The Hearts We Break (The Alphaletes Book 3), page 23
My eyes slowly blink open, taking in the white room around me. The faint beeping from beside me and Slater’s relieved voice tells me that I made it through surgery.
“Baby, there you are. Open those pretty eyes for me,” he says as he brushes the hair out of my face and leans over the bed to look at me better.
I open my eyes a little wider before landing on his handsome face. His hair is getting longer, he’s probably going to get a haircut soon. He usually doesn’t like his curls to get too long, it makes him feel young, but I kinda like it. It reminds me of the boy I first fell in love with.
“Hi,” I rasp hoarsely.
He gives me a sad smile that turns to a laugh as he bends down and places a soft kiss to my lips.
“Hi, Bubbles. Do you want some water?”
I nod and he reaches over to the side table where a bottle of ice water and a straw is filled up before he holds it in front of me. I take several long drinks, reveling in the feel of the icy chill running down my dry throat.
“Thank you,” I say as I look around the empty room. “Where is everyone?”
“I told them to wait in the waiting room. I didn’t know how you would be feeling, and I didn’t want anyone to overwhelm you when you were coming out of the anesthesia. Your dad and brothers weren’t happy with me, but,” he shrugs.
I can’t help but smile. “My little guard dog.”
He gives me a dubious look. “Baby, you better than anyone know I’m anything but little.”
Letting out a short laugh, I nod.
“Part of the reason I didn’t realize anything was wrong. That thing would make any woman sore,” I say with a chuckle, but Slater doesn’t join in.
His smile vanishes and a look of concern, maybe even guilt takes over his face.
“I’m so sorry, Bubbles. I should have seen the signs earlier. Should have put things together. I-”
“That is not now, nor will it ever be your responsibility, Slater. This is my body. If something was concerning, I should have spoken up. I honestly just thought all of the signs were weird one-off coincidences.”
A knock comes from the door before Dr. Poehler and a nurse push inside. The nurse moves to me, beginning to take my vitals as Dr. Poehler stands at the foot of my bed.
“Good, I’m glad to see that you’re awake,” she smiles. “The surgery went really well. We were able to perform a full hysterectomy, and honestly, it was the right call. We found a few smaller tumors beginning to form on your uterine wall so delaying this would have only caused future problems.”
Her tone is positive, like I should be excited about that news. However, a heavy twisting feeling settles in my gut instead. I feel so…empty. Like something has been stolen from me. Technically, it has, not by the doctor or the hospital, but by cancer. Cancer has already taken so much from me, why does it crave more like an insatiable beast?
“We also were able to harvest your eggs, and those will now be fertilized and frozen for you. We have biopsies being run on the tumors as well so that we can create a tailored plan to your treatment.”
I nod, my head swarming with information, questions and intrusive thoughts I wish would go away as Slater speaks.
“So, what’s the next step? Chemo? When can we start?”
I reach out to hold his hand when he says we. It may seem small to most, but I don’t miss it. For two weeks, I’ve been operating in a haze, stuck with my morbid thoughts on repeat, and Slater has done everything and anything to change that. He’s been amazing and has made me feel more cared for than I ever have. I’ve always tried to be a strong person, to take things one step at a time and be the voice of reason when it’s necessary. I’m grateful that Slater is stepping up to that role for me right now so that I can fall apart, at least for a bit. I know he will piece me back together and that’s something I didn’t know I wanted or really needed until recently.
“We need Scarlett to fully heal before we begin chemo, so you are probably about three weeks out from your first round. Like we discussed, I believe doing six rounds of chemo will give us a good starting point. Each round will be done once every three weeks, and we will obviously do scans before each round to see how the chemo is working, if we need to change anything as we go and what our next steps will be.”
I nod, knowing firsthand what comes with chemo, all of the ugly things that go hand and hand by the poison they pump into you that is supposedly saving you. God, I’m not ready.
Two days later and we are finally on our way home. I don’t know how Slater has been able to take this much time away from the team without being in breach of his contract. He says that Aberton is being really understanding and making things work. Part of me thinks Slater could be in the middle of a lawsuit and I wouldn’t know it, though. He wouldn’t tell me if he was and maybe that should make me upset but the fact that he is so willing to give up everything just to sit in a hospital room with me means more than I could ever express.
I’m still in pain as we make our way through the front doors but it’s manageable. When we get to the stairs, I pause, looking up at the daunting trek before Slater bends down and scoops me into his arms bridal style before gently carrying me.
“You don’t have to carry me, Slater,” I say as we get to the top.
“Who says I’m doing it for you? Maybe I just wanted an excuse to hold you?” he asks.
I can’t help but smile at that as we get to the bedroom door.
“Okay, I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.”
Looking at him suspiciously, I slowly do so. I feel him open the door before taking several steps inside as he carefully lowers me onto the bed.
“Alright, keep them closed,” he says as he pulls the covers over me.
“I am.”
“Good,” he says as a whirring sound begins. “I know this is hard, all of it. I know you’re hurting and scared and I hope you know that I’m gonna be by your side through every step of this until we make it out the other side together. We both know positivity is key in all things in life, and if we want to kick the shit out of this, we both have to stay positive and you being trapped inside a house, more accurately in a room makes that hard so, open your eyes.”
I do as he says, smiling at him before my smile falls and my mouth drops open. My eyes widen as I take in my surroundings, not quite sure how I’m seeing what I’m seeing at first.
Hundreds of bubbles fill the room, swirling above our heads before mingling in the air all around us. It’s then that I notice the two bubble machines set up in two corners of the room, blowing out dozens of bubbles every second. When my eyes come back to Slater, a soft smile is on his face as he watches me.
“I’m scared, Bubbles. I know you are too, but we are going to take this one day at a time, one step at a time. And the first step is letting go of our negativity.”
He takes a step towards me, pulling a small bubble wand out of his pocket before he holds it up for me. I blow on it instantly, before he re-dips again and again, until tears are brimming in my eyes. Tears of fear, of pain, of love, and acceptance all mingling into one.
“Now put everything into this one,” he says. “Every frustration you are feeling, every pain, physical and mental, that you are struggling with. Slowly, let it all blow out with this breath, and when the bubble pops, it’s time to let it go.”
One of my tears manages to escape, gliding down my cheek as he catches it with his thumb and nods at me encouragingly. Sucking in a shaky breath, I close my eyes and hold it for a moment before letting out a slow and steady breath. I let it all slip out of me in that moment. I can’t promise it won’t come back. I can’t promise the fear and pain won’t win more days than not, but when I open my eyes, seeing the man that I’ve loved practically my whole life sitting there watching me with all the love I always dreamed to see in his eyes, I know that I’ll be okay. Even if it’s for a little while.
Slater
Scar has been doing good. She’s healing quickly, and she’s been in really good spirits. We have been taking it easy at home, our families have been coming over almost every day, but I see the weariness in Scar when they spend too long fussing over her, so I usually have to kick them out after a while. Erica and Seb have also been over a few times, the girls too, though Scar asked them not to tell the girls what was wrong with her. She said they are too innocent to know how ugly the world can be, so for now, the girls think Scar has the flu and I honestly think there is something beautiful in the way she wants to protect the girls.
She’s going to be an amazing mother one day, and I honestly can’t wait to see it.
Over the last three weeks, I’ve been going to practice and games like normal. I missed a game and several practices while we were in the hospital, but when we got home, Scar insisted that I go. She actually started to get upset when I wasn’t agreeing with her, so I conceded but only on the condition that she had at least someone with her at all times, just in case.
I’ve been showing up, doing the work, but I have to be honest, my head is not in the game. How am I supposed to focus when I know that my girl is home, sick, without me to take care of her? Who gives a fuck who can carry a ball to the other side of a field the most amount of times in four quarters when my Bubbles has fucking cancer?
Today is the first day of chemo, and I honestly think I’m more scared than she is. I know what it’s about, I sat with my mom a few times, and I watched the toll it took on Beth. I know today isn’t necessarily when things will start getting bad, it’s what comes after.
When we step inside, I’m holding onto Scar’s hand so tight she actually winces.
“Shit, sorry, Bubbles,” I say as I press a kiss to the side of her head.
“If it’s too hard for you to come with me, I understand,” she says as she looks up at me.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.”
“Really?” Scar laughs. “I can think of at least another dozen places that I’d rather be. Like Valencia, Bali, Venice, Hawaii.”
“Okay, smartass. I get it. When you’re cleared to travel, I’ll take you to all of those places. Anywhere you want to go.”
She gives me a sad smile, nodding before someone comes in from the back and calls her name. We stand together before I slip my arm around her waist and follow the worker to the back. They walk us through what to expect today before they do some scans.
Soon enough, we are settled into a private room with a large chair overlooking the city. There is a larger room of several others that are currently undergoing chemo, but it wasn’t too much to just have a private room set up for just Scar. I want her to be as comfortable as possible while she has to be here.
Scar had to get her port implanted last week, and though I know it’s a good thing, that it’s something that is going to help save her life, it breaks my heart to see it on her. The oncologist comes in, hooking her up before leaving us alone. We are quiet for several seconds before she speaks.
“This is kind of boring.”
I can’t help but muffle a laugh. “Only you would complain about chemo not being productive. What would you prefer to be happening?”
She smiles softly and shrugs her shoulders as she leans her head against the headrest.
“I don’t know. I wish I would have brought a book or something.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that your boyfriend is on top of it,” I say as I grab Scarlett’s purse that I happened to sneak a surprise into.
Pulling out the sleek paperback, I hold it up so she can see it with a wiggle of my eyebrows.
“Sing Your Secrets by Kay Cove?” Scar asks, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “How did you know that’s been on my TBR?”
“I may or may not have logged onto your laptop and peeked at your Amazon wish list,” I shrug before opening the book.
I look to see Scar holding out her hand, waiting for me to hand it over.
“Well, can I have it?” she asks with a smile.
“Nope, I’m gonna read it to you. Alright, chapter one.”
“Slater,” she laughs as she tries to reach the book.
I tut at her before scooting away a few feet and opening the book.
“Sit back and let me read you your smutty rockstar book. Don’t think it’s escaped my notice that this is the second rockstar romance you’ve been into. You got me feeling like I chose the wrong career, baby. Aren’t there any football ones?”
She lets out a short laugh as she shrugs.
“Sure, but that’s too close to real life. I like to escape to a different reality in my books.”
I keep my eyes narrowed on her for several seconds before I crack a smile and begin reading to her.
It’s been two weeks since Scar’s first round of chemo, and thankfully, she hasn’t been feeling too bad. A little tired and her nausea still comes and goes, but that was the case before the chemo. She has her next round of chemo next week, and the coaching staff has been understanding enough to let me take each Tuesday off to go to chemo with Scar. Coach said I may not start because of it, but I’ve got a lot more important things to worry about than that.
I just got out of the shower and am brushing my teeth in front of my sink, while Scar is sitting in front of hers, getting ready for brunch with Erica. She’s been getting out of the house lately, which I think has been helping her a lot. Not having work to go to has been hard for her and being cooped up can’t be easy.
“Where are you guys going?” I ask as I rinse off my toothbrush.
“I don’t know. Erica said it just opened up downtown,” she says with a smile as she runs a brush through her hair.
I nod at that, my mouth open to respond before I freeze.
Scar’s brush combs through her hair, but when it gets to the end, it just keeps going. It takes me a second to realize it’s because that piece is no longer attached to her head. She slowly pulls the fallen piece away from her before holding it up to her face. I watch her eyes flick from the hair to her brush, back and forth, back and forth.
Slowly, I cross the distance between us, carefully reaching out to take the brush and hair from her hands. She lets go of the brush easily, but the rich chocolate locks are another story. It takes a little coaxing before she lets it slide through her fingers. I pull it quickly, tossing it into the trash so it’s at least out of sight before coming back to face her.
Her eyes are beginning to water as she looks in the mirror, carefully moving her hair around to help hide the new bare patch.
“Baby,” I say gently.
“It’s fine,” she says. “It’s just hair. I just wasn’t expecting to lose it this quickly.”
I step up behind her, lowering myself down to her before wrapping my arms around her chest and pulling her back against me.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?”
She gives me a sad smile as her hand reaches up to hold my arm in place.
“Hope you feel that way in a few weeks, or a few months.”
“You’ve been the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since you were seven years old, that’s not changing, ever.”
Scarlett
Chemo was harder this week. Last round, I just felt a little tired. The nausea had stayed about the same, but I was doing alright. Despite having more hair than I would like laying on my pillow every morning as opposed to on my head, I’ve been able to go out with Erica here and there, go over to my dad’s house a few times a week, or go into the bookstore. Slater has been reading to me every night even when it’s not a chemo day. It’s become one of my favorite things. I swear his voice is so smooth, he could be an audiobook narrator if the whole pro football thing doesn’t work out for him.
I’ve been sick more this week, a lot more. On top of that, I can’t hold down any food anymore. It’s a miracle if I can keep down one meal a day at all, and I lose weight fast. Weight I didn’t have to lose. I’ve never been overly skinny, but I’ve always been healthy, and I worked out regularly. At 5’6, I looked healthy at one hundred and thirty pounds. I’m already down to one hundred and twelve, and I’ve never felt worse.
I can hardly walk by myself anywhere, being a combination of fatigue, lack of nutrition, and me just having no energy in general. Slater has been carrying me up and down the stairs because one day last week ended with a late night visit to the ER for a mild sprained ankle when I tried to go up the stairs on my own.
I’m starting to feel like a burden, he already misses practice when I have chemo, and I know his head isn’t in the game on game day like it should be. Just because I haven’t been to a game in person in a while doesn’t mean I haven’t been watching it on TV. He’s not playing to his potential, and it makes me sick to think that could be because of me.
Slater has a home game tomorrow, and if he doesn’t get his shit together for it, sick or not, I will force his butt downstairs and make him workout until his legs give out.
We took a shower together this morning, which mainly consisted of Slater washing my hair for me and peppering me with kisses. It’s been weeks since we’ve had sex, and I feel guilty for it. I wish I felt better because I want him and more importantly I want him to want me. A man can only go so long without, right? I asked him that last night, and he threw his head back and laughed at me. Laughed until tears were nearly running down his face.
He told me that was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard and that he’d be perfectly happy if we never had sex again, to which I called him out for because I knew right then and there that he was lying through his teeth. But I love him for it.
Slater is brushing my hair for me when his movements still. I open my eyes to look in the mirror. His face is frozen as he stares at the back of my head.
