Wiping a tear from her cheek, Lauren tilted her face up and brushed his lips with hers, and it felt so right. It was as if the world had been spinning off its axis and had been put back in position. His body tightened, and he silently willed it to stay calm.

“You can’t…tell me this…is wrong,” he breathed. “If being…together…is wrong…I don’t want…to be right.”

She didn’t respond and instead lay her forehead against his chest. His heart sped up, fear and anxiety churning in his gut.

Something was off. He could feel it.

“Tell me…you love me,” he said, unable to find even an ounce of pride. He needed to hear her say it, tell him that she was his.

She lifted her head, tears continuing to slowly stream down her face. His shirt was damp where she’d rested her head. “I love you.” One of her hands touched his face, her fingers brushing what would have been his hairline. “But…”

“No.” He shook his head, his own eyes burning. “No buts…not right now. Please.”

She stayed right where she was, stretched out alongside him on the bed, looking at him with sad eyes. She did as he asked and didn’t say anything more. It was almost worse that she didn’t argue and tell him the “but” was something silly like, but you look ridiculous in this hospital gown. The fact that she stopped told him it wasn’t something he wanted to hear.

“Just…stay with me.”

She probably thought he meant stay with him now, in this room, on this bed. And he’d take that.

But what he really meant was that he wanted her to stay with him for all time. Forever.

No matter how long his forever was.

Suddenly, it hit him.

Was that fair to her? To ask her to stay with him when his life was so precarious? If the cancer didn’t kill him, it became painfully obvious today the chemo could. Or some other complication from his treatment. Was he hurting her, by asking her to walk this road with him?

Most days he’d envisioned them continuing a life together outside of this…outside of his illness and all that came with it. He pictured them beyond this, when it was over and they could live a normal life together.

But that wasn’t a guarantee, was it? Plan A hadn’t worked to cure him. What if Plan B didn’t work, either? What if the rest of his life—with the length of that life in question—was consumed by doctor visits, medication, and weakness? He couldn’t give her everything she wanted, everything she deserved, from a sickbed. Hell, he couldn’t even make love to her properly.