Chapter 2

Rather than clinging to some faint hope and suffering through the pain, I'd rather end it all cleanly.

At the hospital, the doctor tried to talk me out of it, again and again, asking me to reconsider. I didn't argue. I just signed my name on the organ donation form, firm and final.

Seeing that nothing would change my mind, the doctor stood, patted my shoulder gently, sighed, and walked away.

While I waited at the billing counter to settle my treatment costs, a video on my social feed caught my eye and cut deep.

Two nights earlier, the department had gathered at The Milton Hotel to celebrate Jocelyn cracking a major case. I'd missed it. My condition had flared up that day.

The video had been filmed during the dinner. A few drinks in, someone had started egging Jocelyn and Brian Castor on. "Go on, give her a hug!"

Brian looked bashful and waved his hands. "I couldn't possibly. Jocelyn belongs to James. How could I hug another man's girl?"

He was doing it on purpose.

If there was one thing Jocelyn couldn't stand, it was being treated like someone else's property.

Ever since my family and the Nicols family had settled our engagement, Jocelyn had never once acknowledged it. Add to that her vow not to marry until the cold case was solved, and to anyone on the outside, our relationship looked like a done deal.

In reality, it was nothing but a one-sided fantasy I'd built for myself.

Jocelyn's expression soured, just as I knew it would. But with her coworkers watching, she only said, flat and noncommittal, "Even if he were here, I can hug whoever I want."

Then she stood and walked straight into Brian's open arms.

"Now that's our boss, bold as ever!"

Watching their bodies pressed together, my mind drifted back to the day I first met Brian.

Three years earlier, he'd graduated at the top of his class and joined the department. From the moment he arrived, rumors about him and Jocelyn never stopped.

I always pretended not to notice, ignoring the looks people gave me, whether they were mocking or pitying.

I remembered one night, playing truth or dare, when Jocelyn lost for the first time ever. Everyone jumped at the chance and pressed her with questions.

"Come on, Detective Nicols, you've never once felt something for Brian?"

"Don't be shy. Even one second of feeling something counts!"

Sitting in the corner of the private room, I clenched my fists where no one could see and couldn't stop myself from glancing at Jocelyn.

She looked back at me. In that moment, our eyes met, and I saw something soften in hers.

But when she finally spoke, her voice was as flat as ever, and the answer she gave was exactly what I wanted to hear. "Never."

The knot in my chest finally loosened. I didn't let myself dig any deeper into the disappointment I heard underneath her words.

After the game ended, Jocelyn and I went back to our apartment together. She locked herself in the study like she'd lost her mind and never came out.

For the next three days, she didn't sleep or eat.

By the end, I was so worried about her health that I broke the door down myself and pulled her out, barely conscious.

That day, her face drained of color, she gripped my hand so hard it hurt and said, "James, I can't solve this case."

Looking at her defeated, bitter eyes, I actually believed she wanted to marry me.

I squeezed her hand back right away and said gently, "It's all right. We've made it this far together, haven't we? As long as I get to stay by your side, that's enough for me."

After that, we both silently agreed never to bring up the case again.

Whenever the Nicols family pushed for answers, I was always the first to step in and defend her. "As long as Jocelyn's willing to be with me, we don't need a piece of paper to prove it."

Little by little, her family stopped pressing the issue.

I thought I could go on like that forever, playing at being together without ever actually being together. Reality hit me hard instead.

I turned off my phone and walked out of the hospital, numb.

In five days, I'd be lying on an operating table, ready for euthanasia.