30- A Race Against Time

I'm pacing the small waiting room, my heart hammering against my ribs. The faint smell of antiseptic lingers in the air, mixing with the low murmur of voices from the hallway. Hospitals always feel heavy, like the walls carry the weight of a thousand unsaid goodbyes. I try to steady my breathing, but it's impossible. Gabe's call still rings in my ears. 

"They found something," he'd said, his voice tight but calm. "My dad's getting more tests done, but it looks like you were right." 

I didn't even think. I grabbed my coat, my keys, and drove straight here. Now, sitting feels unbearable, and the minutes crawl like hours as I wait for him to show up. 

When Gabe walks through the doors, his presence fills the space instantly. He looks tired, his usually brilliant gray eyes shadowed, his jaw clenched, but when his gaze finds mine, there's a flicker of relief. 

"They're running a biopsy now," he says, his voice low but steady as he closes the distance between us. "The doctors think it might be early-stage prostate cancer." 

My breath hitches. "Prostate cancer?" 

He nods. "It's one of those cancers that's slow-growing, but if it's caught late...it can spread." His hands rake through his hair. "You told me to tell him to get screened, and thank God I did. They said if we hadn't caught it now, he might've had..." 

It hits me like a punch to the gut. Gabe's father, a man I barely know but who raised the man standing in front of me, could've been gone just like my- I swallow hard. "But they caught it early?" I ask, my voice trembling. 

"Yeah. They think they did," Gabe says, and for the first time since I've seen him, his shoulders relax a fraction. "He'll need more tests to confirm the stage, but they're optimistic. He's going to start treatment as soon as possible." 

I don't realize I'm crying until Gabe's thumb brushes a tear from my cheek. His touch is gentle, grounding. 

"Hey," he says softly. "It's okay. He's okay." 

I nod, though the relief is almost overwhelming. "I just... I can't believe you listened to me. You actually told him to get tested." 

"Of course I did," he says, his voice dropping into something softer, something almost vulnerable. "You were so serious about it, Meg. How could I not?" 

His mother and other family members are also there. 

The hours blur after that. Gabe keeps me close as we sit through more waiting, in the cafeteria, his phone buzzing periodically with updates from his mother. I can't help but notice the way his hand tightens around mine whenever the phone rings, like I'm an anchor keeping him steady. 

Eventually, his father's doctor appears, clipboard in hand, and gives us the full picture. It's early-stage prostate cancer, confined to the prostate. The doctor explains that because they caught it early, treatment options are highly effective: radiation therapy, hormone therapy, and potentially surgery. 

I listen carefully as he talks, my mind spinning with unfamiliar terms- PSA screening, Gleason score, active surveillance. Gabe asks all the right questions, his voice calm but firm, and I can see the weight of the news settling on him even as he holds himself together. 

When the doctor leaves, Gabe exhales a long breath and leans back in his chair. "I can't believe this is happening," he murmurs. 

I place a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "You did the right thing, Gabe. You might've just saved his life." 

He turns to me, his gray eyes searching mine. "I couldn't have done it without you," he says, and there's something raw in his voice that makes my chest ache. 

Later that evening, Linda thanks me for coming over to support them and saying that Douglas has to redo a test PSA test in a few weeks. Gabe insists on driving me back home. The silence between us is comfortable, the kind that doesn't need to be filled with words. But when we pull up to the driveway, the porch light casting a soft glow over the car, I hesitate. 

"Do you want to come in?" I ask out of politeness and not because I wanted him to. My voice is steady, but inside, I'm unraveling. 

Gabe shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Not tonight. Your mom would probably have more questions than either of us want to answer." 

I laugh softly, though his words hit closer to home than he realizes. My mother has been on edge lately, her sharp gaze dissecting every interaction between Gabe and me. She hasn't said anything outright, but I can feel her disapproval simmering beneath the surface. 

"You're probably right," I say, opening the door. "Goodnight." 

He nods, his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he shifts the car into reverse. As I watch him drive away, a strange mix of gratitude and unease settles over me. I've grown closer to Gabe than I ever thought possible, but it's a double-edged sword. 

The next morning, my mom corners me in the kitchen as I pour myself a cup of coffee. She's dressed for work, her dark hair pulled into a neat bun, but her expression is anything but composed. 

"We need to talk," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

I set my mug down and turn to face her. "What's up?" 

Her eyes narrow slightly. "I'm worried about you. About this...thing with Gabe." 

I blink, caught off guard. "Gabe? What about him?" 

"You two are...close," she says, choosing her words carefully. "Too close, if you ask me. And the way you argue- it's not healthy, Meg. It's toxic." 

Her words hit me like a slap. So much for thinking nobody heard us that night. "Toxic? Mom, you don't even know him." 

"I know enough," she counters. "I see the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. It's like you're caught in some kind of- war. And I'm telling you now, it's not good for either of you." 

My jaw tightens. "Gabe is a good guy. He's been there for me when I needed someone." 

Mon gives me the parental concern expression. The 'what is my child going through that I have not been there to save her from' or possibly the 'you have it so easy and think the world is falling apart with a simple bad dream.' "That doesn't mean it's healthy," she says firmly. "Meg, you've been through a lot lately. You're stressed, emotional. Maybe you're leaning on him because it's easier than dealing with everything else." 

Her words cut deeper than I want to admit. "You don't understand," I say, my voice trembling. "He's...he's important to me." 

She sighs, her expression softening. "I'm not saying you can't care about him. But you need to be careful, Meg. Relationships like this can consume you. And I don't want to see you get hurt. Things could turn bad especially because his father and your father do business, honey." 

I don't respond, the weight of her words settling over me like a heavy blanket. She doesn't understand, how could she? But some part of me knows she's right. Gabe and I are walking a fine line, and it's only a matter of time before we fall. 

And when we do, I'm not sure either of us will come out unscathed.