The next morning, we were on our way to Birmingham to see Dr. Nabors. I sat in the stiff clinic room chair, listening to the statistics, digesting the small likelihood that she may live, while Daddy clutched her hand. Ten percent survival. That didn’t sound like a lot, but it was more than what she’d been given a few weeks before. So, we signed the consent form and she was scheduled to start treatment in two weeks.

The ride home was quiet. Somber. I guess we were all thinking, or maybe trying to forget.

Noah’s truck was still there when Daddy pulled into the drive, but I didn’t look for him. There was too much chaos swimming in my head. The tightness growing in my chest made it hard to catch a full breath. Everything felt like it was pressing in on me. Daddy cut the engine, talking about what we’d have for dinner. Momma added something about sweet potatoes.

They were discussing dinner like everything was normal, and even though I’d been trying to pretend everything was normal for the past month, I couldn’t do it any longer. Most of the time when reality hits, it hits like a devastating tsunami. Hard and swift, pulling you under and not letting go until nothing in your world is recognizable. And it hit me just like that. Ten percent. Panic wound through me, stinging like a shot of lidocaine. I climbed out of the car and subtly rubbed over my chest to try to ease the tension. I let Momma and Daddy get out and walk inside. When the door closed, I slowly started toward the field. The situation was hopeless. I walked faster. I was going to lose her. Faster. And by the time I reached the wooden fence, I was in a full sprint with my heart banging against my ribs. The sudden breeze rustled the long grass as my feet pounded on the ground. I ran faster in an attempt to outrace my thoughts, and I didn’t stop until I was staring into the thick bamboo that surrounded the property. My chest heaved, my lungs begged for air. I knew I was far enough away that they wouldn’t hear me, so I screamed. I screamed so loud my throat burned; so long that my voice grew hoarse. When I couldn’t scream anymore, I braced my hands on my knees. “I’m angry,” I said to myself, or maybe to God. “It’s not fair to do this to me.” I was on the brink of tears when someone’s hand landed on my back, and I jumped.

“Hey,” Noah said, rubbing small circles over my shirt.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He walked around me and crouched down, scooping away the curtain of hair covering my face. “You’re not, and it’s okay to not be.”

The last thing I wanted was to fall apart in front of him but to be honest, he was the only person I didn’t have to be strong for, and it’s better to break in someone’s arms than alone. A small sob caught in my throat when I fell into his arms, clinging to him like he was something that would save me. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and breathed in the scent of redwood and spice while I cried. I broke into a million, tiny pieces and Noah was the only thing holding me together.

“You can’t keep it all in,” he whispered, stroking his hand over my hair. “I’ve got you, lady. I got you.”

And he did.

He let me cry in his arms, and every so often, he pressed gentle kisses to my cheek. His presence made me feel grounded, and I clung to that small piece of stability floating in a tumultuous sea. When I managed to pull myself together, I took a step back before wiping the tears from my face. “I’m sorry,” I said.

He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

The sky had faded to the deep navy blue of desk. Bullfrogs croaked in the creak, crickets chirped. “They’re probably wondering what on earth I’m doing.” I thumbed toward the house before wiping my face once again.

“Probably.”

We started across the field, and halfway to the house, he grabbed my hand and stopped me. “Look,” he said, “I may not have any idea about what you’re going through, but I’m here. I mean that.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded, still holding my hand in a silent “I’m here.”

Bo was out back playing tug of war with Sampson, and he looked up when we rounded the side of the house and headed to his truck. I thought about kissing Noah when he opened his door, then felt guilty for wanting something so inconsequential given the circumstances.

He glanced back at my house, and the second he turned around, I cupped his cheek and kissed him, savoring his taste. When I pulled away, he smiled and brushed a finger over my cheek. “You need me, you just call me. No matter what time, alright?”

Closing my eyes for a second, I smiled. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you later, pretty girl.”