That I would bleed for the rest of time. That I would feel this sense of . . . failure, like I’ve never felt before. I’ve failed Palmer even more than I’ve failed myself or my parents.

I’ll never see Ethan grow up to be the incredible man I know he can be—I know he will be. I’ll never know Palmer as mine.

Fuck this world.

I stand up and pace the room, retracing the path that I’ve worn on the hardwood ever since I got back a couple of hours ago. The worst part—the only thing worse than the hole in my chest that feels like a fatal wound—is the pain in Palmer’s face.

This disappointment. The anguish. The heartbreak.

The hope that she was misreading the situation because she expected more of me. Because I told her to, and she trusted me.

“This fucking sucks!” I say, but my words only rattle around the empty house.

My bags are packed and sit beside the door. I’ve booked a ticket from Cincinnati to Los Angeles, and all I have to do is head to Fish’s apartment until my flight in the morning. It’s the only place I can be guaranteed privacy.

But leaving feels like the end of my life as I know it.

I sit again. My head falls back into my hands. A stab of fire pierces my temples, making me wince.

I think I’m going to puke.

“Cole! Honey! We’re home!” Mom’s voice rings through the house. “Cole? Where are you?”

A wave of sadness swamps me as I listen to my parents’ footsteps come up the stairs. I close my eyes and pray for help in telling them about my diagnosis.

“Cole?” A soft knock raps against the door.

“Yeah?”

My voice catches in my throat. It’s hoarse, laden with so much emotion that the sound can barely get through.

Dad walks through first. He starts to speak but stops when he sees my bags. “Cole?”

If Mom sees the bags, she ignores them. Her gaze is fixated on me.

“I need to talk to you guys,” I say, clearing my throat.

“What’s going on?” Mom sits beside me. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

I look at her sadly and reach for her hand. She puts it in mine and then presses her free hand on top of our joined ones.

Dad pulls a chair out from the desk and turns it to face us.

Being with them during the worst day of my life is a silver lining. It’s not something I’ve had in my adult life—the luxury of having my loved ones around when shit hits the fan. Their unwavering support and the love radiating off them make me tear up again.

Fucking baby.