“Baby LeBlanc. Get your sweet ass here,” I barked, ignoring the curious glances. They were going to turn into fascinated glares once I grabbed her by the collar, pulled her over the counter, and shoved my tongue down her throat.

A few seconds of nothingness passed before Elle appeared from the kitchen, a tight smile on her face. She tied her blonde hair into a bun and wiped her wet hands over her apron.

“Hey, Dean, we weren’t expecting you.”

We? Did I not get the memo that Elle became the fucking queen?

“Yeah, thought I’d drop by to bring Rosie some lunch.” I dumped a greasy brown bag on the counter, with Rosie’s favorite grilled cheese from a bakery across the street. I peeked behind her shoulder.

“Speaking of my girlfriend—where is she? Thought she had a shift today.”

“She did.” Elle’s tight smile didn’t falter, which made me irritated, because that meant that she had something to hide, and I didn’t like secrets. “She had to get off early because she…” That was when Elle’s voice died and she clamped her lips together.

“Go on.” I narrowed my eyes, taking a step in her direction. “Finish your sentence, Elle.”

She bit her lower lip and looked down. This was not Elle at all. I’d gotten to know her in recent months, and she was a troublemaker like my Rosie.

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. Right now. Where is Rosie, Elle?”

One thing I would give women as a sexual category; they were more complex. I proved to be a simpler creature than Rosie and Elle, because the first thought that crossed my mind was that my girl was cheating on me. And the second thought was that I was going to kill him and beg her to visit me in prison so we could work on our relationship. Pathetic? Stupid? Insane? Guilty. Of all three.

“She went to the hospital,” Elle whispered, but hurried to look up and explain. “She’s fine, I swear. It’s just a little scare. I think she should be on her way to your apartment right about now. She specifically asked me not to say anything, so you cannot tell her that I told you, Dean. I’m serious about this. The only reason I did tell you is because I want you to keep an eye on her. Promise you won’t rat me out?” She gave me a pointed look, her lips pouting. My mind was already elsewhere and my heart pulverized at a thousand miles an hour.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, already on my way to the door with the stupid bell above it. “Thanks, Elle. Bye.”

What makes you feel alive?

The feeling that I won’t be…soon.

“You sure of that?” Dean asked for the one hundredth time, twirling a piece of lettuce around his fork as we sat at the dinner table. My eyes darkened. If he was going to ask me this question one more time, I was liable to stab an eyeball out of his face with the butter knife I was holding.

“Never been so sure in my entire life,” I bit out.

“Because you sure as fuck look ill to me.” He ignored my reassurances, his jaw granite-hard.

I shrugged, picking up my half-eaten sandwich.

“Do I? You can fuck me from behind tonight so you don’t have to see my face.”

Lord, I was bitter. Couldn’t help it, though. Today, I finally dragged myself to the hospital to check why I had coughed up so much blood over the last couple of days. My CF team at the hospital said some blood vessels had burst. I told them there were chunks of blood—big, gooey chunks coming out every time I had a fit—but they said it was okay. So, I guess I was okay. I wanted to be okay. I wanted more time with Dean, but as much as it did my head in, I wanted a lot more time with my parents and Millie, too.

Dean didn’t answer my snarky comment. I scrubbed my eyes, sighing.

“I apologize for acting like a brat. It’s been a long day.”

“I got us a place in the Hamptons for next week. Talked to Elle. You have the time off. And your manager at the children’s hospital. I’ll get there before you,” he informed me in a cold tone that cut through my nerves.

“That’s great,” I said, my mind elsewhere. There was a pause, and then.

“I’m meeting my sperm donor Friday at noon.”

My pulse was hot against my throat all of a sudden.

“Do you want me to come with you?” I asked. He shook his head.

“Thanks.” His voice melted, but not by much. “I’d rather make it as quick and painless as possible. Sue’ll send a taxi to pick you up at the end of your shift this Friday.”

My head bowed a little at his gesture. The conversation was downright painful. We sounded like two ninety-year-olds trying to make plans for someone else’s funeral. We had more fun dishing jabs at each other when we weren’t together. Why? Because of me. Because I didn’t let him know what was really going on. Because I was scared that I was going to lose him, and more importantly, that he was going to lose me.