“You shouldn’t have canceled your meeting,” Eden mumbled ten days later. “Wasn’t it important?”

It was hard to think clearly with so much morphine in her system.

“You’re more important,” her father insisted, giving her foot a squeeze. He loomed at the end of the hospital bed, allowing his wife the seat at their daughter’s side.

“You can’t do that. You have to think about later. You’ll ruin your career all over again.”

“The Krinar can go pound salt. The only career I care about is being a dad.”

Yet again they’d rushed Eden to the hospital. She couldn’t breathe—pneumonia this time. Due to her low white blood cell count, her immune system was shot. This morning they’d drained a liter of fluid from her lungs. She now wore a PICC line in her chest, and currently a system of plastic tubes tied her to her bed.

Eden tried to respond, but a bout of hacking prevented her.

“Just breathe, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

Her mother’s voice had a calming effect, and Eden concentrated on pulling in deep, calm breaths, even though her chest hurt and every draw was a struggle.

Her dad wrung his hands, then wiped them against the front of his jeans. “I’ll get a nurse.”

“No, I’m okay. I just need something to drink.”

Mom handed Eden a paper cup. The plastic tubing of her IV pinched her skin as it rubbed against the sheet, but nevertheless Eden raised the vessel to her lips.

“Okay?”

“It tastes like lint. What kind of bribery would it take to get a Coke?” She smiled weakly.

Her parents looked at each other.

“Pretty please? With sugar on top?” She didn’t really want the soda, but whenever she gave her parents a task that they could actually fulfill, they looked so dang relieved. She couldn’t do much for them, but she could give them this.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” her father said, coming around to the head of the bed and reaching as though to smooth her hair, but he hesitated at the rash freckling her face and traveling down her chest and right arm. “Sleep for a bit, and when you wake up, I’ll bring you a Coke.”

Eyelids already drooping, Eden nodded. Anything to keep them happy.

“We’ll be back in an hour or so,” her mother said as she retucked Eden’s sheet.

“Thanks, guys.”

She shut her eyes as the door gently closed behind them. Is this what death felt like? Slipping into sleep, but never waking up? That wouldn’t be so bad. As much as Eden didn’t want to die, part of her was ready. She was tired and so, so weak. The sickness was there all the time, and it never went away. Even if some miracle sent her back into remission, odds were it would just come back again. Not too many people survived two bouts of AML, let alone three. She didn’t know how much more she could take. Suffering all the time, watching her mom’s wrinkles deepen—granted, her mother was middle-aged, but she used to be pretty. Now she just looked old. Eden swallowed, but tears prickled and slipped free. If she just went to sleep, that would be nice.

She was just dozing off when the door squeaked.

“Eden.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, causing her to break out in a fresh round of coughing.

“You’re choking!”

“I’m okay.” She strangled back the urge to wheeze, even though her lungs continued to spasm. “What are you doing here?”

Darak eyed all the tubes and machines and raised his brows.

“How did you know?” she asked, forcing herself to remain calm.

“Your dad canceled with Bazylae. He told him he had to rush his daughter to the hospital.”

“I’m fine. Trust me.”

“Don’t give me fine. You look like a fly in a spider web.” Darak pulled up a chair and brushed his hand down her arm, finally squeezing her hand.

His touch felt like a sunny day in an herb-scented field, the music of bees and cheeseburger birds tickling the ears of the blessed. This was wrong, she thought, withdrawing her hand. “You shouldn’t have come.”

His eyes were sad. “So you still hate me?”

“I never hated you.”

“Sure seemed like it.”

“It was stupid. I blamed you for something because I didn’t want to point the finger at myself.”

“For what? Blamed yourself for what?”

“I got really sick when I was a sophomore in high school. Like, really sick. I should have died, and it traumatized my parents. My mom had to take a sabbatical to look after me. She didn’t have tenure, and she ended up getting replaced. My dad cut his schedule back, and the only thing that saved him was that stupid manuscript. Ever since that all he teaches are the crappy one-hundred-level courses. That’s why they hover over me; they’re scared they’ll look away for one second and I’ll be gone. I basically ruined their lives, and I needed someone else to blame.” She ducked her head. “I didn’t know you then.”

“You never mentioned any of this.”

“I know. You treated me like a normal girl, and I liked it. I didn’t want that to change.”

He sat down in the abandoned chair and folded his hands in his lap, all elbows and knees. “I miss you.”

“Don’t.”

“Because I’m Krinar.”

“Because you need to move on. We both have paths to take, and yours is back on Krina.”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do. All right? I’ll take care of that.”

She looked toward the window, where a slim band of sunlight peeped through and cast a slim golden rectangle in the corner. “You know, if I wasn’t sick and you didn’t have to go back to Krina—that’s where you’re going, right? Back to Krina?”

His smile was more of a wince. “Yes.”

She swallowed. “I used to dream about you and me getting an adventure vehicle—something big and bad, maybe one of those zombie apocalypse overland vehicles, you know? And we’d just drive around the world like it was the only thing we had to do, seeing everything there is to see. I threw in some hot air balloons and cliff jumping too, just for the heck of it.”

He ran his thumb across her hand in a caress. “Where did we live?”

“On the road, of course. We’d make a living posting videos about our adventures on YouTube.”

“You never did tell me how that worked.”

“It’s easy.” Or it was. Even opening her eyes felt like too much effort now. “You get people to follow you, and then you start posting affiliate links to the products you use, or books you read, and you let advertisers put a banner on your videos, and pretty soon you start earning commissions. If you get enough followers, businesses will sponsor you, and all you have to do is have tons of fun and talk about it.”

“Sounds great,” he said, a wistful tone in his voice. “In those dreams of yours, did we get naked every night?”

“Every night? What are you, old? I’d expect you to put out a minimum of three times a day.”

“I’ve created a monster,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

“You’re the Krinar, not me.” She meant it as a joke, but when his light dimmed, remorse kicked Eden in the chest. Her face twisted as she held back a sob. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t care how you look.”

“At least this time I won’t lose my hair,” she said, running the back of her hand under her nose. Weren’t there supposed to be some scratchy hospital tissues?

He balked. “Why would you lose your hair?”

“It’s cancer, Darak. It was a miracle I made it the first time. I’m not eligible for chemo and nothing else is working. They’re giving me what’s called palliative care.”

“This is barbaric!” He pressed forward, his look intent. Angry even.

She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry for the things I said. I don’t hate you. I never did. I was just hurt because I thought you used me.”

“I would never do that.”

“I know. You’re actually the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m so in love with you.”

A myriad of expressions crossed his face. “I thought—”

“I’m sorry. I was upset, and I couldn’t think straight. I was going to tell you the truth about how I felt—you know, that day. I was going to ask you to take me with you, blow off both sets of parents and just go. You would have said no, but I wanted to so much.”

He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I don’t know what to say.”

There was a long moment of silence. Eden struggled for a way to fill it, but what was left to say?

“The whole time we were together, you were sick?” he asked finally, giving her a pinched look.

“No.” She paused to cough. “I found out the same day I found out you were a K.”

His jaw tightened. “Son of a bitch.”

“Krinar don’t swear.”

“I’m not your average Krinar.”

“You were never average at anything, and you know it.”

“I’m glad you have such faith in me.” He lifted a corner of his mouth. “You’re the only one.”

“Your parents are idiots. Don’t let them lock you up in a lab. You deserve so much better! Promise me you’ll tell them what you really want.”

“I already have.”

“Then tell them again, and don’t let them talk you out of it.”

Instead of answering, he got to his feet and drifted over to the window.

“Please, Darak. I’m dying, and I need you to take over my bucket list and do every single thing. You have to promise.” Acid ate the back of her throat, and she swallowed hard.

Darak spun around to stare at her, his expression a perfect picture of dismay. “Dying!”

“I wish you wouldn’t have come. I’ve ruined enough lives.”

“You’re not fucking dying!” he said, his voice cracking.

“You swore again.” She tried to smile, but the next wave of nausea was too strong. Her stomach spasmed, and she clutched the safety bar as she spewed her breakfast over the side of the bed.

“Shit!”

The look of horror on his face made her cry again. Heaviness pressed against her, threatening to pull her back into sleep. She struggled to keep her eyes open. A miracle happened and he’d come, and she wasn’t going to miss a second of it.

Her chest hurt, though. Every breath was a struggle. Exhaustion spread through her, and she was grateful for the comfortable mattress beneath her back. She sank farther into the softness of her pillow. “Do you remember that day in the field?”

“The garden of Eden,” he choked.

The morphine continued to claim her, but she was glad, so glad she’d told him the truth.

“It was the best day of my life. You gave me that.” Her voice trailed as she lost her battle to remain alert.

“Fuck this shit.”

“What are you doing?” she whispered, feeling the tubes disconnect from her port.

“Getting you out of this place.”