FOURTEEN

BPOV

It's been a few days with a few sweet texts back and forth between us. I'm still happily living in my dreamland where he doesn't know the demon creeping up on us. It may be selfish, but the longer I can delay it the longer I feel as if I'm normal.

His call comes late the night before my bone marrow biopsy. I needed to hear his voice to edge the fear away.

"Hey baby," his voice is smooth through the phone, "god I miss you. Your photo has truly come in handy."

"Handy? In what way?" I smirk.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Oh, you know... for inspiration. In my quiet moments."

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, grateful he can't see me. "Is that so? I'm flattered."

"You're all I can think about lately." There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Are you in bed? It's late. I didn't think I'd catch you awake. We won tonight and the guys wanted to celebrate."

"Congratulations. I'm in bed," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't sleep." I don't tell him why, don't mention the biopsy looming over me like a storm cloud. Instead, I focus on his voice, on the connection between us that feels both fragile and unbreakable.

"Want me to sing you a lullaby?" he teases, and I can almost see the playful smile on his face.

I laugh softly. "Taylor Swift?"

His throat clears and I laugh, sparing him the bother with a "I'm kidding."

"I miss you," he admits.

His words warm me from the inside out, chasing away some of the coldness that's been settling in my bones. "I miss you too. Tell me about the game?"

As he launches into a play-by-play of their victory, I close my eyes and let his words wash over me. For a moment, I can pretend that everything is normal, that I'm just a girl talking to the boy she likes, with no shadows lurking on the horizon. His excitement is infectious, and I find myself smiling as he describes a particularly impressive play.

"...and then Johnson, out of nowhere, makes this incredible pass. You should have seen it, babe. The crowd went wild."

"Sounds amazing," I murmur, snuggling deeper into my blankets. "Wish I could have been there."

There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is tinged with concern. "Hey, are you okay? You sound... I don't know, a little off."

My heart skips a beat. I want to tell him, to unburden myself, but the words stick in my throat. "I'm fine," I lie, hating myself for it. "I just really wish you were here tonight."

"I wish I was there too," he says softly. "Soon, okay? I'll make it happen."

I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "Yeah, soon."

We fall into a comfortable silence, just listening to each other breathe. It's intimate in a way I never expected, and I find myself clinging to these moments, storing them away like precious gems.

"Tell me a secret," he says suddenly, his voice playful again.

I hesitate, my mind racing. There are so many secrets I could tell him, but the biggest one looms large, threatening to spill out. Instead, I opt for something lighter. "I... I sleep with a stuffed animal."

His laughter fills the line. "Really? What kind?"

"A penguin," I admit, smiling despite myself. "His name is Waddles."

"Waddles the penguin," he repeats amused, "reckon he'd mind switching places with me?"

I laugh softly, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. "I don't think he'd stand a chance against you."

"Good," he says, his voice low and intimate. "Because I'd really like to be the one holding you right now."

My breath catches in my throat. "I'd like that too," I hum, "can I tell you another secret?"

"Of course," he says, his voice softening with curiosity. "You can tell me anything."

I take a deep breath, feeling my heart racing. For a moment, I consider telling him everything—about the biopsy, the fear, the uncertainty. But I can't bring myself to shatter this bubble of normalcy we've created.

"You've kept my hand pretty busy too," I whisper daringly.

His sharp intake of breath is audible through the phone. "God, baby," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. "You can't just say things like that when I'm not there to do something about it."

A thrill runs through me, momentarily pushing away thoughts of tomorrow's procedure. "Oh? And what would you do if you were here?"

"Everything," he growls. "I'd start by kissing you senseless, then work my way down your body, inch by inch..."

As he continues, painting a vivid picture with his words, I feel myself getting lost in the fantasy. My free hand wanders, tracing the paths he describes. For a little while, I'm not a scared girl facing a terrifying medical procedure. I'm just a woman, desired and wanting.

Our breathing grows heavier, punctuated by soft moans and whispered encouragements.

"I'm pretending my fingers are yours," I shut my eyes.

His breath catches audibly. "God, that's hot," he groans. "Tell me more. What are you doing?"

I bite my lip, feeling both exhilarated and nervous. This is new territory for us. "I'm... I'm touching myself," I whisper, my cheeks burning. "Imagining it's your hands on me."

"Where?" His voice is husky, strained.

"Everywhere," I breathe. "My breasts, my stomach, between my legs..."

He lets out a low moan. "You're killing me. I wish I could see you right now."

The tension builds between us, our words growing more heated, more desperate. I lose myself in the sound of his voice, in the sensations coursing through my body. For these precious moments, there's no illness, no fear, just pure sensation and connection.

My fingers find a rhythm, pushing in and out at a steady speed. My moans grow more rapid.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "Let me hear you."

I whimper softly, my hips moving in time with my fingers. The phone is pressed tightly to my ear, his heavy breathing mingling with my own.

"Are you close?" he asks, a hint of desperation in his tone.

"Yes," I gasp, feeling the tension coiling tighter inside me. "So close... what are you doing to yourself?"

"Stroking myself," he groans, his voice husky. "Thinking about you, about how you'd feel around me. I want you so badly, Bells."

His words send a jolt of electricity through me. I can picture him, lying in his bed, hand wrapped around himself, eyes closed as he imagines me. The image pushes me closer to the edge.

"I'm almost there," I pant, my fingers moving faster. "Talk to me, please."

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his breathing ragged. "So sexy. I love the little noises you make, the way your body responds. I want to make you feel good, baby. I want to hear you fall apart."

His words wash over me, stoking the fire building inside. My back arches off the bed as I chase my release.

"That's it," he encourages.

"Oh god," I gasp, feeling the tension building to a crescendo. "I'm gonna..."

"Come for me, baby," he growls.

With a cry that I muffle against my pillow, I tumble over the edge. Waves of pleasure crash over me as I shake and tremble, his name falling from my lips like a prayer. Through the haze of my own release, I hear his groan of satisfaction, imagining him finding his own climax.

For a few moments, there's nothing but the sound of our heavy breathing. As the afterglow settles over me, I feel a curious mix of emotions - satisfaction, connection, but also a twinge of sadness. This moment of intimacy only highlights what I can't have, what might never be.

"That was..." he trails off, sounding breathless.

"Yeah," I agree panting, "I still wish you were inside me though."

He chuckles softly, his voice still husky. "Me too, baby. God, I can't wait to actually touch you. To kiss you."

We fall into a comfortable silence, both catching our breath. The afterglow is warm and hazy, but as it fades, reality begins to creep back in. The clock on my nightstand reminds me of what awaits in just a few hours.

"Hey," he says softly, breaking into my thoughts. "You still there?"

"Yeah," I whisper, suddenly feeling sleepy. "I'm here."

"That was amazing," he murmurs. "You're amazing."

His words bring a smile to my face, even as tears prick at my eyes. "You're not so bad yourself. We should make this a little habit for your away games."

He chuckles softly. "I'd like that. Though I have to say, it's going to make concentrating on the game a lot harder knowing what's waiting for me after."

I smile, snuggling deeper into my pillow. "Well, consider it motivation to win quickly then."

"Oh, it definitely will be," he says, his voice warm with affection. "You should get some sleep, baby. It's late."

The reminder of the time makes my stomach clench. In just a few hours, I'll be at the hospital, facing a procedure that terrifies me. But I push the thought away, clinging to this moment of normalcy.

"Yeah, you're right," I say softly. "You should sleep too. Big star athlete and all that."

He laughs. "I'll sleep better now, thanks to you."

We fall silent again, neither of us wanting to hang up. So we don't. We fall asleep together. When I wake up in the morning the line is dead, with a text in it's place.

"Good morning, beautiful. Hope you slept well. Thinking of you today."

I smile at his sweet message, but it quickly fades as reality crashes back. The biopsy. My hands tremble slightly as I type a reply.

"Morning, handsome. Thanks for last night. It really helped."

I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the send button. Part of me wants to tell him about the procedure, to ask for his support. But I can't bring myself to burst this bubble we've created. Not yet.

Instead, I add: "Have a great practice. Score a goal for me."

His response comes quickly: "For you? I'll score a hat trick. Talk later?"

"Hat trick has nothing to do with hats, doesn't it?" I type out and hit send.

"You're so adorable," he replies.


The smell of the hospital was almost suffocating as I lay on the examination table, my eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles above me. The doctor's voice was calm and steady, explaining the steps of the bone marrow test, but I barely registered the words. I already knew what to expect. I'd been through this before.

Rosalie stood beside me, her face a shade paler than usual, her lips pressed into a thin line. I reached out and squeezed her hand, trying to smile through the pain that was beginning to build.

"Hey, Rosalie," I said, my voice a little shaky but teasing, "are you okay?"

Rosalie gave me a shaky smile, her eyes glued to the floor instead of the needle. "I'm sorry, I'm just really squeamish when it comes to blood," she said, grimacing slightly.

Despite the pain, I couldn't help but laugh softly. "Well, you're here, and that's what matters," I said, finding comfort in her presence even if she was ready to bolt at the sight of a single drop.

"Okay, I need a distraction," Rosalie said, squeezing my hand tighter, her eyes darting anywhere but the needle. "Let's talk about something else—like Edward. Have you told him yet?"

"No," I mutter.

"Bells. You're going to need as much support as possible to fight this," she sighs.

I looked down at my hands, twisting them nervously in my lap. "I just wonder if dating is a good idea," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "He's got this incredible career, and I'm worried that all of this—my health, my struggles—is going to hold him back. What if I end up being a distraction he doesn't need?"

Rosalie shook her head firmly, a hint of exasperation in her eyes. "Bella, you are not holding him back," she said, her voice steady but kind. "A relationship is about supporting each other, not dragging each other down. And Edward knows that. He wants that with you."

"But what if it changes how he sees me?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "What if he starts to look at me like I'm fragile? Like I'm someone he needs to take care of rather than be with?"

Rosalie reached out and cupped my face with her free hand, forcing me to meet her gaze. "Bella, you're not fragile," she said, her voice full of conviction. "And from what I've seen, Edward doesn't see you as anything less than amazing. He will be in this with you, all the way."

I nodded, swallowing hard as I tried to hold back the tears. "I know. It's so hard not to feel like a burden. He's got his whole life ahead of him, his career, and I just… I don't want to mess that up."

Rosalie gave me a reassuring smile, her eyes glinting with that familiar determination. "Edward is a grown man, Bella. He's capable of making his own decisions." she said. "But if you're not ready, that's okay too. Just take it one step at a time. Don't put so much pressure on yourself or on him. Let it happen naturally. Have some fun - be wild."

A shaky laugh escaped my lips as I nodded, trying to let her words sink in. "Thanks, Rose," I whispered. "I needed that."

Rosalie squeezed my hand one more time and then leaned in closer, her expression softening. "Now hurry up and get through this so we can get you back on your feet," she said, a teasing smile spreading across her face. "You've got a hot hockey player to keep in line—whether you're dating him or not."

I laughed through the tears that had started to fall again, feeling a little lighter, a little braver. "Yeah," I said, the smallest of smiles tugging at my lips.