Her voice was void of emotion like her expression. Blank while he struggled to understand what she was saying.
“Chemo port...” He repeated her words, comprehension sinking into the thick barrier of denial he didn’t want to let go of. “You have cancer?”
God, no. Please no.
Sickness heaved in his stomach and burned up his throat. He couldn’t lose her when he’d just found her. Not now. Not like that.
Her head was shaking though, her hand settling over his racing heart. “Had,” she emphasized. “Twice. But I’ve been in complete remission for almost eight years.”
Had. Remission. Almost eight years.
The words looped in his head until they took hold. She wasn’t dying. Not now at least. But...
“What?” he forced out, the word rough with worry and the waiting axe. “There’s more, isn’t there?” He sensed that with every instinct he’d honed on the ice.
Her focus held on her hand where it still rested over his heart. He covered it with his own, sending strength when he wanted to haul her into his arms and shove everything else away.
“I’m not a good risk,” she said, her words barely audible. She glanced up, not lifting her head to peer at him. “You need to know that. The leukemia came back the second time after eight years in complete remission.”
Again, he struggled to follow her words when he was still stumbling over how close she’d come to dying. “Leukemia. Cancer of the bone marrow, right?”
She nodded, an almost imperceptible movement.
The leukemia came back the second time after eight years in complete remission.
I’ve been in complete remission for almost eight years now.
Acid burned in his throat as logic took hold. “You’re afraid it’s going to come back again.” He didn’t need to ask, he could see it in the weight that pressed on her shoulders and haunted her eyes.
“It’s a possibility.” She swallowed. “One I live with every day.”
One he’d have to live with if he wanted to be with her. That was what she was telling him. Could he do it? Dare to love her when she could be dying even now and not know it?
“And,” she went on, “the treatment potentially messed with my reproductive system.” She swallowed. “There’s a good chance I won’t be able to have babies.”
As if babies were something he’d reject her over. Or the cancer, for that matter. Even if it meant the risk of her dying was higher than normal.
He sat up, slowly shifting until he held her tight in his arms. She ducked her head onto his shoulder, hugging him. This was peace right here. Pure and honest.
Henrik closed his eyes and held on as his world spiraled out from beneath him. This he could do—had to do. The rest... He had no clue how to handle any of it. But he couldn’t leave her either. Not by choice.
Chapter Seventeen
Jacqui sought the solid strength of Henrik. The firm confirmation of his embrace, head pressed against hers.
She snaked her legs around his waist and held on with a desperation that scared her. She wasn’t so strong right now. Brave or assured either. And it was okay.
Inside, she was back to the scared child lying in a cold room in a sterile hospital, adults talking around her about blood cell counts and other terminology she was too young to understand. She hadn’t needed to though. Not when the fear had been clear on her parents’ faces. The way her mother had clenched her father’s arm. The red-rimmed eyes and tears her mother couldn’t dash away fast enough, and the continuous swallowing of her father.
The teenage version of herself had understood it all. Too well. By then she wouldn’t allow herself to be scared. She couldn’t hurt her family more by letting her fears show. They’d already endured so much because of her.
But with Henrik, it all came rushing up to churn in her stomach with the constant worry that festered there. He hadn’t bolted when he had every right to. Especially after hearing about his sister. He’d already endured a painful loss. What if she...
No. She couldn’t think it.
It didn’t matter if her stomach hurt too much or if her bones ached more than normal or if she’d had a bloody nose the other morning. She was stressed, tired and the dry air were all to blame. That is all.
That is all.
That is all.
“You’re shaking,” Henrik murmured by her ear, his breath warming her skin. “Let me get a blanket.”
Kind, caring Henrik. How could she possibly let him go?