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RHETT

My shoulders tensed.

“What is it?” she asked, moving to sit in front of me. She held the blanket over her chest and looked at me with wide, worried blue eyes.

I hated the fear I saw there, because just moments ago, everything had been the definition of perfection.

I reached out to hold her hand, console her. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

She tilted her head with a frown. “Tell me.”

My jaw clenched. I didn’t want to relive the memory, but to have a future with someone, you needed to understand their past too. “A year ago, we found a spot on my back. When Fletcher sent it in for testing, it came back cancerous.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Cancer?”

Running my thumb over the back of her hand, I said, “We were able to remove it all with surgery, and since then I’ve had regular appointments to check for more. Some of the scars heal different than others.”

Her chest heaved with deep breaths. “That’s so scary.”

I rubbed her back, loving the soft feel of her skin under my hand. It grounded me enough to continue, because I knew if Darlene hadn’t seen the spot when we were last together, I never would have mentioned it to Fletcher. Who knew how differently things might have gone if diagnosis was later?

“If I’m being honest, it was the wake-up call I needed. I knew I had to finally make something of my life, because we’re not promised tomorrow.”

She reached out, hugging me, and we held each other for moments. It was the healing touch I didn’t know I needed.

“Thank you,” I breathed.

I felt her smile against my shoulder.

Emotion rose in my throat as I said, “We need to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

I nodded. “How do cookies sound?”

She smiled at me. “Sounds amazing.”

I made us cookies from the dough I kept in the freezer, and we ate cookies and milk in bed before falling asleep. Some younger, dumber version of me might have considered this lame, but I’d never been happier in my life.

I waited until she fell asleep and got my phone from the nightstand, texting Fletcher.

Rhett: It happened.

Fletcher: Who is this?

I grunted at the phone.

Rhett: Who the fuck do you think it is?

Fletcher: You’re sounding a little murdery.

Rhett: You’re sounding like a bitch.

Fletcher: Rhett.

Fletcher: You got with Mags???