. Saddens me. Makes me wonder if this isn’t going to work out.

Breaks me apart.

‘On my way,’ I type and send the text even as I’m scrambling to close files on the computer and gather my things, stuffing them into my purse.

Whatever is really going down, I need to be there, like, yesterday.

And wouldn’t it be nice to be able to turn back time for once, and unmake the mistakes I made?

Nothing for it now. All I can do is look to tomorrow, holding on to my feelings like a raft over rough waters and hoping they’ll carry me to the shore.

***

The Uber can’t get me home fast enough. Jumping out of the car, slamming the door shut, I race to the elevator and jab at the button impatiently.

What do I expect to find at the apartment? Terse silence? My sister in Griffin’s face, telling him what she thinks of him? Griffin locked up in his room, waiting for everyone to leave, or worse yet, him in Cosima’s face, telling her what he thinks of me?

What he really thinks. What he really feels.

Am I so terrified of that?

Turns out I am.

Exiting the elevator, I wipe my hands down my thighs. My fingers shake as I try to fit the key into the door of my lock.

Before I manage, the door flies open and Cosima is there, pulling me into a hug. I go in reluctantly, as no matter how much I love my sister—hint: a lot—there’s only one person I need to see right now.

Maybe sensing my struggle, Cos releases me and turns to gaze into the apartment together with me. It’s like a theater play, my own living room seeming like a snapshot from someone else’s life.

Merc is helping Griffin to the sofa, and my heart twists in my chest. I swear I feel it. Merc is all tall and broad-shouldered and golden like a god, where Griff looks pale and thin and broken.

And beautiful.

Worry propels me forward just as he sinks down on the sofa, eyes red and lips cracked and white. “Griff.”

“Sophie.” The rasp of his voice is painful, like the scrape of a knife on stone, but I’m so happy to see him I throw myself at his feet, grabbing his knees, like an ancient supplicant.

“He’s been sick a few times,” Cosima is saying. “But it’s eased up now. Got some water in him, and his meds.”

“He should be in bed,” I whisper, hiding my face against the soft flannel, drawing in his scent.

God, no matter what, no matter, please don’t take him from me.

And here I am, swinging between extremes, going from worry about what he’ll tell my sister about me to the fear of losing him.

“I wanted to wait for you,” he says, a stubborn flatness to his hoarse voice, a burning flame in his eyes. “For your birthday.”

Oh God... My eyes blur.

“Talk to you later, Sophie,” I hear Cos say. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her and Merc grab their jackets and slink out the door.

Terrible as it sounds, I’m glad. I’m falling apart, and I don’t want them to see.

Steadying my breathing is a struggle. I want to weep, tears creeping in, clogging my throat. “Who cares about my frigging birthday?”

“I do, dammit.” And the harshness of his tone is shattered by the hand he lays on my hair. Light. Gentle. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I am. Sorry for everything.”

“Don’t say that. You did nothing wrong, Griff.”

“I have to say it, just in case.” A soft inhale. “In case I don’t make it, Soph.”

“No.” I’m shaking my head, not lifting my gaze to look at him. Refusing to face this. “No, don’t ever say that. I told you, I won’t let you go.”

Even if it means fighting death.

Can you fight death? I don’t know. There is only one thing I know, and that’s I will be by his side all the way to the credits rolling and beyond, if he’ll let me, if it’s this year or in a hundred years.

It’s not poetry, and it’s not empty words. I mean it. I belong to this man, body and soul, and I’m his, to the end of our time, whenever that is.

***

We end up sitting together on the couch, arms curled around each other, in the quiet. It has started to rain, a storm, and the elements are lashing the windows.

It’s warm inside, in his arms, even if shivers go through him. I want to drag a blanket over him but his hold is tight, not letting me move when I try to get up.

I slide my hand over his chest, lightly, all too aware of the incision, until I find a safe place over his heart to rest it. His pulse kicks under my palm, rapid and shallow.

It hurts to see how exhausted he is. So I stay put, holding him as much as he’s holding me, reluctant to move, too. It’s the closest I’ve been to him since he started the radiation therapy, and after what he said, that rare break where he admitted he cared, wanted to wait for me, to wish me a happy birthday, it makes me happy.

Though I need to call my sister. I should have called her.

The thought comes and goes like an echo. I have this vague idea that I should apologize, though I’m not exactly sure for what. For ignoring her and Merc for five minutes while I wrapped myself completely in Griffin? That I forgot our birthday and didn’t call or buy her a present? That I didn’t even say thank you to them for coming over, for bringing cake, and above all for taking care of Griffin, something I failed to do?

All that, probably.

And yet I can’t make myself move from his side.

“Do you want cake?” I whisper against his shoulder. He’s lost so much muscle mass in the past year, there’s only bone under my cheek.

Still he’s the most gorgeous man in the world for me.

Always will be.

I look up and his dark eyes are trained on me. Dark eyes, dark brows, sharp cheekbones, and that soft mouth. I remember his taste, his body moving against mine, and don’t know what to do with myself. I want him so much, but he’s so sick right now.

Will we have more time, will he...?

Stop it. God, stop it, Sophie. Shut up.

Pushing myself up, I kiss him lightly on the lips, to distract myself from the awful thoughts, the misery in my heart, the need to touch all of him. A sip of him, a touch, a reminder of how it could be between us.

A loan groan leaves his throat, and he kisses me back, hauling me against his side.

All too soon, he pulls back, breathing harshly, lines of pain around his mouth. “Soph...”

“I know,” I whisper. “Sorry.”

“It’s not you.” He slumps back. “I look like one of the walking dead. Feel like one, too. I can’t even fucking get it up. And I want you so fucking bad...” His throat works, his eyes feverishly bright. His cheekbones are sharp like blades in his thin face, and red spreads over them. “I’m not worth your time, Sophie. Can’t even fuck anymore.”

The flush of anger makes his face look less ghostly, but his words make me flinch.

Instantly he pulls me back to him. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, Soph. Shit...”

“Don’t be.” He’s got it all wrong, and emotion is choking me up so bad I can’t speak. I swallow hard and try anyway. “I’m not asking for more than this kiss.” Except for your love. I want your love. “Your body is fighting a disease, and I’m the one who’s sorry for making you feel that way.”

“It’s not right. You don’t have to hang around me, a bastard who’s given you nothing and taken so much.”

“Stop. That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” he whispers. “I even don’t know how to show you, how to...dammit.” He stops, and my heart booms.

“Show me what?”

He’s silent for a while. Then he says, “I may never get better, Soph. I can’t hope for anything. Not when I’m indicted to die.”

“You won’t die. I said I won’t let you.”

I can’t imagine a world without you.

“You can’t stop it from happening. You’ll be better off without me.”

“Stop... saying these things. I’ll wait until you feel better.”

He looks away. His hold on me loosens, and it scares me. “Remember that time when I made you cry so hard you told me I’m an asshole and ran away?”

Oh, I remember. How can I forget. “You said love was for pussies and relationships for the terminally stupid.”

It had been a bad day. I’d invited Griffin to a garden grill. It was at my friend Emily’s boyfriend’s house, yet another friend I’d lost contact with over the year, running between work, classes and Griffin. It had been a nice, warm evening, and there were more people from college, standing around with fruity drinks and beers, making small talk. Having fun.

The stars had been so bright on the sky. Griffin was by my side, looking so handsome in his black pants and T-shirt, his dark hair glossy, falling in those deep eyes.

Everything had seemed possible. He’d stood close to me, so close I could smell his spicy scent. Maybe it was his aftershave, or his deodorant, or maybe it was just his skin. Delicious, mouth-watering, and I hoped... I hoped he’d say something tonight, something to break this strange dance we’ve been caught in for the past few months.

Admit he likes me.

Ask me out.

Even just suggest we go to his place, or mine, for a late drink and sex. I wanted him so much. While he’d been away, I’d spent the time dreaming of him, fantasizing about him, craving him.

Someone jostled me as they passed by on their way to the makeshift bar to grab a drink, and I slid a step closer to Griffin, close enough to feel his body heat. He didn’t move away from me, as he often did the previous times, and I took that as a good sign.

Which made what happened next all the harder to bear.

Emily and her boyfriend came over to say hi, arms around each other, smiling, fairly glowing with what they felt for each other.

And Griff had walked away—from them. From me.

I’d gone after him, of course. Worried, wondering what chased him away like that. He wasn’t so fast, limping badly from what I thought was a car accident injury, and I caught up with him at the garden gate.

It was then he’d told me that he doesn’t believe in love, in relationships, that it’s all a frigging joke, a front, a stupid idea.

He’d broken my heart that day, broken it into such tiny fragments I didn’t think I’d be able to come back from that. I’d been in love with him too long already.

“It’s true, you know,” he says now.

I shake my head in disbelief. “Why are you doing this?”

“Love is for the stupid, Soph. As for the why, I’m an asshole.” He wraps his arm over his middle, like he often does these days. “You know that. You said it that day.”

“No. I was wrong about many things. About you.”

“You weren’t wrong. I don’t believe in love and stupid—”

“Stop, Griff. You don’t mean that.”

He says nothing, lips pressed together, jaw clenched.

This is... screwed up. I came to him determined to show him that he was wrong, that he’d been good to me, that his reactions made sense, that I understood now, but this...

I scoot away from him as his arm falls away from my shoulders, moving back to see his face, but he turns away.

“You’d do well to stay away from me,” he says, his voice stronger. “I’m only going to hurt you, Sophie.”

“Don’t... don’t do this, Griff. Not after everything. Don’t push me away.”

His shoulders rise and fall in a ghost of a shrug. “It’s the truth.”

What is he doing?

Dumb question. He’s trying to push me away, and keep me at a distance.

Too late for that. Why is he still trying to convince me he’s bad for me? Does he really not want me beside him?

Doesn’t he know how much I care for him? Could it be that he can’t see it? Can’t understand it, just like I couldn’t understand him? I think of how alone he’s always been, of his estranged family and his best friend betraying him.

Of me, betraying him with his best friend.

Right. Why should he trust people, and love? Why should he trust me?

Taking a deep breath, I decide to set things straight once and for all. “What you said before, about not being able to show me... Well, you have. Shown me, that is.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks faintly, finally looking at me again.

I pull out my pendant, wave it at him. “What about this? What about all the things you gave me?”

His eyes fly wide as he reaches out, touches my pendant. “Soph...” His breath rushes out. “I made this for you.”

“This, and the poem you wrote for me, and the drawing you made of me. I’ve kept it all. Why do you think? Why did you give them to me?” I shake my head. “Talk to me Griff. What happened today, and that day at the party? What’s wrong?”

His face pales. “I can’t...” His gaze flicks from the pendant to the wall and back, as if he can’t help but look. “Christ, your sister saw me puking my guts out. Her, and Marvin who came by the other day, they... they made me understand, forced me to face reality.”

“Marvin came by? When? And what did my sister tell you?” I sigh. “God, now I’m glad I didn’t text to apologize to her.”

“Apologize?”

“For ignoring her so I could cuddle with my favorite guy.”

Uncertainty flickers in his eyes, and his mouth tilts up in a quick, faint smile. “You say these things,” he whispers hoarsely, “and you kill me, Soph. How can I keep this up when...? When you’re better off without me?” He touches my arm, his hand shaking. “Fuck.”

Oh my God.

Suddenly it’s all clear. It’s not just me he’s trying to keep at a distance, to stop before the pain hits. It’s himself, too. he’s trying to convince himself it’s better if we’re apart, if he goes. That leaving me, even dying, is better for me.

I won’t let this happen. This resolution rises inside me, becomes a spark.

I’ve never been a bright flame. I’m an ember, living in the ashes. But today I’m burning so bright I’ll leap into a flame and burn everything down.

“I don’t care, Griff. I don’t give a damn. I’m staying here, with you. I’m not letting you go. Not going anywhere.”

“It’s your apartment,” he says finally, faintly, an echo of what he told me weeks ago, but his voice cracks at the end.

Drawing a shuddery breath, I slip my arms around him once more, and hug him with all I have. “I’m not letting you go,” I say again. “I promise you I’m not letting you go.”

I wonder if anyone ever promised him this before, and from the way he’s hugging me back, crushing my ribs, I’d say no.

“Soph...” he breathes. “Goddamn, Soph...”

Just that.

It’s enough for now.