Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I’d always interpreted don’t dwell on your diagnosis like I did to validate my decision not to get tested. What was the point of knowing, when there would be nothing I could do to prevent the onset of the disease? Why live life waiting for a death sentence to begin, when I could move on instead?
Only…
For the first time in my life, I pondered whether I was even living. Sure, I had relationships—sexual relationships—a job I loved, and a few close friends. That had always been enough. But was I moving on and living my life or was I just existing and waiting for a fucking symptom to occur anyway? I hadn’t wanted to know so I could choose to live every day like it was my last and not have that life chosen for me. Yet if I could choose how to spend my last day here on Earth, I’d want to be with Natalia. So was I really accomplishing what I’d set out to do?
I reread the end of the letter again.
Live life, little bro. Don’t spend it dwelling on your diagnosis like I did. Time flies whether you’re enjoying life or not. The choice is yours.
I’d equated not dwelling on my diagnosis with not finding out. I’d thought not knowing had been what kept me from planting roots all these years. But suddenly, I realized roots had already been planted, and a strong vine had grown and wrapped around my heart. It wasn’t the uncertainty of my health that had kept me blowing in the wind, it was that I hadn’t found the one who made me want to weather a storm, allowing those roots to burrow in deeper.
Natalia was the one. I’d loved Summer. She was my first love. But she hadn’t been the one. Maybe we were too young. Maybe I’d always thought of her as my first love because deep down I’d known she wasn’t my last.
Natalia—she’s my one.
I fell in love long before I was willing to accept what it was.
What would change for me now if I took the test and found out it was positive? Would I go back to mindless fucking between two consenting adults? How is that any different than trying to move on without finding out now?
Don’t spend it dwelling on your diagnosis…
She wouldn’t even have to know I’d taken the test if it was positive.
But what if I took the test and found out it was negative?
The choice is yours…
Didn’t the risk of finding out outweigh the risk of losing her?
It was almost one on the morning, but after I finally grew a pair of balls and answered that question, I needed to talk to someone. Reaching for my cell, I scrolled through my contacts until I found the one I needed and hit send.
He answered on the fourth ring with sleep in his voice. “Hunter? Is everything okay?”
I blew out a deep breath. “Yeah, Uncle Joe. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry to call so late. But I need to get blood drawn. Can I come by your office first thing tomorrow?”
“Are you sick?”
“No.” I paused. “But I need to know now.”
No further explanation was required. Uncle Joe took a moment to process what I’d said. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed. I’ll meet you at the office in a half hour.”
“It’s one in the morning.”
“I know. But you didn’t make this call lightly. I want to hear what’s going on. I’ll bring coffee. If you still want to get tested after we hash things out for a while, I know a lab that opens at six. I’ll draw the blood, take it over myself, and ask them to put a rush on it.”
Chapter 37
Hunter
“Turn on your TV—NBC.”
No hello. No how you doing, buddy.
I picked up the remote, flicked the TV on, and turned to the station Derek had said. A commercial for Rogaine played on the screen. I muted it to speak.
“I don’t have much going for me these days, but I have my hair.”
“Just wait.”
“You’re not making me watch a two-hour, B-flick horror movie again just so I can see your name at the end as robotics consultant, are you?”
“Shut up and watch.”
I’d just gotten in from a morning meeting, so I kicked off my shoes and pulled my dress shirt from my slacks. I’d started to unbutton with my cell tucked between my shoulder and ear when the news started to play.
I grabbed the remote to turn up the volume without noticing that my cell had fallen from my hold and landed somewhere on the couch.
What the fuck?
The screen flashed video of a man walking through a gaggle of reporters toward an apartment building. Beneath it read Convicted Ponzi scheme organizer Garrett Lockwood released early. A bunch of reporters shoved microphones in his face, asking questions about restitution to victims as he attempted to walk.