Mia wanted to suck the words back in the second she spoke them. For one thing, saying them aloud seemed to make them all the more real. And secondly, Padraig had been very kind to her tonight, and she felt incredibly guilty, dropping something like that on him without any preamble or warning.

His shell-shocked expression told her she’d handled it badly.

“Dying?” He was shaking his head, as if wondering if he’d heard her correctly.

She couldn’t repeat herself. It had taken her hours to be able to say it just once. And even now, she was still struggling to believe it.

An inoperable brain tumor.

The words had been echoing over and over in her disease-riddled mind ever since Dr. Richards had pointed to the shadowy mass on the X-ray and told her what it was.

She’d gone to him because of migraines. At least, that’s what she’d thought was the cause of the headaches. That or stress.

If only it had been something so simple. Something treatable.

Dr. Richards had pointed to the tumor and explained that because of the size and location, it wasn’t something that could be removed. And while he offered radiation and chemotherapy as options to slow the growth, neither treatment would cure her.

Her choices had been limited to two: Accept her death sentence and try to make the most of her remaining days; or fight the ticking time bomb in her head with poisons that would ensure the few months she had left would be spent in hospitals, miserable and sick.

She’d told Dr. Richards she would consider her options, and left. Then she had walked around the hospital corridors for the better part of two hours, trying to make the words sink in.

Finally, she’d caught a cab back to her place, thinking perhaps it would be easier to come to grips with it in a familiar, comfortable environment.

She’d paid the taxi fare, looked up at the window of her apartment, then turned around and walked straight to Pat’s Pub.

“Mia,” Padraig prodded, pulling her out of her nightmare memories. “What do you mean, you’re dying?”

“Brain tumor.” Funny how those two words weren’t any easier to say than “I’m dying.”

Padraig shook his head again, as if denial would change the truth. That had been her initial response as well, and oddly, she took comfort in that shared reaction.

When Dr. Richards called her this morning, he’d urged her to bring a family member or friend with her to the appointment. That request had been a pretty major red flag. One that felt equally horrible when she’d had to acknowledge she didn’t have a single person on the planet to take with her.

She wished she and Padraig had had this conversation earlier. Maybe if they’d moved toward friendship prior to tonight, she would have felt comfortable enough to ask him to go with her.

As it was, the more hours that passed, the more she realized she’d only heard about a tenth of what the doctor had said after he’d told her she was dying. She would have to get a grip at some point so she could go back with a list of questions, and a way of holding the numbness and disbelief at bay so she could absorb the information she needed.

Maybe Dr. Richards would let her record the next visit.

He’d given her brochures and suggested some websites she could use to find answers as well. They were tucked in her purse and, even now, she couldn’t make herself pull them out to look over.

“You can’t be dying, Mia. You’re young. You’re healthy.”

She’d said the same things. Assured Dr. Richards that apart from the headaches, she felt great. “Apparently, tumors don’t just seek out old people.”

“They can operate. Take it out.” Padraig was grasping for all the same branches she’d reached for.

“Inoperable. It’s in a bad place.”

“Drugs. Chemo.”

She shook her head. “Wouldn’t help.”

“Fuck this!” Padraig’s voice grew louder, and she soaked up his outrage on her behalf like cooling aloe on scorched summer skin. “We’re getting a second opinion.”

She laughed. She didn’t mean to. What he said wasn’t funny. Rather, it was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. We’re getting a second opinion. Not you. He’d joined her team, tied himself to her. The girl who had only ever been a singular pronoun was suddenly part of a plural.

“I mean it,” Padraig said, unsmiling. “We’re not taking one quack’s word for this. He’s wrong.”

“We?” she asked, trying—but failing—to hide her grin.

“Of course, we. Jesus. I’m not a heartless prick. You’re new to the city with no family or friends to help you through this. Do you seriously think I’m going to say, ‘Hey, good talk,’ and walk away from you?”

“Tonight is the first time we’ve ever really spoken. How would I know what to think?”

He sighed. “You’re right. I get it. Up until a couple of hours ago, we probably couldn’t have even said we were acquaintances. But now…”

Padraig reached over and took her hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d comforted her with that small touch, but now that he knew—knew and wanted to help her—it sent a wave of…

Of what? She tried to latch onto an emotion, but couldn’t. She’d been through the wringer today, waffling between numbness, devastation and merciful distraction.

“Now we’re friends.” Padraig didn’t release her hand this time after a quick, reassuring squeeze.

Instead, he held tight, and she realized what she was feeling was hope.

It was a ridiculous response, considering there was none. But the feeling was there, and as long as Padraig held her hand, it remained stubbornly ensconced.

“I like the sound of friends.”

His face was still somber, and she hated that she’d wiped away the easy smile he’d worn most of the evening. “What did the doctor say? Exactly?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I lost track of most of the words after ‘inoperable brain tumor’ and ‘six months to live’.”

“Six months?” he repeated, and she remembered her tasteless joke earlier. The words had fallen out without thought, bitterly, though Padraig hadn’t caught the tone behind them.

“I shouldn’t have said that before. I—”

“It’s okay, Mia. My mom is a nurse. If you’d allow it, I think she should go with you to your next appointment. She’ll understand what’s being said and can ask questions, clarify things. I also want to get her suggestions about who you should see for a second opinion. She’s been a nurse in Baltimore forever. I swear it seems like she knows every doctor in the state.”

Mia felt another tear slide down her cheek. She’d foolishly thought she had sobbed all of those out against Padraig’s chest outside. His offer was the answer to a prayer, and she was touched. “I’d like that a lot.”

They were interrupted when the clerk walked over to their table. “Getting ready to close up.”

Padraig and Mia both stood and put their coats back on. Mia tried to push down the panic rising in her chest. As long as she was with Padraig, she could keep a grip on herself. The idea of climbing the stairs to her apartment and sitting alone with nothing but her fear and her sadness, terrified her.

But she couldn’t ask Padraig to keep hanging around. It was eleven o’clock and he’d already blown off a night’s work to comfort her. While he’d offered his friendship and support, that didn’t mean he would stay with her 24/7 to keep her from losing her shit every time she recalled the fact that she was dying.

She sucked in a deep breath that sounded like a sob as they stepped out on the street. Padraig stopped and looked at her.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Don’t you want to go home? It’s late. I’ve already monopolized your entire night.”

He studied her face. She didn’t have the ability to feign a strength she didn’t feel. “It’s still early. Where do you want to go? Back to the pub?”

She shook her head. While the place hadn’t been exactly buzzing tonight, she really wasn’t sure she could hold herself together in front of people. Now that Padraig knew what was going on, she felt the need to talk. She’d been trying to reason it out in her head, but she couldn’t. She had a million things she wanted to say, and he was the only person around to listen.

“My apartment is just a block away. I have some wine. Maybe if I drink enough of it, I can pass out instead of crying myself to sleep.”

Padraig tucked his arm around her shoulders, turning them toward her place. “Wine sounds good. You sure you trust me not to take advantage of you?”

She could tell he was trying to lighten the moment. Truth was, she’d watched him at the pub enough to know Padraig Collins was a stand-up guy. A gentleman.

And as reassuring as that was, there was a part of her that actually wouldn’t have minded the “taking advantage” part, simply because it would involve touching, feeling, and not sleeping alone.

For a woman who had spent the better part of her life completely alone and not being bothered by it, she couldn’t seem to shake the loneliness that had crashed in on her since the doctor’s diagnosis.

“I trust you,” she said, and they walked the rest of the way to her place in silence.

They climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment and she unlocked the door, inviting him in. She tossed her coat on a chair near the door, then took his and laid it over hers. She gestured to the couch. “Have a seat and I’ll pour us both a glass. It’s cab sav. Is that okay?”

“Sounds great.”

She walked to the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. Her hand trembled slightly as she did so, and she spilled a few drops on the counter. She wiped it up and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t keep falling apart in front of Padraig or he would go running for the hills.

Mia picked up the glasses and returned to the living room. Padraig rose from the couch, taking the wine she offered. He lightly tapped his glass against hers before sitting back down. She claimed the opposite end of the couch and they each took a sip.

“When is your next doctor’s appointment?” he asked as he set his glass on a coaster on the coffee table.

“Tuesday. I understand if your mom can’t make that work. It’s short notice.”

“She’ll make it work,” he replied with complete confidence. “I know she’ll want to be there once I explain the situation.”

Mia wasn’t sure which situation he was referring to. Her health or her motherless state. But both worked so she rolled with it. Having someone with a medical background go with her really would help. Dr. Richards had said too many things she didn’t understand today. Not that she’d been firing on all cylinders.

Yet another tear rolled down her cheek and she batted it away quickly. Unfortunately, not before Padraig saw it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to keep crying. I swear I’m trying to keep it together.”

Padraig scooted closer, near enough that he could take the wineglass from her hand and set it next to his. Then he clasped hands with her. She’d never realized such a sweet, innocent gesture as holding hands could be so comforting.

“I think you’re entitled to those tears, Mia. I’m not sure how you’re holding it together as well as you are. If I’d gotten news like yours, I’d be curled up in a fetal position in some dark corner of my bedroom.”

She grinned, even though she doubted his assertion. Padraig seemed like the type of man who could face anything that came his way. But she appreciated his attempts at bolstering her up.

“I just…” She paused as she considered all the things she’d been thinking of when she was supposed to be listening to the doctor.

“You just what?”

“I thought I had time. Time to do so many things.”

“Like what?”

The list flowed easily, because it wasn’t a new one. “Like get married. Have a family of my own. Adopt a really badly behaved dog. Sing karaoke loud and off-key. Travel to Paris and Harry Potter World. Dance my ass off in some nightclub and see the ocean…just once. And I really—” Her voice broke. “God, I really want to eat chocolate cake with my bare freaking hands on my next birthday. And I want to eat the whole cake myself. I don’t want to share it.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“October second. Close, but no cigar.” It was an attempt at a joke. It fell short.

“How old will you be?”

“Twenty-seven. Guess if there’s a bright side, I don’t have to worry about hitting the dreaded thirty.”

“You don’t have to do that on my account.”

“Do what?” she asked.

“Joke around about something that’s not funny just to lighten the mood. You don’t have to be afraid of being real in front of me. I think if there was ever a time to drop all pretense and be yourself, it’s now.”

She sighed. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“So tell me who you are. Three things—your best qualities.”

She grinned. “Only three?”

Padraig laughed. “I like a woman who knows her own worth. So what are they?”

“It’s hard to rattle off a list like that without sounding cocky.”

Padraig shook his head. “I disagree. Society always seems to focus too much on the negative. Probably be a better world if we gave people more credit for the things they do well, do right.”

“Fine. We’ll take turns. I’m a hard worker.” She didn’t add that she’d had to be to survive. “What about you?”

“I’m a good listener.”

She nodded. “Yeah, you are. I’m an amazing cook.”

“Really?” he said. “I think I’m going to need you to prove that to me sometime.”

Mia picked up her wine with her free hand. She didn’t want to let go of the link between her and Padraig. She took a drink, liking the way the red wine warmed her from the inside out as it slid down her throat. “Your turn,” she prompted.

“I have a great sense of humor.”

“Oh yeah?” she teased. “You really want to go with great? Not just so-so or fair? Because you need to keep in mind, I’ve heard some of those corny jokes you tell at the bar. ‘Great’ seems to be reaching.”

Padraig barked out a loud laugh, and she realized he never held back when he found something funny. He laughed with his whole body. “Damn. I know I told you to be real, but maybe we should reconsider that. You need to dial it back a notch, woman.”

Mia giggled.

“You’ve really never seen the ocean?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Born and raised in Chicago, as you know. Solid Midwest. Never any money for a big trip like that. Then I moved here in November. Planned to drive to the coast this summer.”

“It’s definitely worth the trip.”

She sighed, wondering if she’d be well enough come summer. “Yeah,” she replied, though her tone reflected her disbelief.

He squeezed her hand. “You’re going to see your next birthday, Mia. I’m sure of it.”

That damn hope that he kept poking and prodding reared its head again and for three whole seconds, she believed he was right. However, like every other emotion she’d experienced that day, it was brief. Fleeting.

“I always felt like my list was life goals. Now…now they seem more like a list of regrets.”

Padraig’s expression sobered. “Don’t give up, Mia.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered, admitting the one thing she hadn’t been able to shake all day. The excruciating, bone-shaking terror.

“I know.” Padraig wrapped his arm around her shoulders and for the second time that night, he let her cry out all her fear, all her agony, against his strong chest.

Rather than try to stop—as she had out on the street—this time, she just let go. Let it all come out in a mess of tears, loud sobs, and curses.

“It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair!”

Padraig held her through it all. Not letting go even when the storm calmed and the numbness returned.

Mia closed her eyes, exhausted, Padraig’s words the last thing she heard before she fell sleep.

“I’m here now. It’ll be okay.”