She peers up at me and I want to take her mouth, claim her, show her who she belongs to, but I don’t. She’s not ready to go there—yet.

When she is, I’ll be waiting.

“What about the paternity test?” I ask, needing to know.

Just like that her smile is wiped off her face. I hate that desolate look in her eyes as memories plague her, but it has to be done. She needs to know Lily-May is mine for sure. It’s the only way to lay her demons to rest. Not knowing is slowly killing her piece by piece.

When she doesn’t answer, I add, “I know why you don’t want to do one, but I know she’s mine.”

It’s selfish as fuck to push her for this, but she needs it. We both do.

“You can’t know that.” Her voice comes out little more than a whisper.

I thump my chest. “I feel it in here. She’s fucking mine.”

“If you think that then why do it?” Her anger flares as her emotions overwhelm her. I can see the tight lines of her body as she fists her hands at her sides, trying and failing to maintain control.

“Because you need to have closure.”

My strong girl is struggling to keep a grip here and I trail my fingers down her cheek.

She peers up at me, her teeth gritting. “I don’t care who her father is.”

I don’t believe that for a second.

“Yeah, you do, sweetheart. Just think about it.”

I can see the cogs working in her brain as she nods. My thoughts scatter as there’s a knock on the door. A nurse pushes into the room, her expression filled with apology.

“The doctor’s ready to see you now.”

My gut rolls. Time to find out if I can save Lily-May’s life.

18

Sasha

The walk down the corridor to the doctor’s office feels like I’m taking the green mile to the execution chamber. My steps falter and if it wasn’t for Rav steadying me, I would fold like wet cardboard. My pulse is galloping, my mouth is dry and my head is dizzied.

As soon as we step into the room, I know bad news is coming. I can see it in the tight set of Dr Harking’s shoulders, the sadness clouding his eyes, as he waits for us to take our seats in front of his desk. My neck feels hot, clammy and my stomach starts to churn as icy fingers twist my gut.

Rav’s fingers curl around mine as we take a seat in the two chairs in front of the desk, his calloused palms scraping over mine. I squeeze his hand back, trying to communicate what I can’t say in words—that I’m grateful for him being here. And I am. His touch grounds me, keeps my feet rooted to the floor as my world readies itself for the bottom to fall out of it again.

I watch the doctor steel himself, then he delivers the crushing blow. “I’m sorry to say, you’re not a full match, Mr Jenkins.”

Dr Harking’s words stab at my chest, making it hard to draw air past the lump in my throat. Lily-May’s last chance of survival is going up in flames and I can hardly breathe. Every inhalation is more painful than the last. All this heartache, reliving the painful steps of my past, of facing my rapist and chasing my demons has been for nothing.

Rav isn’t a match.

My hand covers my mouth as bile races up my throat. This can’t be happening. I lean forward in the chair, trying to drag in a lungful of air and failing. Rav’s hand goes to the back of my neck, squeezing tightly, trying to assure me he’s here. I suck in a breath, feeling light-headed.

“Please, don’t feel like everything is lost,” the doctor says. “We still have the results to come through from your friends. Perhaps one of them will match fully. If not, we’re still searching the national database. People are added to it every day. There’s still also the option to use a partial match from you or Mr Jenkins.”

I’m going to vomit.

I take a deep gulp of air in and try to control my stomach, which is roiling viciously. My skin crawls, a trail of fire licking its way over me. I scrub at my arms, trying to stop the sensation, but it doesn’t help.

“I’ll give you both a moment,” the doctor finally says, as if sensing his presence is intruding on a deeply personal moment.

I hear the door snick shut behind me and then I lose it. Tears brim in my eyes before spilling down my cheeks. I try to hold back a sob, but it rips out of me. It sounds loud in the silence of the room.

“Fuck,” Rav yells.

I peer up at him. His face is a pale mask of anger and I can see he’s barely keeping his shit together. His fists clench and unclench at his side, itching to take the rage building in him out on something physically. He’s holding on by a thread, I can see it, but I see the strength there too as he tries to keep it together to help me.

He moves in front of the chair, crouching in front of me. His hands lock around mine.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises me.

“How?”

“I’ll fucking fix it,” he repeats, as if there’s no option but to make this right.

“How!” I scream in his face, sobbing as I do.

He grabs my cheeks and his touch brings me back to reality for a moment. Then he pulls me against his chest. I go willingly, unable to stop my tears.

“I’ll find a way to make this better.”

I cling to his kutte, my knuckles whitening. “This was her last chance. She’s so tired, Rav.”

I watch as he flinches away from my words, as if he’s been physically punched in the gut. He shakes his head, denial written in every line of his face.

“I just got you both back. I’m not losing—” He cuts himself off.

Something the doctor said, suddenly pricks at the back of my mind. He said he’s not a full match.

I grab at Rav.

“Get the doctor back.”

“Babe…”

I push up and shove past him to the door, dragging it open. Dr Harking is standing at the nurses’ station and glances up as the door opens. I move to him, Rav on my heels.

“You said he wasn’t a full match.”

“Both parents are always at least half matches. They carry four out of eight markers needed to be considered for a successful transplant. Our hope was that Mr Jenkins would be a full match, not a half. We can transplant marrow from either you or Mr Jenkins, but as I’ve told you before there are risks with a partial match. There’s an increased chance the marrow won’t engraft and there’s potential for infection afterwards. It’s better to have a full match, which is what we’ll look for, but if necessary, we can transplant from either of you.”

I ignore everything he said, but the first part. I know it by heart. I’ve heard it a thousand times. I’ve read every piece of information out there on my daughter’s condition.

Hope surges in me as I dare to ask, “Both parents?” I hold my breath. “Rav—Mr Jenkins—is her father?”

The doctor’s brows draw together as his eyes dart between us, sensing he’s stumbled into something more here. “Biological parents are always a half match to their children. He half matched… but I can’t say for sure he’s her father.”

My breath catches in my throat. It’s good enough for me, and I want to believe it so badly. I need to believe it. I spin to Rav, grabbing his biceps and clinging to him with a desperation that catches me off guard.