“Something else?”

“Shut up!”

I cringe. “Okay…”

We don’t speak another word until she drives onto the half-court and parks right in the middle. “Get out!”

I do as she as says because right now I think she might be a little crazy.

She waits for me at the front of the car, the headlights still on. I stand in front of her, my hands in my pockets. I watch her. She watches me. Then she shoves my chest just like I’d done to her husband. “You’re a dick!”

I roll me eyes. “I know.”

“I’m sorry about your dad,” she snaps. “But he’s not dead, asshole. He’s dying. There’s a big difference. You still have time with him,” she says, her voice softer. “If you want to make it right. Make it right. You’re old enough to make that choice, Josh.” Her voice cracks and so does my heart because, fuck, it’s Chloe. The girl who’s married to my best friend, the girl who was diagnosed with the same cancer that killed her mom and her aunt, and she stands in front me, her shoulders squared and jaw set in determination. She stands tall, brave, in the middle of a world she could’ve given up on.

Just like I have.

But she hasn’t.

With a sigh, I pull on her arm and bring her into me, one hand on her back, the other in her hair that wasn’t there a year ago. “I’m sorry, Chloe. You’re right. About everything.”

Her body relaxes against mine and when she pulls back, she wipes her eyes. “I really am sorry about your dad. Please don’t tell me it’s cancer because I’ll kick the shit out of something if it is.”

I smile—which is strange given the situation. “It’s not. He’s got um…” I swallow nervously, knowing it’s the first time the words will leave my mouth. “Chronic kidney disease. It came out of nowhere.”

“How’d you find out?”

“My mom. She came to see me when he decided to quit dialysis. He’d rather live a full life than a long one.”

Chloe nods once, giving me a sad smile before saying, “You know what we need?”

“What?”

She smirks before going back to the car. I follow. She reaches into the glove box and finds what I think is a carton of tampons. “What the fire truck?”

“Relax,” she says through a laugh and pulls out a bag of joints.

I step back. “I don’t know, Chloe. You remember the last time we did that?”

She rolls her eyes. “I have a script.” She points to herself. “Cancer.”

I nod. “Right.”

“Just don’t tell Blake. He doesn’t know I have it anymore. Hence the tampons.”

“Got it.”

She uses the dash lighter to spark one, smiles as she inhales and then hands it to me. I look at the joint between my fingers. “Fuck it.” I take a puff and sit on the hood of the car with her. She lies down and I lie next to her.

“So your mom just came to see you because she wanted you to know?”

I pass her the joint and hold my breath, feeling the weed burn in my throat before releasing it. “No. She wanted me to get tested as a living donor.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “And did you?”

“Yeah, I got tested.”

“And?”

“No go. Something about tissue incompatibility.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “Mom says it’s for the best anyway. If he ever found out it came from me he’d probably kill me.”

“You mean you would’ve done it without him knowing?”

“Of course.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because he’s my dad,” I say simply.

She looks up at the stars and I do the same. And we stay that way, passing the joint between us.

“Did it feel good?” she asks.

“What?”

“Yelling and beating the shit out of things and just letting it all out.”

“Yeah. At the time. Not so much now, though.”

She rolls to her side and looks at me with a smirk on her face. “I want to try it,” she whispers.

“Go ahead.”

She starts to stand up on the hood of the car. “It stays between us, okay? Don’t tell Blake.”

“You’re keeping a lot of secrets from your husband.”

“It’s for the best. Trust me.” She hands me the joint and I take a puff as I get off the hood, waving my hand through the air.

“The stage is yours, C-Lo.”

She clears her throat and suddenly looks unsure. Then she nods once and rolls her shoulders. “Fuck you, cancer!” she shouts, her voice echoing through the night sky.

“Yeah!” I encourage. “Fuck you, cancer!”

Her head throws back with laughter, and then she stops. Her smile fades and her breaths become heavy. She shakes out her hands and I notice her eyes begin to glaze with tears. She sniffs once, her sob following after it.

I swallow anxiously, waiting for her to continue.

“I was eighteen!” she shouts to no one. “No one should have to deal with that at eighteen! Wasn’t it enough? My mom? My aunt? Weren’t they enough for you that you had to take me too?”

I stay still, my heart in my throat and my mind on her and Hunter.

“I’m sick. And I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of acting like it didn’t bother me! Do you know what it’s like to sit in a fucking chair for eight hours straight while the person you love sits and holds your hand and you wonder the entire time why? Why the fuck am I here? Why is he here? And I have to pretend like I’m okay with you. I’m not okay with you, cancer. Not at all! I fucking hate you. I hate everything about you.” She’s pacing up at down on the hood now, her footsteps heavy against the metal. Her fists are balled at her sides—the anger and frustration and hurt all coming out. “And now everyone around me treats me like I’m going to die at any minute. Blake—he watches me like a fucking hawk. He helps me with every little thing and I love him so much but I hate that. If I want to jump up and down, I’ll fucking jump up and down!” I cringe as she jumps on the hood, denting the fuck out of it. “And I’ll do it and I’ll laugh about it and he doesn’t need to stop me! He doesn’t need to tell me that I’ll overexert myself and that I need to calm down. I don’t want to calm down!” she shouts, crying as she does. She wipes her face across her sleeve and looks up. Then she collapses.

“Holy shit!” I rush to her. “Are you okay?”

She’s fucking laughing. “You’re just like Blake. I’m not going to die, Josh.” She takes the joint from me and inhales a drag, then blows it out slowly.

“You overexerted yourself, didn’t you?”

She pouts. “Yes. Don’t—”

“Tell Blake. I got it.”

I lie back down on the hood with her. “Did it help?”

“At the time,” she says, “Not so much now.”

“Yeah.”

“You know what I hate the most?”

“What?”

“The word remission.”

I face her. “Yeah?”