at the nape of his neck, uncaring that we’re making out in front of thousands of people. This is a memory I will never forget.
“Just a taste of what you’re in for when I win.”
I see stars and smirk. “The utter torture,” I taunt. “Bye, Erin.” I wave, and she peers up, nodding sentimentally.
Roman appears carefree and relaxed. He shakes out his legs and arms, a true athlete’s warmup. I know I have no chance of keeping up with him, but I also know he’ll carry me every step of the way.
I turn to him, appreciating every second we’re together. “I love you.”
His chest inflates proudly. “I love you, too.” He leans over, kissing me softly.
The gun suddenly sounds, alerting us that the race has started. But it can’t compare to the racing of my heart. Roman breaks our kiss, laughing when I pout. He reaches for my hand, and we commence a slow jog, attempting to keep up with the flow of bodies. Everyone seems to work in unison without pushing or shoving because that’s not what this race is about.
The sun is shining down brightly, warming my tired muscles and giving me the strength to continue. We’re running at a very slow pace, but it’s perfect for Roman and me. I take in the sights of Brooklyn, a truly different world from Manhattan.
I’m enjoying the scenery, unbelieving that I’m here, participating in an event I never thought I would be able to. I’ve experienced so many firsts with Roman, and each one will forever be etched in my mind.
It also appears Roman has experienced a first with me too.
“So…” I breathlessly pose. “I’m the first girlfriend to be seen in public with you. I’m honored.” Roman laughs, his arms swinging as he effortlessly jogs beside me. “So how many non-girlfriends have you had?”
“Too many to count,” he mocks, laughing when I turn to glare at him.
“Forget I said anything.” I gulp, realizing this is a can of worms I don’t wish to open, now or ever.
I pick up the pace, but Roman keeps up with ease. “None of them matter,” he says with honesty. “You’re the only woman who has ever made me want to live.”
I crane my neck to look at him, wondering if he’s implying what I think he is. Has he changed his mind?
“And what happens after I go?”
“I go with you,” he evenly replies.
“W-what?” I stutter, coming to an abrupt stop. “You’ve changed your mind? Roman?” I grab his wrist, trapping him to the spot.
He appears saddened, but nods. “Yes. I still intend to go to Niagara, but not until after…” He leaves the sentence hanging, not needing to fill in the blanks.
This is progress. I wish he weren’t going to Niagara at all. Although he says he doesn’t have long, is there really an expiration date on his life? Could he go in two weeks, or is it more like two years?
“You said you don’t have long. How long do you have?” This is the worst place to be asking him this, but when will there ever be a good time.
“Lola,” he warns, but I press, squeezing his wrist.
“How long?”
“About six months,” he confesses. He knows what I’m about to say before I even have a chance to open my mouth. “But there are no guarantees. I will grow weaker, and my body will fail me. I can’t live the rest of my days reminiscing about what I once had, about who I once was. I won’t be able to work, and the simplest of chores, which I take for granted now, will be impossible for me to do.”
“But six months? So much can happen in that time. A new drug may be released tomorrow.”
He shakes his head, incensed. “You don’t get it. I have nothing left to live for.”
I seal my lips, touched but angered all in the same breath. “Roman…”
But he steps forward, cupping his hands to my cheeks, searching my face. “I made this decision long before I met you. I’ve made my peace with it. I’m still here because of you, but once you’re…” He closes his eyes, pained. “You’re not here, then I won’t be either. Please respect my wishes.”
I want to protest, but how can I? If the tables were turned, would I do the same thing? I know the answer is yes.
A lump forms in my throat because this is really happening. I thought by some miracle he’d change his mind, but that was never an