My head snapped back. “What?”
“I can’t visit them all. I just can’t. I do my best, but do you have any idea how many dying kids there are out there?” She pushed out of my arms and got to her feet. “It’s so fucking unfair.” Her chin quivered as she began to pace while chewing on her thumbnail.
I sat up on the bed. “Levee, Morgan isn’t dying.”
She stopped, and her eyes jumped to mine.
“She was released a few days ago, actually. She was only at the hospital because she kept getting sick during her treatments. So they moved her to a more sterile environment.”
She swallowed hard, and tears filled her eyes. “Really?”
“Do you even ask about these dying kids you go see?”
“No. I’m not going to invade their privacy by asking a million questions. When I go, it’s to offer them a diversion, not to remind them why they are there in the first place.”
“Levee, you’re killing yourself with guilt over sick kids who are fighting and winning.”
“They aren’t all winning, Sam.” Her voice cracked at the end.
I kept my tone soft but firm. “But a lot of them are. Focus on the right part of that equation. No wonder you’re depressed. You think every kid who visits a hospital is dying.”
“I don’t think they all are….but—”
I interrupted her again before she had the chance to muddle it back up in her head. “Hospitals are where kids go to get better. Yes, some lose their battles, but most do not.”
“But some do,” she snapped. Hanging her head, she whispered, “My sister, Lizzy, died in a hospital three weeks after she was diagnosed with leukemia.”
And there it was.
Levee had a past of her own.
And just knowing that we shared something so similar gutted me.
“C’mere,” I said, but I didn’t wait for her to obey. I went to her.
Her arms were tucked between us, but she accepted my embrace, leaning her head into the base of my neck. I backed her toward the bed then turned at the last second and pulled her down on top of me.
“How old were you?” I asked as her stiff body relaxed.
“Eight,” she squeaked.
“That’s a long time ago. Have you ever seen someone…ya know…to talk about it?” I smoothed her curls down and kissed the top of her head.
“Yeah. I did when I was a kid.”
“And recently?” I prompted.
“I don’t really remember her all that well. I mean, I do. But it’s not like she’s haunting me or something. Most of what I remember of her was in the hospital for those three weeks. Then how lonely I felt when she died. She was two years older than me. I wanted to be just like Lizzy when I grew up. Then, one day, I was older than she was. That was really hard.”
I nodded in understanding. It did suck. Anne was three years younger than me. I was older than she’d ever be.
“It’s funny. I don’t remember a ton about Lizzy, but one of my clearest memories of her was the day a celebrity visited the hospital she was at. She was so sick at that point, but the moment he walked in the room, bearing nothing more than a stuffed animal and a T-shirt, she perked up completely. She was laughing and smiling. We thought meeting someone famous was the coolest thing in the entire world. I swear she was a different person for at least a week. It was crazy how something so small meant so much to us back then.”
“Who was the celebrity?” I asked, smoothing a hand down her back in understanding.
“Ric Flair.”
I arched an eyebrow in question. “The wrestler, Ric Flair?”
She nodded with a smile creeping across her lips.
“The Nature Boy, Ric Flair?” I threw in his signature “woo” just so there was no confusion.
She nodded again, her smile stretching wide.
“I honestly have no idea if you’re serious right now.”
She laughed. “I’m completely serious.”
I leaned away to get a full read on her face, still not believing her. “You were a wrestling fan?”
“No! And I think that’s the part that stuck with me. Lizzy didn’t have to know who he was. She just needed to feel special. I worked my ass off to fulfill my dreams of making a living out of music. The split second I got a song on the radio, I started spending my weekends with sick kids. Half of them didn’t even know who I was at first, but they would still smile and laugh as I walked in the room. I saw Lizzy’s face in every single one of them. Once I became more known, the pressure only built. I had to do more. Give more. Be there more.” The words lodged in her throat, and I could feel her heart slamming wildly in her chest.
She was working herself into a panic attack from just talking about it. I couldn’t imagine how she had dealt with it on a daily basis.
“Shhh. Relax.” I squeezed her tight to my chest.
“Goddammit.” She banged her fist against the mattress. “I promised myself I was taking my life back today. And look at me. I can’t even talk about this without losing my shit.”
“Your view on life is seriously warped,” I told her matter-of-factly.
Her whole body flinched, making it clear that those words weren’t the sugarcoating she had been expecting from me. But someone had to tell her.
“You’re not Spiderman.” I smirked.
“And you’re not funny,” she deadpanned.
“Yes, I am. But hear me out. You can’t save everyone. I get it, Levee, because for so fucking long, I felt the same way. Hell, after the way I freaked out when you went missing today, I might still feel that way. But at least I can recognize it. For years, I beat myself up over the fact that I wasn’t there sooner the day my dad killed himself. The guilt ate at me. Until one day, my mom sat me down and explained that I wasn’t Spiderman.” I laughed at the memory. “Keep in mind, I was sixteen when she told me this, not ten. But, God, it was the most freeing thing anyone ever said to me after he died. I was just one person. I couldn’t be everywhere for everyone. Not for Dad. Not even for Anne.”
“Sam, that wasn’t—”
I didn’t give her a chance to tell me what I already knew. “It wasn’t my fault. I know. I just wish I could have done more. It’s the struggle of decent people everywhere. Levee, that’s not a bad feeling to have. It only becomes bad when those wishes consume you and when you get so wrapped up in helping people that you lose sight of the toll it’s taking on you. I could have sat with Anne twenty-four-seven. My mom could have done the same for my dad. You could easily toss your career in the trash and go on a world tour of hospitals everywhere, but how would that affect you? At some point, you have to make your own life a priority. No one else can do that for you. Not a doctor or your family and friends. Hell, not even I can do it. That’s on you, Levee.”
Tears filled her eyes. “That’s not true. You do that for me all the time. I don’t feel so out of control when I’m with you.”
I couldn’t fault her there. She did that for me, too. She was just confused on what it was.
“No I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No. I really don’t.”
“Yes, you really do!” she snapped, starting to get angry.
I couldn’t help but laugh as she narrowed her eyes at me. I rubbed my fingers over the pinched skin between her brows. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles if you keep doing that. I need you to stay hot so I can show you off to my friends when you finally let me tell them.”
She swatted my hand away. “You can’t tell me how you make me feel. You’re not in my head.”
“I can tell you whatever I want,” I said indignantly.
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No. You. Can’t.” She got even more pissed, and I, once again, started laughing.
“I love you.”
Levee sat straight up as if a bolt of lightning had just struck the bed.
Yep. That was my smooth move. I’d just blurted it out while we had been bickering, fully dressed, in a random hotel room in middle of Maine. That was going to be the story we told our kids about—the magical moment you only get once in a lifetime with someone. It was Sam Rivers’s romance at its finest—completely and utterly ridiculous, but also more honest than anything in the world.