go, the IV attached to her arm, the wheels of the hospital bed creaking. My vision blurs. A combination of helpless anger and pain tighten my throat. I would give anything to be in her place.
Take me, dammit. Take me in there, cut me open, rip out my insides—do whatever you want to me, but leave her alone. Christ in heaven, leave my wife alone. Don’t make her go through this.
The door closes behind her.
I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and inhale a few hard breaths before I walk slowly down the corridor. I’m still holding her ring in my left fist. I slip it into my pocket, and my fingers touch a piece of paper. I pull it out to find a drawing:
I manage to smile—because even now, Liv will know if her note made me smile—and put the drawing back into my pocket.
I stop at the entrance to the waiting room. Archer is sitting in a chair, one work boot propped on a table, his head bent as he checks his phone.
“Archer?”
He glances up. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I approach him. “What are you doing here?”
He points his chin toward the sign that says Waiting Room. “Waiting.”
“Oh.”
“They get Liv in okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, putting my hand on the outside of my pocket to feel the circle of Liv’s wedding ring. “They also have to check her lymph nodes, so the surgery should take a couple hours.”
“Figured you might need something to keep you busy.” Archer reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out a deck of cards. “Remember how to play Old Maid?”
“Are you kidding?” I sit across from him. “I play Old Maid with Nicholas at least once a week. I’m a pro.”
“Yeah? Prove it.” He moves aside some magazines on the table between us, then shuffles and deals the cards.
I try to concentrate on the game, grateful for the distraction. After a few games, we switch to War and Go Fish. The clock ticks with excruciating slowness. Every second past the one-hour mark feels like an eternity, and I fight the fear that it will take longer because something else is wrong.
Archer and I take a break from cards and walk to the vending machine. We get a couple of coffees and return to continue waiting. The clock ticks past the two-hour mark. I watch my brother as he gets out his phone to text someone—likely Kelsey.
“Liv tells me Kelsey is still saying no to your marriage proposal,” I say.
“Yeah.” Archer gives me a half grin as he stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “But she’s not saying no to me.”
I shake my head. “Man, I don’t get it. You love someone that much, you get married. What’s her problem? Liv said yes right away…well, even though my first proposal was lame.”
“We’re not you and Liv,” Archer reminds me. “You didn’t go through what we did. And you didn’t have a fan club and producers trying to ratchet up your ratings for a TV show.”
“What’s that got to do with marrying your girl?”
“Nothing. That’s the point. But Kelsey still needs to figure that out.” Archer shrugs. “No matter what else comes along, it’s always been about me and her, you know?”
I do know. More than I can even say.
“Dean?” A male voice comes from the corridor.
Archer and I look up as the surgeon enters the room. I can’t read his expression.
A knot tightens in my chest, every nerve ending jumping to full alert. Time stretches and expands as Dr. Turner crosses to where we’re sitting.
“The surgery went well,” he says, sitting in a chair beside me. “Liv is in recovery.”
My heart is beating too fast. I have that panicked sense of imminent danger.
Something is wrong.
“Are there any results yet?” I ask.
“The pathologist did a quick assessment of the sentinel node.” The doctor’s expression doesn’t change. “The preliminary results did show the presence of cancer cells, so I removed more lymph nodes for testing.”
My blood freezes. The walls close in on me from all sides, the floor and ceiling compressing and crushing the air from my lungs.
“And?” Archer asks the doctor.
“Three of the nodes tested positive for cancer,” Dr. Turner says. “The last three were negative.”
“That…that means it’s spread,” I manage to say.
“To three nodes. They’ll undergo more testing along with the tumor itself. Then we need to make a decision about further surgery and treatment.”
I lower my elbows to my knees and pull in a ragged breath. I’ve done the