33. Raven

I 'm sitting in the doctor's office. For weeks now I haven't felt like myself.

It started with headaches. The first one occurred after I had imbibed in a few extra drinks at dinner the night before, so I thought it was just a mild hangover. A couple of Advil and it went away. But then they kept coming back. More often than normal.

Then the fatigue. I used to be quite the night owl, often staying up until two or three in the morning. Now I'm lucky to make it past nine thirty. But I'm in my late twenties. Didn't seem too weird that I'd start prioritizing sleep more.

Then the pain in my joints, which I assumed was a result of me exercising too hard. Then the weight loss—did I change my diet without realizing it? Of course, I haven't had much of an appetite lately, so that could be it.

There's been a rational explanation behind every symptom I've experienced.

I made the mistake of mentioning it to my mom, and she of course went straight to Dr. Google. She found all sorts of debilitating diseases I could have, ranging from Lou Gehrig's disease to multiple sclerosis.

But she's a mother. Mothers are supposed to worry.

So I went to the doctor to get her off my back.

I described my symptoms to the doctor, and she didn't seem too troubled. They drew some of my blood for some tests a few days ago and then called me into the office to discuss the results.

My doctor—I think her name is Dr. Jenson—enters the room now. This is only the second time I've seen her. Before she drew my blood last week, I hadn't seen a doctor for anything other than my annual gyno exam since I was in college getting tested for STDs.

She walks into her office. "Thank you for coming in, Raven."

"Of course." I chuckle. "Anything to get my mother to stop worrying."

Dr. Jenson doesn't join me in laughing. She takes out a clipboard with several pieces of paper stacked on top of it. "We received the results of your bloodwork yesterday. I'm afraid it's a bit of bad news."

An invisible fist tightens around my heart. Bad news? I'm healthy as a horse. I never thought that this would be anything serious. Just a few weeks of feeling mildly shitty. Things like that tend to balance out.

Don't they?

I swallow. "What is it?"

Dr. Jenson takes a deep breath in. "You have cancer, Raven. Leukemia."

And my world goes black.

Cancer? That's a disease that other people get, not me. No one in my family has ever had cancer. I mean, I think I had a great-aunt who had skin cancer once, but she just had a mole removed and that was it.

Leukemia? That's serious. The kind of thing people die from.

"You're joking, right?" I stand up. "I feel fine, Dr. Jenson. I've just been a little out of sorts the past few weeks. Nothing serious."

"You are of course welcome to go see another physician for a second opinion," Dr. Jenson says. "But this kind of cancer can be aggressive. It would be in your best interest to start treatment right away."

Treatment? She means chemo. I bring my hand up to my thick tresses of dark hair. I love my hair. I don't want it to go away. I don't…

"Of course, if chemotherapy doesn't work, there are other options down the line that we can try. But they are invasive…"

The doctor might as well be speaking Swedish. Her words are no longer making sense. I sit there, nodding blankly.

After about three minutes of her speaking, I put a hand up. "Will I die?"

Dr. Jenson looks up at me, her gaze sympathetic but altogether far too businesslike. "With early treatment, the odds can be pretty good ? —"

"Give me a number, doctor. Please."

She clasps her hands together. "You have about a sixty-five percent chance of survival."

Sixty-five percent? That would be a D if I were in school getting a letter grade.

I guess it's better than fifty-fifty.

Phenomenal. I have a slightly better chance than a coin flip at living.

Dr. Jenson rattles on some more. I don't hear a word. Fifteen minutes later I leave the office with a handful of pamphlets and referrals.

I get to my home on my family's ranch. I place all the pamphlets on my kitchen counter, strip off all my clothes, and lie down in my bed.

For an hour, I just feel empty. Shocked.

Then, ever so slowly, it hits me. Tiny bee stings, one at a time.

I have cancer.

I might die.

I'm going to lose my hair.

Oh, God, I have to tell my family.

And then the tears come. Just a few at first, but then a fountain erupts. I'm sobbing uncontrollably, clinging to my bedsheets for dear life.

They keep coming, and there's no turning them off. It is only in the wee hours of the morning that exhaustion takes over and I finally fall asleep.

The stream of sunlight through my window wakes me up early in the morning. I've only slept a few hours. For a second I wonder if it was all a bad dream.

And then I remember.

But I'm out of tears. Nothing can come. I'm numb.

Numb…except for a tiny flame that erupts deep in my core. A flame of resolve.

This flame will stay with me over the next several years of cancer treatment. Sometimes it grows, enveloping my entire body, and sometimes it is almost completely extinguished.

But it never leaves me.

Because I'm going to fight this horrible disease. I'm going to kill it.

Even if it kills me in the process.

* * *

The sun cascades through my window as I wake up. I rise, throw my legs over to the side of the bed, stretching my arms over my head.

Vinnie and I had sex last night.

Correction. We made love.

He said he loves me. And I told him I love him.

God, I don't know if I've ever been happier.

I look around. He's not here. Odd. I throw on a robe. Maybe he's an early riser, got up to make a pot of coffee.

I saunter into the kitchen, yawning. "Vinnie?"

But he's not here.

Maybe he had an early meeting with that grandfather of his. Certainly he'd have left me a note, though, right?

I'll check my phone. Maybe he left me a text.

I turn on the screen. No texts at all since last night.

Including from Brick. I check to make sure the text I sent him canceling our date went through. It did.

He was probably pissed at me for flaking at the last minute. I can't blame him. I sigh. I guess I'll have to find another lawyer to help me out with the nonprofit.

But Vinnie didn't text me, which is weird.

I put the phone down. I'm about to start a pot of coffee when it rings.

It's my mom. Damn it. I didn't text her last night to let her know I'd be spending the night at my place. She'll be beside herself with worry.

"Hello?"

"Raven, thank God."

Mom's voice is high-pitched and energetic. I can hear a lot of hustle and bustle in the background. The house seems very active for early in the morning.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I forgot to call you last night."

"Are you at your place?"

"I am."

"Thank God." Mom's voice is still pretty frantic.

My heart begins to race, but I'm not sure why. All I know is something isn't right here.

"Is anything the matter?" I gasp. "Is something wrong with Dad?"

"No, sweetheart. Your father and I are fine. But we…" She lets out a choking sob.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

But she can't seem to get herself together. Something is very wrong here.

"Can you put Dad on?"

Mom blubbers out some words I can't make out, but then I hear my dad's voice on the receiver.

"Raven. Didn't you have a date with that lawyer last night?"

"I did." The guilt hits me again. "But I… I wasn't feeling too great, so I canceled it."

Dad's tone is artificially even. "Did you cancel it at the very last minute?"

"I did."

"I see." Dad pauses. "Your mother and I went to a movie last night. We got back late and went straight to bed. This morning, she got up to check on you, and…"

"What, Dad? I wasn't there? I'm sorry, I should have called to?—"

"No, it's not that." Dad clears his throat. "She found…someone else in your bed."

My blood runs cold. " What? "

"Yes." Dad pauses. "It was…a body."

My heart is pounding out of my chest. "A body? Like…a dead body?"

"Yes." Dad's voice is shaking through the phone. "The lawyer. Mr. Latham. His throat slit wide open."

Oh my God, oh my God…

"There was a note on your nightstand next to him. Handwriting I don't recognize."

A note? Oh God, did he kill himself? He seemed pretty level-headed. Surely a broken date wouldn't be something that would drive him to…

There's no way.

I draw in a shaky breath. "What did it say?" I whisper.

I can hear Dad shudder from the other end of the line before he finally speaks again.

" Your move, Cobra. "