I can’t even consider what that means, not at this point.

I run up to her and quickly take her hand in mine as I lean against the bed. “Nichole,” I say through a shaky breath. “I can’t . . . I can’t believe this happened. I just saw you two weeks ago. How could this have become so grave since I last saw you?”

Her lashes flutter open, revealing a pair of bloodshot eyes. The minute she sees me, they fill up with tears. “Chemo, it happens fast. I started my first treatment the week before I came to visit.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” I nearly yell but hold back, knowing she doesn’t need that right now. I take in her bandage and the rest of her body. “How are you feeling?”

“Banged up. Exhausted. Not myself.” She glances around and asks, “Where’s Ryot?”

“Out in the waiting room, as he wanted to give us some privacy.” I now take a seat on her bed and very softly say, “I really wish you’d told me.”

“I know.” More tears fall from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says right before I wrap my arms around her and pull her into a hug.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t make you cry, I’m just . . . fuck, Nichole, I’m trying to wrap my head around this, and none of it is making sense.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it too, and clearly not doing a good job.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I should have. But when I found out, you were just going through so much that I knew this news would tip you over the edge and force you to make a one-sided decision to leave Ryot, and I didn’t want that to happen.”

“I wouldn’t have,” I say, even though in the back of my mind, I know for certain that I would have dropped everything to be with Nichole and take care of her.

Through tears, she says, “I love you, but you and I both know that’s a lie. You would have used any excuse to leave California.”

“It doesn’t matter because I’m here now, and we’re going to get you better.” I pat her hand, my positivity feeling pitiful in my own ears.

And Nichole’s too as she looks away, unable to look me in the eyes. After a few seconds of silence, she says, “I’m sick, Myla. The prognosis isn’t looking good.”

My throat grows tight, and I try not to let that sink in.

Stage 4 liver cancer. You can imagine the type of searching I did on my phone all the way to Chicago. I did so much that my eyes turned blurry, and all I saw was that it was bad. Really bad.

“Hey.” I try to smile. “We’re going to do this together, okay? I know it might be scary now, but you have me, and we get through everything together. Don’t worry, I’m moving into your apartment, and I’ll take you to your appointments. I’m going to ensure you have everything you need to get well. And hey, I saw that we can do some juicing to help. I can go to that farmers market we love so much and get some fresh fruit and veggies to juice. I can cook you any meal that you want, we can binge-watch shows together like we used to, and if you’re ever feeling bad, I can—”