Foul Ball
Chapter 47: Jayce

It had been two weeks since Macey's mom had flown home, pissed at all of us for asking her to leave but still angry enough to go away and stay away. I didn't mind, because Macey didn't need the extra stress, especially with how things were already going.

She was asleep when I got to the hospital Thursday evening, her pale complexion vividly white against the crisp pillow cover she laid her head on. Next to the bed was a wastebasket, one I knew was specifically for when the nausea was too much to take. A full glass of water also sat on the shelf near her bed, but it hadn't been touched. She'd lost more hair; not enough for it to really be noticeable to strangers, but it terrified her just the same. I missed the braids, the long, thick one that flowed over her shoulder like a waterfall. She didn't braid her hair anymore, because the tension on the strands made more of it come out.

Walking quietly, I set her textbooks on the shelf next to the water and sat down in the lounge chair near her bed, focusing on the way Macey's chest rose and fell with each small breath. She was so small, much smaller than she had been when I'd met her, and it shattered me from the inside out. The cancer was taking her away from me.

"Jayce," Macey murmured, her eyelids fluttering open to look at me. She groaned with pain as she lifted her arm to reach for the glass of water on the table. I beat her to the punch, grabbing the water and helping her sit up so she could take a sip. She laid back down, panting like she'd just run a marathon.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, and then wanted to kick myself.

"I'm okay," Macey whispered. "More tired than usual, but I'm okay."

"Have you eaten?"

"No. I can't keep anything down."

"I can have the nurse on shift bring food," I insisted. "You need to try to keep something down."

"Jayce, it's fine." Macey struggled to sit up, careful not to bump into the needle in her arm, reaching for one of the textbooks I'd brought her. The semester was days from being over, and she was still trying to catch up on all the work she'd fallen behind on this month.

"Do you want to wait to study until after you've eaten?" I asked, and then regretted it already when Macey glared at me.

"I will pass this semester, Jayce, come hell or high water." She ran her hands through her hair, a habit she'd had as long as I knew her, one of annoyance. When she pulled her fingers away, they were laced with thick strands of brown hair. Macey stared at them for a moment too long, and then finally leaned over and dropped the hairs into the trash bin. "I want to shave my head," she said, not looking at me but looking at the clump of hair from inside the bin. "I want it gone. All of it."

"Hey." I leaned towards the bed to take her hand, not squeezing too hard because with the state Macey was in, I feared I might just break bones. "I support you," I said. "I support whatever decision you make."

Macey smiled, but it was hollow. Ghostly. She hadn't smiled like she used to in weeks. "Thanks, Jayce."

Just then my mom poked her head into the room, smiling at us gently. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked Macey, crossing the room to check her IV fluids.

"Less nauseous today," said Macey weakly. "But more tired."

My mom made some notes on Macey's chart, nodding her head as though she were thinking to herself about something.

"The latest tests show that you've been responding well to the chemotherapy," she said, locking eyes with Macey. "That's good. That's really good. If you continue to respond to chemotherapy and radiation, we might not have to do the surgery."

"Surgery?" I asked. "What surgery?"

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"SCT," Mom said. "Stem cell transplant."

"It's okay, Jayce," Macey said, rolling her head to the side to look at me. "It might not be necessary. The chemo is doing its job."

"Is she going to be okay?" I asked my mom, and she sighed.

"We don't know yet, J. But she's okay right now."

Silence settled between the three of us. There wasn't much left to say; there never was, and when I was just about sure the silence would smother us, smother all of us, Macey spoke again.

"Melissa, do you think I'll be strong enough to go to Jayce's game Saturday evening?" she asked, struggling once more to sit up on the bed. Pain trickled from her eyes with each word, each breath, each movement, but she was determined. She always was.

"I can ask the doctor," Mom said, looking between Macey and me. "But he might not sign off on it, Mace. We have to keep you as strong and healthy as possible."

"That's not going to happen stuck in this hospital bed with a needle in my arm," said Macey quietly. I took her hand, noticing not for the first time how cold her skin felt against mine.

"It's okay, baby. I would never pressure you to be there. You know that."

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"I know," she said, settling her head back down to the pillow with a weak smile. She could barely hold herself up more than a few seconds anymore. "But I want to be there. It's the last game of the season." "Let's see how you're feeling then," my mom said, patting Macey's arm gently. "I'll talk to Dr. Hudson and see if he'd be willing to let me take you. I don't want to miss it, either."

For the first time in days, Macey's eyes lit up, just a bit. "Thanks, Melissa."

"Anytime, sugar." With a wink, my mom hurried out of the room to complete her rounds, leaving Macey and I alone once again.

"Rest," I said, standing to kiss Macey's forehead. "Get some sleep, okay? I have a team meeting, but I'll be back tonight to sleep with you."

"You know you don't have to," Macey said softly. "These beds aren't comfortable. Just stay the night in your bed."

I laughed. "You know that's never gonna happen."

"Can't say I didn't try to save your sanity," Macey murmured with a roll of her eyes, and for just a second, a mere moment, she was her old self again.

I kissed Macey goodbye after tucking another blanket around her, and then stepped out of her room and made my way to the parking lot, pulling out my cell phone in the process to dial Dalton's number. "Yo."

"D, it's me. I have an idea...can you help me pitch it to the team? We don't have much time to plan this."