That night, I let Max take me to bed and had hot, frustrated sex with him before I told him I didn't want to see him anymore. It was a major bitch move on my part, but I was devastated after what happened at the party. I didn't want to see anyone that reminded me of what went down in his room, or how I felt during his speech.

I spent the next day moping around in the same horrible mix of resentment and regret, all while tripping over Rebecca's boxes as she packed that last of her things. In the morning, I ran my usual three miles to clear my head. And when that didn't work, I ran three more. By the time my attention shifted from my vitriol to my fatigue, I was so exhausted I could barely stand. I had to stop at the end of the dock and call Rebecca to pick me up.

When I went into work the next day, I didn't feel prepared. The minute I walked in, I saw Ziggy at the nurse's station. I froze and could do nothing but stare. The memory of his hands, lips, and words that I hadn't been able to wash away. I was pissed, pure and simple. That was the complete opposite feeling a caretaker should have.

I would be on assignment for him through all of this treatments, which I was prepared to do, but I couldn't bear to face him just yet. When he finally walked away, I went behind the station and picked up the charts for the other patients.

"Why are you taking those?" Theresa's voice sounded behind me. "You know you're on assignment for Mr. Ziegler." I turned to her and tried to think up a work appropriate excuse. She gave me an all-knowing look. "Is there a reason you don't want to check in your patient?"

I couldn't tell Theresa I went to his party, and I couldn't tell her what he did or said that night. I had no other reasoning than that. "I just thought I would help out."

Her mouth flattened into a line. She saw straight through my ruse. "You can help if you want, but you'll still need to check him in. Denise is out this week and we're short."

I sneered, trying to decide if holding my grudge was worth the extra work. "I'm going, I'm going," I whined. I set down the other files and made my way to Ziggy's room.

I walked in just as he is stripping off his shirt to change into his hospital attire. He spotted me and stopped. "Hey," he said.

I looked his way with a petulant glare. "I'm here to get you settled and take your vitals."

"Okay."

He continued getting dressed while I logged into the computer. The awkward silence that stretched between us was awkward. I focused on pulling up his information.

"Sabine," he said quietly. I didn't respond. "I'm sorry."

I roll my eyes, but turned my head to look at him. When I saw the remorse behind his expression, I decided to let him speak.

"I was such an asshole to you at the party. I was stressed out of my mind, completely terrified about not being able to get everything out of my system . . . I went crazy and I took it out on you." I looked at him but said nothing, trying my best not to become angry again. "You have been nothing but amazing to me through all of this. I consider you a true friend, and I know will probably the most important person to me through all this. But then I turned around and treat you like complete shit—like you were some kind of conquest. You didn't deserve that."

"You're right. I didn't," I said, crossing my arms.

"You've been the only person here for me this whole time, and the last thing I ever want to do is make you think I'm anything but grateful to you. But I acted like a fucking idiot and freaked out because . . ." He looked up and took a breath. His brow creased as he tried to fight back his emotion. "Because I'm really fucking scared," he admitted with a quivering voice.

He looked at me with tears in his eyes. It broke my resolve. Seeing him almost cry makes me want to cry myself. I knew what he was about to go through, and I could only imagine how frightening it must be.

"I don't want to push you away, Sabine. Not when I'm convinced I'll never make it through this without you. I wish I could take it all back, but I know I can't. I just want you to know that I am so, incredibly sorry that I hurt you." He takes in a shaky breath. "Can you ever forgive me?"

I blinked back tears. I had planned on holding a grudge as long as possible, but an apology like that made that seem pointless. He was hurting and he would be hurting for quite some time. People in my life have done much worse to me for reasons less excusable than facing death.

I wiped away a tear and rolled my eyes again. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" he repeated in question.

I nodded and draped my arms over his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me back. As he swayed us back and forth gently, I breathed him in, reminding myself of who he really was. His comforting touch made the memories begin to fade away.

I took a deep breath, letting my tears fade away before saying, "I know this is hard for you, Ziggy, but you know I'll be here for you whenever you need me." He gripped me tighter in thanks. "No matter how much of a prick you are."

He chuckled against my shoulder and then let me go. We smiled at each other with embarrassment while we wiped away tears. "I don't deserve you or your forgiveness," he stated. "I completely fucked up. I wish I could take back everything I did and said that night."

"No, you don't," I teased him, trying to keep my emotions from resurfacing. "We both know you still got laid."

He smiled guiltily. "Maybe I got a pity foursome. So what?"

"A foursome?" I asked, too impressed to feel affronted. "Like, you and three women?" He nodded with a blush. "How does that even work?"

"Not super well, actually," he laughed. "You know when you're watching porn and halfway through you realize what you're watching is absolutely filthy and disgusting, but you finish anyway and then just sit there in your shame afterward?" I laughed uncontrollably at his rambling metaphor. "It's a lot like that, but with witnesses."

"Oh my God," I squealed through my laughter.

"Just a painfully awkward journey to a mediocre orgasm." Tears begin to come to my eyes as I couldn't seem to control myself. "But, at least I found the title of my memoir."

"Stop it!" I begged when my stomach cramped.

We laughed together for a bit too long, and I felt the comfortable playfulness between us had returned. I collected myself and wiped different type of tears from my eyes.

"Did I completely ruin your night with Max?" he asked after calming himself.

"No, but I broke it off with him anyway," I told him. Ziggy frowns. "I knew it wasn't going anywhere. I was just in it for the dick."

Ziggy chuckled. "Well did you get some before you broke up at least?"

"Of course I did. I'm not stupid."

He laughed again. With a smile, I took a deep breath and grew serious again.

"Are you ready for this, Ziggy?"

With a twist of his mouth, he nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

I took him to the treatment room of the oncology wing and stayed with him as the nurse hooked him up. He squeezed my hand absentmindedly in his. She connected the bag and hung it from his IV stand. I watched him stare up at it with a nervous stitch in his brow. "That's it?" he asked after a moment.

"That's it."

He relaxed ever so slightly and started looking around the room.

It was bright, sunny, and filled with a mix of oversized recliners and other comfortable lounge furniture, each one situated between divider curtains that most patients were not using. A group of women sat in a cluster directly next to us. He appraised them as if they would try to eat him. I stared down at him until he noticed. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Can you?"

I nodded and he smiled in relief.

"You're a young one, aren't you?" one of the women said to Ziggy. "Hi. I'm Ellie."

I hadn't met her personally, but I had seen her around. Her treatment was slow and long and it took a toll. She was gregarious and always seemed to have energy, but her bald head, liver spots, and dark circles under her eyes made her look sicker than she seemed to feel. Cancer was kind to no one.

"This is Vicky and Mae," she introduced the other two. They waved.

Mae was the oldest of the group, maybe sixty-five, but her dark skin was flawless and lustrous, even with the chemo, and made her look not a day over forty. Her smile was wide and contagious when she looked at us, her hands working away with knitting needles. During her treatments, she had made blankets and beanies for the nurses.

The last woman, Vicky, was in her early thirties and from all our interactions was a stereotypical soccer mom, obsessed with health and fitness, yet still fell victim to metastatic breast cancer. Her outlook was very good, but it wasn't her first time here. She was trying to avoid surgery for as long as possible against the suggestion of her doctors. This was the second time she had come out of remission in the last three years.

"I'm Neil," he said with an unenthusiastic wave.

"What are you in for, Neil?" Vicky asked.

I knew he doesn't want to talk to anyone about it just yet, so I diverted the conversation. "Oh, Vicky, were those your boys in the waiting room last week?"

"Yes, they were. Causing all kinds of mess."

"They were fine, I said with a chuckle.

She turned to the ladies, "You should have seen them. Running around like little hellions," she said with a laugh. "Rudy just started first grade and he is having the roughest time adjusting."

"My son was the same way."

"Oh, lord, my grandson is in kindergarten and is a mess as well."

Their focus returned to their circle as they went off exchanging toddler war stories, just as I had planned, and I took the opportunity to close the curtain. Ziggy lifted my hand and pressed a few kisses to the back of it.

"How many more weeks of this shit?" he asked. I laughed.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, staring through the windows at the waves crashing down below. After a few minutes, he finally seemed to relax.

"Thanks for hanging out with me," he said.

"Of course."

"How do you do that so well?"

"What? Distract people?" He nodded. "A magician never reveals her secrets, but there are certain open-ended questions that will always turn into a conversation. If you bring up someone's kids, that's all they can talk about for hours. It's just science."

He laughed, then his eyes went wide. "Oh, fuck, do you have kids?"

"No, Ziggy. I think you would know if I was a single mom by now."

He smiled. "Dammit. I was hoping I had finally found my angel's dirty little secret." Sorry, but that's not it, I thought. He moved over in his wide chair and patted the space next to him, "Come sit."

I moved from the arm to sit, knowing I was much closer to him than I should have been. He put an arm to make more space for me, but leaned his head back against his hand rather than placing it around me. Whether he was making an effort to do so or not, his actions were reinforcing that he wanted my company more than anything else.

"You know, I've never even asked you about your family. That's a thing friends usually know about one another, right?" he asked. "Do you have siblings, parents, all that?"

"I do," I answered with reluctance. He had been open with me about his less-than-perfect family. I attempted to return the favor. "I have an older sister. Nine years older to be exact, so we don't have much in common."

"What's her name?"

"Natalie."

"Do you see her often?"

"No. She lives in D.C. with my brother-in-law and my two nieces."

"I wish I had siblings so I could have nieces or nephews. I love kids." I gave him a sideways look and waited for the joke. "I'm serious. They're like tiny, drunk adults."

I laughed. "Yeah, they're cute. Especially when you can give them back. My nieces are six and eight so they're in the sweet spot between toddlers and preteens, but . . . It's been a couple of years since we've gotten together."

"Do your parents live here?"

I hesitated. "No. My dad moved out near my sister to help with the kids."

". . . And your mom?"

I didn't want to have that conversation yet, but what could I do? "She passed away a few years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You've lost a parent too."

"Yeah. Almost twenty years ago. I've had some time to get used to it." I looked over at him and tried to conceal my emotion. "You don't seem used to it yet."

I shook my head, turning to look through the windows. "I'm not." I didn't think I ever would.

Ziggy stroked his hand against my back. I forced a smile. "So, uh . . . How long does this shit take?"