Chapter 23: Texas Hold 'Em

The cold tiles felt like ice under my bare feet as I made my way downstairs, each step sending a fresh wave of pain through my head. The chemo was working its way through my body, and the usual smell of coffee made me want to throw up.

Dad and Pops were at the kitchen table, surrounded by a sea of newspapers. Bernard sat patiently by Dad’s side, his tail thumping a steady rhythm against the floor.

“Morning, Sloane,” Pops greeted, his voice warm like a hug. “Did you sleep well?”

I forced a smile, the effort sending a wave of nausea through me. “Not really,” I mumbled, sinking into the chair next to Bernard. He rested his head in my lap, his soft fur a welcome comfort against the nausea churning in my stomach.

“Rough night?” Dad asked, concern etched into his forehead. He cupped my cheek, his touch grounding me in the moment.

I nodded, my eyes fixed on the phone clutched in my hand. “I found something,” I rasped, the words catching in my dry throat. I slid the phone across the table, the screen a beacon of hope in the dim kitchen light.

Dad and Pops exchanged a look, a mix of curiosity and cautious optimism in their eyes. They leaned in to read the article, the only sound the rustling of newspaper and the clink of silverware against porcelain.

“Targeted gene therapy...” Dad murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. “This is... interesting.” He tapped the screen, his lawyer’s mind already picking apart the details.

“Could this be real?” Pops asked, his voice filled with hope. “Could this be the answer we’ve been praying for?”

“It’s too early to tell,” Dad cautioned, his tone a reminder of the countless disappointments we’d faced. “But it’s worth looking into. We need to do our research, make sure this is legitimate.”

A surge of adrenaline pushed back the nausea. “I know,” I said, my voice steadier now. “But we have to try, Dad. We have to do everything we can.”

Dad’s eyes softened, filled with the love that always made me feel safe. “We will, honey.”

Pops rose from his chair, the sound of it scraping against the floor echoing in the room. He enveloped me in a tight hug, his comforting scent wrapping around me like a warm blanket. Planting a kiss on my forehead, he lingered for a moment longer than usual.

"Love you, sunshine," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "Pizza and movie night when I get back?"

A small smile crept onto my face. "Definitely," I replied, the thought of cheesy pizza and a good movie bringing a sense of normalcy to my chaotic world.

"That's my girl," Pops said, playfully nudging me before turning to Dad. Their silent exchange of love and concern was evident in their eyes. Pops leaned down to kiss Dad, a tender gesture that always warmed my heart. They were a perfect match, proving that love could flourish unexpectedly.

"Be safe out there, babe," Dad murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Pops winked, a grin spreading across his face. "Always am, sweetheart," he replied, his hand resting on Dad's shoulder briefly before grabbing his duffel bag and heading towards the door. Bernard excitedly followed him out, the sound of his collar jingling fading into the morning quiet.

"Dad," I began, my voice hoarse. The weight of the article sat heavily on my chest, mirroring the ache in my bones. "Do you think this gene therapy could work? I mean, it's promising, right?" The metallic taste of last night's dinner lingered in my mouth, refusing to fade.

He nodded, eyes fixed on his phone. "It looks promising, Sloane. They're targeting the specific mutation causing your cancer. That's a big deal."

"But Texas?" I questioned, a wave of dread washing over me. Nausea crept up, an unwelcome companion I wished would disappear. "It's so far away."

Finally looking up, Dad offered a reassuring smile. "I know, sweetheart. But if this is our best chance, we'll make it work. We'll figure it out."

He moved to the refrigerator, the sound of its motor drowning out the pounding in my head for a moment. Yogurt, berries, a banana – the usual ingredients for my morning smoothie. “How about a banana berry smoothie?” he suggested, his voice comforting on my back.

“Thanks, Dad,” I muttered, observing as he threw the items into the blender. The whirring noise filled the room, contrasting sharply with the quiet exhaustion in my body.

“Well,” he started, pouring the purple mixture into a glass. “What do you understand about clinical trials?”

I took a cautious sip, the cold sweetness not helping with the nausea. “Not much,” I confessed, barely audible. “Just that they’re experimental treatments.”

Dad nodded. “That’s correct. This one is a Phase II trial, meaning they’ve already tested it on a small group and seen positive results. Now they’re expanding the trial to a larger group to determine its effectiveness on a larger scale.”

“And if it works?” I inquired, a glimmer of hope emerging in my stomach, momentarily overshadowing the sickness.

Dad’s grin widened. “Then it could be a game-changer, Sloane. It could be the treatment that finally defeats this illness.”

Warmth enveloped me, a delicate thread of hope weaving through the weariness. Dad always knew how to make me feel better, even when my body felt heavy.

“It’s not a sure thing,” he warned, his tone gentle. “But it’s a possibility, and that’s more than we’ve had in a while.”

I nodded, my heart fluttering in my chest. “I understand, Dad. I understand.”

He handed me the smoothie, his gaze filled with a love that words couldn’t express. “Drink up, Sloane. We have a lot to accomplish.”

Every sip was a struggle, but I pushed through, determined not to let my body dampen the hope growing in my heart. We had a chance, a real chance. And despite the sickness and fatigue, I held onto that thought like a lifeline.

"Hey, kiddo," Dad said, his voice a soothing rumble, "I have to head to the office." A quick glance at his watch, a gentle pat on my shoulder - the familiar routine a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside me. "Why don't you do some more digging on this trial? See what else you can find. I'll make some calls during my lunch break, see if I can get any more information."

"Sure thing, Dad," I replied, the words feeling empty in my throat. The smoothie sat heavily in my stomach, each sip a battle against the rising nausea.

He gathered his briefcase and keys, the jangle a harsh intrusion on the silence. "Oh, and let Bernard back in, would you? He's probably wondering where Pops went."

I nodded, forcing myself to stand. Bernard burst through the door, a whirlwind of fur and excited barks. His wet nose nudged my hand, a momentary distraction from the gnawing exhaustion in my limbs.

"Hey there, buddy. Miss Pops already?" I murmured, scratching behind his ears. His tail thumped against the floor in response, a comforting rhythm amidst the chaos in my head.

"Yeah, I know the feeling," I sighed, watching Dad's Suburban disappear down the street. The adrenaline that had fueled me through the morning evaporated, leaving me feeling hollow and heavy.

I trudged up the stairs, Bernard faithfully following behind me. My room was a complete mess, reflecting the chaos I felt inside. Clothes were scattered on the floor, books were piled on my desk in a disorganized manner. A poster of my favorite band, a reminder of happier times, seemed to judge me silently.

Sinking onto my bed, I welcomed the warmth of the comforter. Bernard curled up next to me, his presence a source of comfort. "What do you think, Bernard?" I murmured softly. "Could this trial really make a difference?"

He snuggled closer, his steady breathing calming the storm in my head. I closed my eyes, hoping to ease the nausea and exhaustion.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this trial could be my chance at a fresh start. A way to reclaim what was taken from me. Despite the fear and doubt, a glimmer of hope remained. I held onto it tightly, refusing to let it go.

I grumbled as Stetson stumbled into my room, his messy hair sticking up at odd angles. "Finally decided to join the land of the living?"

"Hey, a guy needs his beauty rest," Stetson replied, flopping onto my bed with a dramatic sigh. "Besides, who needs sleep when you've got the world's best twin sister to hang out with?"

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "Right, because torturing me with your Mario Kart skills is the epitome of brotherly love?"

Stetson grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "It's called tough love, sis. Builds character. And besides, you could use the practice."

I threw a pillow at him, which he dodged with practiced ease. "Oh, shut up."

We got into our usual routine, arguing and laughing as we raced through the challenging tracks of Rainbow Road and Bowser’s Castle. The smell of microwave popcorn filled the room, providing a sense of comfort on a day filled with uncertainty. The rhythmic thump of the Wii controllers, the bright colors flashing on the screen, and Stetson’s obnoxious victory dances were a welcome distraction from the gnawing worry in my stomach.

As the afternoon went on, my competitive spirit took over. I was determined not to let Stetson’s smug smirk go unchallenged. My fingers moved quickly across the controller, my eyes focused as I expertly navigated my kart around sharp turns and launched banana peels at my unsuspecting brother.

“Hey, no fair!” Stetson exclaimed as my well-placed shell sent him spinning off the track. “You’re cheating!”

“All’s fair in love and Mario Kart,” I joked, feeling a surge of triumph as I crossed the finish line in first place.

Stetson stared at me, his mouth hanging open in mock outrage. “I taught you everything you know!”

I shrugged, a smug grin spreading across my face. “Maybe you’re not as good of a teacher as you think you are.”

We both collapsed onto the couch, breathless and laughing, the tension of the morning momentarily forgotten. In that moment, with the sun streaming through the window and my brother’s warmth beside me, the world felt a little less heavy, a little less scary. Maybe, just maybe, we could face whatever came our way, together.

The front door squeaked open, a familiar sound that always meant Pops was back. "Hey, I'm home!" he called out, his voice full of warmth that instantly made me feel better.

"Hey, Pops!" Stetson and I said together, our voices bouncing around the house.

I could hear the rustle of bags as Pops headed to the kitchen, the delicious smell of pizza and wings filling the air. My stomach growled in excitement, a nice distraction from feeling sick.

"Chicken bacon ranch is the best!" Stetson said, grabbing a slice.

"Don't forget the Focaccia Florentine!" Pops added, a twinkle in his eye.

Suddenly, the front door opened again, and Dad's footsteps echoed through the house. He stopped in the doorway, looking at our impromptu pizza party. A small smile appeared on his face. "Looks like a feast," he said, sounding a bit tired.

I hesitated, glancing between Dad and Stetson. I hadn't told Stetson about the trial yet, and the idea of explaining everything made me nervous.

Dad cleared his throat, his expression serious. "I talked to a friend today, an expert in medical malpractice law. He's going to check out this trial for us, see if he can find any information on the doctors in charge."

Stetson looked surprised, his eyes wide. "What trial?" he asked, sounding worried.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself for his reaction. "It's a clinical trial for a new cancer treatment," I said quietly. "It's happening in Texas."

Stetson's face went pale, his jaw dropping. "Texas?" he repeated softly. "But that's... so far away."

A wave of nausea hit me, and I reached for a glass of water, my hands shaking.

"It's okay," Pops said soothingly. "We'll figure this out together."

He put his arm around me, his warmth a comforting presence against my aching body. We sat down on the couch, an 80s movie playing on the screen. The cheesy dialogue and upbeat soundtrack provided a welcome escape from the harsh reality of my diagnosis.

The movie ended with a triumphant freeze-frame, the cheesy hero mid-high-five. I blinked, trying to refocus on the present. The tension from earlier had dissolved into a quiet sort of hope. “Texas, huh?” Stetson finally said, his voice thick with concern.

I nodded, my heart feeling heavy in my chest. “Yeah.” I looked at my dads. Pops’ hand was warm on my shoulder, Dad’s face etched with the determination I knew so well. “It’s the only option they’re offering.”

A beat of silence hung in the air. Then Stetson said, “Hey, remember that time we took that road trip to see the Grand Canyon? We got lost for hours but ended up finding this amazing roadside diner with the best milkshakes.” His grin was infectious. “We can handle Texas.”

I managed a weak smile. “Yeah, we can.” It felt like a lie, but I clung to the hope in his voice.

“I’ll reach out to my colleague first thing tomorrow,” Dad assured us, his voice firm. “We’ll get all the information we need before making any decisions.”

We all agreed silently, forming an unspoken pact in the soft light of the TV. The house settled into a peaceful quiet, with only the grandfather clock's ticking marking the time passing. My eyes grew heavy, weighed down by the exhaustion from chemo.

"Hey, sunshine," Pops whispered, breaking the silence. "How about a game of Monopoly? Winner gets the last slice of pizza."

I grinned. "You're on, old man."

Setting up the board, the familiar scent of cardboard and plastic pieces filled the room. The vibrant colors and playful banter provided a welcome distraction from the turmoil within. As we rolled dice and made deals, a sense of normalcy enveloped us. Maybe it was the sound of my dads' laughter, or the feeling of Stetson's presence beside me, but for a moment, the fear faded away.

When Dad went bankrupt and Stetson and I battled it out for victory, the tension in my shoulders eased. I even managed to enjoy a few bites of pizza, a delicious change from the constant milkshakes.

Later, as we snuggled on the couch with bowls of rocky road ice cream, I felt a wave of gratitude. Despite the looming uncertainty, I was surrounded by love and support. And in that moment, it was enough.