I push the weight bar up with a little too much force. It's my seventh rep, and if anyone were spotting me, they'd tell me to slow down.

But no one is because no one is particularly interested in being near me right now. Not that I blame them. I'm acting like a dick.

It's been four days since I talked to Jen at the hospital. Four days since I turned around and walked out.

Sophie called the day after. I sat there, staring at her nickname on the screen, my thumb hovering just above the accept button, trying to pull together enough courage to press it.

I didn't.

When it went to voicemail, I wanted to toss the phone across the room and watch it shatter.

I know I should have picked up. But then she would have told me she was hurt, and I would have gone running to her side. The second I heard her voice, I would be on my way. And I should do that because that's what you do.

So why the hell am I still sitting here three days later?

She texted the next day, asking me to call her back when I could. That was the last time I heard from her. Then Jen started texting. The last one delivered right before practice still makes the guilt churn in my stomach.

Jen: I told you to give her space, not drop off the face of the planet. Where are you?!

It's the closest I've ever come to imagining Jen yelling.

I release the bar, breathing in deep. I shouldn't push myself this far. Then I begin on the eighth rep.

Because physical exertion is the only thing that has a slight chance of driving away the image of Sophie's face in my mind.

The one that pops up every few seconds, so annoyingly clear, every single inch of her features seared into my mind forever. And every time it does, my heart stutters, and I want to hit myself over the head with the weights hanging off this bar.

I'm a coward. A scared idiot of a coward who can't even go hold his girlfriend's hand when she really needs it.

Sophie's always been the one to run. The one who's turned her back when things got scary, and I've coaxed her to open up to me again, little by little.

So the one time she reaches out, allows herself to be vulnerable, I can't fucking be there for her.

Who the fuck does that?

Sophie thinks she's the broken one. That because she can't have kids, there's something wrong with her, something lesser about her.

But she's wrong. Because even though she went through something horrible, she's still breathing. And she's still evolving every single day, opening herself up just a little bit more. She's so resilient; it's incredible. And there's nothing broken about her.

I'm the broken one. Because my parents died. They went into an operating room and came out cold and gray, and I never got over it. I've never worked through that fear and pain. Thirteen years after my mother's death, the panic still has me in a vice-like grip.

I end the rep, sitting up and running the hem of my shirt over my forehead, soaking up the beads of sweat as I survey the room.

Saltz and Mitch are working out a few machines down. They've both been giving me a wide berth lately, and I don't blame them. I'm in a sullen mood, snapping at everyone and acting like an asshole.

Davis has been asking me every day what's wrong, and I've refused to tell him. By now, he would have demanded I spill at least three times during this training session, but he's not here.

We're thirty minutes into dryland, and he hasn't shown up.

That has never happened before. He doesn't skip practice. He's not late. He's here, every single day, no matter what.

So why not today?

If our coaches were here, they'd be pissed, but Colton usually overlooks dryland, and since he has no power over Davis, he usually doesn't give a fuck about him.

Maybe I should call him. But that would require me to look at my phone and risk seeing a missed call or text from Sophie, and there is only so much self-hatred a guy can go through before he does something reckless.

I'm just about to go on the treadmill for the next hour - or however long it takes for me to forget just how Sophie looks when she lets all her masks fall - when Davis storms into the room.

I sit on the bench, watching as his eyes run over the room, eventually landing on me. Then he's moving towards me. I think I'm so used to Davis being calm and collected that it takes me until he's yelling in my face for me to see the rage shining out of him.

"What the hell are you doing?" His voice is loud and demanding, and I don't think I've ever seen him this angry.

"Um, this is called bench press; I believe you're familiar with it," I say, gesturing to the equipment.

"Get up." It's so clearly an order that I obey immediately, only afterward wondering why I'm letting Davis push me around. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

If Davis were a violent guy, I would be afraid to have the shit kicked out of me. Honestly, I'm still a little scared.

"D, I can tell that you're upset, but you've gotta calm down because I don't know what's happening."

"You don't, huh, Sennels?" He's practically vibrating with anger, and I notice that the others have stopped. Our teammates are all frozen, watching whatever this is playing out in front of them.

"I'm sure I messed up, but could you just tell me how, please?"

Davis draws himself up to his full height, which is just half an inch over me, his usually warm eyes stone cold hard. "Jen called."

And then it all falls into place. Because the only reason why Davis hasn't kicked my ass for ignoring Sophie already is that he and Jen are on the rocks, and he didn't know.

But now he does. And he is, very reasonably, mad.

I swallow, indicating with my head to a quiet corner where we can talk without it being a whole show.

Not so much because I deserve to hide the fact that I'm the douche who abandoned his girlfriend when she got cancer, but because Sophie would never forgive me if I let Davis broadcast her private business in front of everyone.

Well, she'll probably never forgive me either way.

Davis follows, his chest heaving. When we're out of earshot of the others, I see that some of the anger has cooled off. He's still pissed, just not in the ready-to-hit-you-with-a-dumbbell way anymore.

"She told you about Sophie?" I don't really need to ask, but I do so anyway, avoiding Davis' gaze. I can't handle his disappointment too.

"She did. Jayden, why are you here?" he asks, his voice lowered, more concerned.

I clench my jaw, my teeth threatening to shatter from the pressure, because that's the question of the hour, isn't it? And I don't have a satisfactory answer.

"Practice."

"Don't give me that shit. Why have you been ignoring Sophie's calls?" Davis' brows are furrowed.

"She waited three days to call me," I argue. I'd been there, ready to hold her hand, and she didn't want me there.

"So you suck equally," Davis says. "But Jayden, she's the one in a medical crisis. She gets to panic. You don't."

"Did Jen tell you that Sophie is going to need surgery?" I ask, my voice rising a pitch as the panic surges. It's present twenty-four-seven these days, lurking right beneath the surface, waiting to take over.

A look crosses Davis' face as he sighs. "Yes. And I understand why that scares you."

I've never said it explicitly, but Davis knows my story better than anyone but Sophie. He doesn't need to be told to understand.

It feels like my throat is closing up, and I have to take three calming breaths before I can say anything. "If she dies-"

"If she dies, there are no words for how horrible that will be," Davis cuts in, crossing his arms over his chest. "But if she dies and you're here. If you haven't taken your last chance to hold her and comfort her, tell her how you feel, then I don't think you will ever recover."

He's right, of course. I would never, ever forgive myself for that. But part of me believes that I could pretend it never happened if I weren't there to hear the doctor deliver the news.

Because if I'm not in that room, sitting on those plastic seats, then she can't die. Right?

"I can't, Davis. I don't know how," I whisper, my eyes stinging.

"I know, Jay." He places a hand on my shoulder. "But you have to anyway."

I hang my head, the pressure of his disappointment weighing me down along with my own.

"Have you thought about what happens if Sophie survives?" he asks me, shaking his head in a short, jerky movement. "When she survives, and you weren't there, do you think she'll ever forgive you for that?"

I lift my head slowly, looking at him as his words hit me. I haven't even considered the option that she wouldn't die. The moment Jen said she would need surgery, it was like a death sentence had been passed on her.

And I've been fleeing from the pain ever since.

But Davis is right. If Sophie survives, she will never forgive me for not showing up.

In the past, she's made allowances for my emotional shortcomings. She's forgiven me when I've made dumbass mistakes. But this? This is playing too heavily into her fears that I don't think she could ever find it in herself to look past it.

Brad did this exact thing too. Except he had the decency to show up and do it to her face. I've essentially just ghosted her.

Oh god.

Davis must see something in my eyes because he casts a quick look around the room - everyone else has gone back to what they were doing, except for Saltz and Mitch sending us searching glances every so often - before delivering the final blow.

"Her surgery is in an hour and a half."

The rug has been pulled out under me, and I'm free falling into oblivion.

"What?" I gasp as a tidal wave of panic crashes over me, ready to tear everything down in its wake.

He just nods gravely.

"But it'll take me almost an hour to get there," I protest. Like his words will somehow become untrue because I'm logistically challenged.

"And they have to take her down for prep at least fifteen minutes before the surgery."

My vision blurs, and I sway on my feet. This can't be happening.

"I have to go."

A look of pure relief washes over my best friend's face. "We're going," he corrects me.

"But," I look around the room, catching Mitch's gaze. "You... and practice."

"Fuck practice," Davis says, and I don't think I've ever heard him say anything like that before. "You're in no condition to drive a car right now. You'd just kill yourself on the side of the road."

I stand there for a second, allowing the gratitude towards him surge in me, but Davis has no time for sentimentality right now. "Let's go!" he barks, and I follow blindly as he leads the way to his silver Audi parked outside.

I hold my head in my hands as my legs bounce uncontrollably in a poor attempt to control my anxiety.

Davis drives like an old, blind lady. Or a really dedicated driving instructor. He never pushes the speed limit or runs a yellow light when there's a chance he can't make it. He's so fucking careful that I'm seconds away from pushing him out of the seat so I can take his place.

"Davis, man, please, for the love of god, drive," I exclaim.

"Shut up, Sennels. We'll make it. And I'll ensure we make it in one piece too."

That does nothing to calm my nerves.

When we finally arrive at the hospital, I spring out of the car before Davis has even pressed the break. He catches up with me just as I enter the building, taking no time to register the place because there is no time.

I bypass the front desk, heading straight for the elevators. Up on three, take a left, follow the signs to oncology. When I reach the ward, Davis trailing behind me, I take a second to breathe before pushing the doors open.

Just like last time, Jen is pacing down the hall. She lifts her head, eyes landing on me, and her entire body goes rigid.

Why is she walking around out here?

Did they already take Sophie away?

Am I too late?

Will I never see her again?

The panic is seconds from drowning me.

Jen takes one shuddering breath before walking toward me; I move to meet her halfway. There is so much fury in her face that I expect her to slap me the second she's within range.

I won't blame her. I deserve it.

When she finally reaches me, I watch as she takes two ragged breaths, her nostrils flaring, every bit as angry as expected. But then I look into her eyes, and those baby blues are filling up with tears. "Thank you," she whispers. "Thank you for coming back."

I stand there, unsure of what to do. I want to comfort Jen, but it will have to wait. I nod, uncomfortable by her gratitude since I have done nothing to earn it. My eyes stray to the door down the hall, and Jen sniffs. "Go."

That's all the permission I need. I tear down the hallway, eyes locked on the door.

She has to be in there.

When I reach it, though, I pause. Fear and anticipation battles each other within me. I look back at Jen to see her freeze as Davis walks in the doors. For one suspenseful moment, they're just staring at each other, and then Jen breaks into a run, throwing her arms around Davis' neck, sobbing.

He's got Jen.

Now I need to get Sophie.

I fist my hands, forcing myself to relax and open the door.

My eyes are drawn to the bed immediately, and with a feeling of relief that almost knocks me to the ground, I find Sophie sitting there.

She looks so vulnerable, and when her eyes lift to me, the last bit of color drains from her face. And yet, at this moment, she's the most beautiful person I've ever seen.

"Hi," I say, like a lame idiot who didn't just go AWOL right before a major surgery.

"Jayden," she whispers, disbelief in her tone. "You came."

I have to touch her, make sure she's really here, that I made it, so I move closer, waiting a second before grasping her hand in mine. "Of course I did. I'm sorry it took me so long."

She shakes her head. "You were scared." She says it so matter-of-factly, and it strikes me how well Sophie knows me. There's no need for an explanation.

"That's not an excuse, though," I say.

Sophie's eyes soften, and she tilts her head. "I forgive you."

I don't deserve her forgiveness. I should be on my knees begging, and here she is, yet again accepting my every mistake.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, avoiding my gaze.

"What are you apologizing for?" I ask, a little mortified that after my major screw-up, she would ever think she needed to say those words to me.

"That I waited so long to call." She fiddles with the blanket covering her. "It's just-"

"You were scared. I know," I say, lifting her hand so I can press a kiss to the back of it. "I waited to come, so I guess that makes us even."

Her lips twitch, and she smiles at me. "I guess."

I look out the window for a second, my body a mess of emotions I can't make sense of. "Davis said you're going into surgery soon."

She takes a shuddering breath. "Any second now."

"I need you to survive, Sophie," I admit, the fear leaking into my tone.

Her brows arch, lips quivering. "I can't promise that," she whispers.

"You know how you said that last time you fought to survive for Jen?" She nods. "This time, you have me too, and Ollie." Her eyes close briefly when I mention my brother's name, and when they open, they are shining with tears. "But most importantly, I need you to fight for yourself."

I grasp her other hand, too, looking into those dark eyes as they swim with emotions. "I know you're tired, baby. I know it hurts. I know. You need to fight because you want to, okay?"

She just stares at me, not moving an inch, and a horrible thought hits me. I remember our conversation a while back when I accused her of waiting for the cancer to come back to finish the job and how she hadn't denied it. How she had basically confirmed my worst suspicion.

She might have survived last time, but she never started treating her life like it was worth living again.

"Sophie," I whisper her name, afraid my voice will fail me otherwise. "Do you want to live?"

She draws in a breath. I can see her desire to flee from this conversation, but I keep her hands in mine and her gaze trapped with my eyes.

Sophie Brooks has the best poker face of anyone I have ever met, but today I can see all the emotions clearly written on her face. Pain, sadness, fear... guilt.

Her eyes are glistening with unshed tears; her lips are parted slightly, her body trembling with each ragged breath.

The question hangs in the air between us. Do you want to live?

She's been in therapy for a few months now, dealing with the trauma from last time, but a dozen sessions aren't magically going to cure someone. Is it enough?

They can pump her full of chemicals and cut out every single cell of malignance inside her, but if she doesn't want to live, she won't.

If she doesn't want to live, I can't do this. I can't stand by and watch her kill herself. I refuse. So I'm holding my breath as I wait for her answer; I wait for her to tell me to stay or go.

Finally, two tears tip over the edge and run down her face as we're locked in this standoff.

"Yes," she breathes. "I want to live."

I let out the air in a strained chuckle and hang my head. Thank freaking fuck.

Relief crashes over me; I can feel the happy smile breaking out on my face. She wants to live. She will fight this for herself.

I'm so elated that it takes me a second too long before I notice that Sophie isn't sharing my euphoria. Her nails are digging into my hands as she clings to me, the tears flowing freely now, and a small sob escapes her.

We're at different ends of the spectrum. I'm flying, and she's crashing. Because when you want something, you have so much more to lose.

I lean in and press my forehead against hers, my grin subsiding to a small, reassuring smile. "And you will, Fie. You will live."

I can't promise her she will survive, but I will make sure she lives. For however long she has left.

We get about five seconds like this, just breathing in each other before someone clears their throat in the doorway.

I straighten up as we both look toward that person. A young doctor, looking apologetically at Sophie. His eyes flicker to me, and I see the recognition hit, but he's professional enough to ignore it, returning his gaze to Sophie.

"I'm sorry, Miss Brooks, but I have to prep you for surgery."

My fingers lock around hers in a vice-like grip, and I would be afraid of cutting off her blood supply if I had any control over my body.

"Can we have five minutes?" Sophie asks, sending him a weak smile.

He nods, closing the door behind him.

Sophie turns her face back to me, and there's a sense of urgency there now, tightening her features. "I have money."