by Marie Force
How Much I Care
Miami Nights Series, Book 2
Marie Force
How Much I Care
Miami Nights Series, Book 2
By Marie Force
Published by HTJB, Inc.
Copyright 2020. HTJB, Inc.
Cover Design by Kristina Brinton
Ebook Layout: E-book Formatting Fairies
ISBN: 978-1952793004
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected].
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
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The Miami Nights Series
Book 1: How Much I Feel (Carmen & Jason)
Book 2: How Much I Care (Maria & Austin)
Book 3: How Much I Love (Dee’s story)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter 1
AUSTIN
I’m dead asleep after pitching a shutout against the Mariners when my phone rings with the tone I assigned to my parents. They’d never call me at this hour unless something was up with Everly, so I pull myself out of a deep sleep to reach for the phone on my bedside table.
“Hey.” As I move to get more comfortable, the ice pack on my shoulder falls off, making a squishing sound as it lands on the bed. My arm aches like it always does after I pitch.
“I’m so sorry to wake you, Austin.” Mom sounds frazzled. “But Ev has a fever. We’re at urgent care now, and I thought you’d want to know.”
I sit up, now wide awake. “What’s her temp?”
“One-oh-three.”
“Seriously? How long has she had it?”
“About eight hours now.” Which means they waited to call until after my start, knowing worries about Everly would mess with my concentration. “We were giving her medicine, but nothing was working, so we brought her in.”
“I’ll come home.” I’m required to travel with the team, even between starts, but exceptions can be made. The team’s management knows I’m a single father and are accommodating—to a point. Since I have four days until my next start, it shouldn’t be a problem to fly back to Baltimore.
“We’re so sorry to have to call with this news, but we thought you’d want to know.”
“You did the right thing. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I end the call with my mom and place another to my manager, Mick Danvers.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asks, his voice gravelly with sleep.
“Sorry to bother you, Coach, but I’ve got a situation at home. My little girl has a high fever and is in the ER. I need to go home, and I’m hoping you won’t mind if I catch up to you in Oakland.” It’ll be a bitch to add two cross-country flights to my week, but I don’t care about that. Not when Ev is sick and needs me.
“Of course. Do what you’ve got to do. Let us know how she is.”
“I will.” I release a deep sigh of relief. Mick is fair but tough, so I wasn’t sure if he’d let me go.
“Hell of a start tonight, AJ. Everyone is very pleased.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Keep me posted.”
“I will.” My next call is to book a flight home as quickly as possible.
Seven of the longest hours of my life later, my flight—on a plane without freaking WiFi— touches down at BWI. I fire up my phone to a string of new messages from my mother, each more frantic than the last. They’ve admitted Everly. Something isn’t right with her blood.
My chest is so tight, I wonder if I’m having a heart attack as I run through the airport and grab the first cab I see, completely jumping the line. I don’t care. I need to get to my baby girl. She’s my whole world, and the possibility of anything being wrong with my angel is too horrifying to bear.
The thirty-minute ride to the hospital feels almost as endless as the flight did. By the time I join my parents in the pediatric ICU waiting room, I’m fairly certain I’m on the verge of a medical crisis of my own. How did she go from a fever to the pediatric ICU at Hopkins in the span of a few hours? My mother bursts into tears when I walk in. I drop my bag inside the door so I can hug her and my dad, who seems equally undone.
“Thank God you’re here, son,” Dad says.
As I look at them, I realize they know something I don’t, and judging by their expressions, whatever it is will rock my world.
“Austin,” Mom says tearfully, “Everly has leukemia.”
MARIA
Fifteen months later…
I force myself to endure Sunday brunch with my boisterous extended family without checking my phone. I grocery-shop afterward and do a number of other necessary workweek preparation errands, while still ignoring my phone. Never has avoiding my phone been more painful than it is today, as months of anticipation have led to this day. I’m elated, excited, nervous and worried that the connection between myself and Mr. A, as I know him, won’t be the same once we’re no longer anonymous.
Just over a year ago, I donated bone marrow to save the life of a two-year-old girl who was battling leukemia in Baltimore. At the time, I knew nothing else about her or her father, except that my transplant saved her life.
As of six months ago, I know he loves her more than anything in his world, the child’s mother isn’t in the picture, and he’s thankful to me for giving his little girl a second chance. The child has since turned three, and her remission is holding, which is the most important part of this story.
But that’s not the whole story.
It began with a call on a Tuesday night from Be the Match, an organization that’d done a registry drive at the clinic where I work in Little Havana more than three years earlier. Honestly, I’d forgotten all about having my cheek swabbed until I got the call that I was a match for a child battling leukemia. Would I be willing to undergo further testing?
Of course I was willing, and the testing was scheduled.
That call from Be the Match turned my life upside down for a few weeks. My parents had freaked out about me going under general anesthesia t
o donate bone marrow to a stranger. What if something goes wrong? they’d asked. Thankfully, Nona intervened with them, after seeing how hell-bent I was on saving the life of a child I’d never met.
“Maria is a nurse,” Nona said. “This is what she does. You must trust her and have faith in her judgment.”
I’ve always adored my Nona, but never more so than I did then. She dealt with my parents, which gave me the space I needed to mentally and physically prepare for the procedure. After we attended information sessions and my parents learned there was very little risk to the donor, they came around to supporting my determination to donate.
My cousin Carmen, who along with my sister, Dee, is my closest friend, accompanied me to the hospital and kept the rest of the family informed throughout the day.
Nona and Abuela, Carmen’s grandmother and a third grandmother to me, cooked enough food to feed ten people and delivered it when we got home from the hospital. Really, it was more about confirming for themselves that I was truly fine than it was about food, but I appreciated their concern. Carmen spent two nights at my place, making sure I was okay before she went home.
I was stiff and sore for a couple of weeks after but went back to work a week later. I considered the entire thing a small price to pay to save a child’s life.
Six months after the procedure, I received an anonymous email from the child’s grateful father, through channels provided by Be the Match.
Dear Ms. M,
You saved my daughter’s life. There’s no way I can possibly tell you in mere words what you mean to my family and me or how much we appreciate what you did for us. I want to tell you about my daughter, E. She’s a little spitfire with blond curls and big blue eyes. She loves to dance and play dress-up. I’m a single dad, and she’s my whole world. When the doctors first told us she had leukemia, I thought I’d die myself from the idea of my precious love suffering in any way.
The next few months were pure hell. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. They tried everything but couldn’t get her into remission. That’s when they decided she needed a bone marrow transplant.
I’m going to be honest with you—the whole thing was terrifying. Thank God I had my parents with me through it all, or I might not have survived watching my baby go through hell. And E, she was such a trouper, so brave and strong. She kept trying to comfort me. Imagine that—a two-year-old comforting a twenty-eight-year-old man. But that’s my girl. She’s amazing and full of love, and now, thanks to you, she’s in full remission and back to singing her nonsensical songs in her own particular language and dancing and playing and laughing. Her hair has grown back—curlier than ever—and her cheeks are pink again. Because of you.
I’ve never met you, and I love you like a member of my family. You are a member of my family. And when the required one-year waiting period is up, I hope we can meet and talk and share pictures, and you can see the life you saved for yourself.
Thank you. From the bottom of my grateful heart. Thank you. We love you.
Mr. A
I must’ve read that email a thousand times after I first received it and sobbed my way through the first, second and third reading of it. I was so moved by how his love for his child poured off the page. I’m going to be brutally honest here. I fell a little bit in love with him based on how he talked about his daughter. How could I not?
When I showed the email to Carmen and Dee, they had the same reaction. Dee said she actually swooned a little. Both of them cried.
Carmen, who’s madly in love with her pediatric neurosurgeon fiancé, Jason, didn’t completely freak out the way Dee did, but even Carmen agreed that Mr. A sounds dreamy.
It took me a couple of days, and several hundred more rereadings of his message, to settle myself enough to write back to him.
Dear Mr. A,
Your email touched me deeply.
No, you can’t say that! Why not? It did touch me deeply, and he should know that.
Ignoring my own internal dialogue, I poured my heart onto the page, refusing to give him anything less than he had given me. Until the one-year mark, we aren’t allowed to speak of anything more than the transplant and updates about the recipient’s condition. I can’t tell him, for example, that I’m from Miami with a large extended family or that I work at a free clinic in Little Havana. I checked, and I can tell him I’m a nurse, since it’s relevant to the transplant.
Your email touched me deeply. Hearing about your wonderful E reduced me to tears. I’m so, so glad to hear she’s doing well and is in remission. I’m a nurse, so I know what that means, and I share your elation that “our project” led to such happy results. I’m sure you’re being very careful with her in this first tender year, when you have to limit her exposure to others, but when you’re able to be out and about again, I’d love nothing more than to meet her and hug her and celebrate her return to good health. Thank you so much for sharing your joyful news with me, and I’ll look forward to hearing more from you when the time comes.
Sincerely,
Ms. M
I debated whether I should sign it Love, Ms. M, but in the end, I went with Sincerely.
Two days later, he wrote to me again.
Ms. M,
I forgot to ask if you suffered any ill effects from donating. I really hope not. Please let me know that when you get the chance, and I will definitely reach out with more as soon as I’m allowed to.
Love,
Mr. A
Dear Mr. A,
Other than a few bruises and some stiffness for a week or two, the procedure was relatively painless for me. It was a small price to pay to help save your little girl. I’d do it again in a second. Thank you for checking on me.
Love,
Ms. M
Yep, you read that right. The second time I went with Love. Because I already love this father and daughter I’ve never met. I love the way he talks about her and how grateful he is for what I did for them. I’ve read the emails we exchanged so many times, I have them memorized.
His last email was short and sweet.
Ms. M,
I’m so glad to hear the procedure was almost painless for you. I’ll definitely write more to you the minute I can. Promise.
Love,
Mr. A
The transplant was one year ago today. For six months, I’ve been telling myself it’s not possible to fall in love with someone because of a few emails. But try telling that to my overly involved heart. All I can think about is Mr. A and Miss E. My active imagination has spent hours wondering about them as I counted down to today. I’ve tried to keep as busy as I could, volunteering for extra shifts at the clinic and helping Carmen with her wedding plans, but there are still far too many hours in the day for my liking.
And yes, I’m fully aware of how ridiculous it is to get all spun up over a guy I’ve never even met. I don’t even know his actual name, only his first initial. Is his name Alex or Anthony or Andrew? Is it possibly Asher, Adrian or Aidan? And little E, is she Emma or Emily or Emerson or Ellen?
I’m going to drive myself mad with the speculation. I want to know everything about both of them, and even realizing I might be setting myself up for a huge disappointment, I can’t stop myself from wondering if A is really as wonderful as he seems in his emails. Does he drink or party or chase women or—
“Stop it, Maria,” I tell myself as I drive home from the grocery store. I live in a garage apartment that belongs to Aunt Francesca and Uncle Domenic, my dad’s sister and brother-in-law. Thankfully, my aunt and uncle also rent out the main house, so they aren’t around to clock my comings and goings.
I never would’ve lived here if they were right next door. Not that I don’t adore them. I absolutely do, but I don’t want anyone keeping tabs on me—or reporting to my parents about what time I get home or who I go out with. No, thanks. I love my cozy little place, but more than anything, I love the privacy. A couple of years ago, Dee moved to New York City with our cousin Domenic J
unior, both of them eager to leave the clutches of the tight-knit family that spends far too much time minding each other’s business.
I can’t wait to see them both at Carmen’s wedding, which is now just over a month away. It’s been very difficult to stay focused on work and the wedding or anything other than hearing more from Mr. A as I counted down to the one-year mark.
It feels like ten years have passed since that first email from Mr. A, six months ago today. When I get home, I put my groceries away and fix myself a cup of tea before I allow myself to sit at my desk and fire up my laptop to check my email. Mixed into junk mail and a note from my sister with a link to an article on home decorating she thought I’d enjoy is a message from a name that’s familiar to me, but I can’t say why.
Austin Jacobs.
I click to open the message and gasp as I read the opening.
Dear Maria,
I thought today would never arrive.
Chapter 2
MARIA
Holy shit. His name is Austin. Austin Jacobs. Why do I know that name? It nags at me that I recognize his name, but I can’t take the time to figure that out now when there’s a whole email from him to be devoured.