my shoulder surprisingly strong. “I need it. I need it.”
I wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry.”
His hands rub mine. “I love you. You remember what I said?”
I shake my head.
“More than anything.”
I nod and cry and stroke his cheek.
He starts pumping his dick. I know what that means. He’ll get himself close and then I’ll ride him home. We did it more when he was sick.
A ventilator... fuck.
He nods, the signal for when, and I sink down on him, facing his feet. I bounce on him with practiced zeal, rolling his balls in my palm.
Kellan moans and bucks against me. Just when the monitors begin to peel, he spurts in me and grunts. My pussy quakes around him.
“Ahhh. Oh God,” I whisper. We cling to each other.
“Cleo baby?”
“Yeah?”
“During the CT... go get me... I want another robe... one with an extra tie... in case... the ICU.” His eyes roll slightly, and the pulse ox sounds its alarm.
Arethea comes running. They take him straight back to CT. I veer the other way, like Kellan said.
“I’M SORRY, MA’AM BUT you’re not listed as a visitor.”
I thrust my arm out across the desk. “I have an armband. I’m with Kellan Drake. He had a bone marrow transplant.”
The woman scans the bar code on my arm band, and I hear a low, discordant thrum. “Your band expired, honey. If you want to get into the ward again, you’ll need to have your relative notify us.”
“I can’t! He’s going on a ventilator.” I burst into tears. “Please let me in, I have to see him now. I don’t have time to wait!”
“Sit down over there.” I fidget in a plastic chair as the woman makes calls. Then she beckons me to the desk. “Someone’s gonna come talk to you.”
A moment later, Arethea comes through the doors... pushing a cart. My belongings are heaped on it.
I clamp my hand over my mouth and have to struggle not to pass out.
“It’s okay.” She nods, and tears start dripping from her eyes.
“Arethea, what the fuck is wrong?” My heart is pounding wildly.
“He’s okay. Come here...” She steers me around a corner to a more private nook, and sits beside me on a leather couch, wrapping an arm around my back.
“Cleo—he doesn’t want to let you back in.”
“What?”
“He’s worried about this. This ventilator,” she says.
“Are you kidding me?” I feel a swell of, followed by a sharp ache in my chest. “Can’t you help me? Go get Willard!”
She shakes her head. “Yesterday, the going out. We all knew. I think he will change his mind. Kellan is strong. You might have to give him time.”
“Just give him time?” I start to sob. “I want to talk to him. I need to see him, please!”
“I am so sorry.”
“You can’t do this! You guys can’t just... throw me out!”
Arethea wraps her arms around me. I hop up and pace and try to reason with her. Cut a deal.
“He doesn’t want you in there. Not right now,” she says softly.
“Talk to Willard. He could let me in!”
She shakes her head. “Kellan is the patient. Cleo, we are with you... in spirit, but I can’t let you in. Not today. You want me to try to text you?”
“No!” I hold my head and sob so loudly, someone peeks into the little room to see what’s going on.
Arethea sits with me until she’s paged. She says she’ll try to text me. I nod, even though inside I hate her. I hate all of them.
He’s mine. Kellan is mine. I won’t stop until I get back in.
I don’t leave the transplant unit’s waiting room for three days. Arethea said she’d try to text, but I don’t see a message from her. I play on my phone and do sit-ups and change my clothes in a nearby bathroom, never leaving the area outside the locked doors for too long, in case he calls for me.
As for me, I call the ward incessantly. I talk to every nurse I know and beg them all. When someone walks through my waiting room, I try to talk to them. I call Kellan’s dad, his brother, leaving messages. I call Manning, Whitney. Nothing.
At the end of the third day, the woman at the desk appears in front of me with a short, red-haired woman, who explains that I can’t live here, as they put it.
I go back to my hotel for long enough to find an envelope with my name on it: a new notebook from Kellan. When did