Unforgettable (Always Book 2)

by Lexxie Couper

  “Me too.” She approached the door, pumped waterless disinfectant into her palms from the dispenser, and then gave me a nervous smile. “Let’s go.”

  Without another word, she pushed the door open with her shoulder and crossed the threshold. After disinfecting my own hands, I followed.

  Taking that first step through the door was difficult. Daunting. And at the same time I wanted to run through it and find the son I didn’t know I had, before the universe tilted and threw my life into chaos once more.

  We were a few steps along the corridor of the Oncology ward when I saw him – a man in a brown tweed suit, glaring at me from the open doorway of a room just past the nurse’s station.

  Charles Sinclair.

  Amanda’s father straightened, his eyes piercing and direct behind the lenses of his rimless glasses. His jaw bunched. I drew a slow breath. To say he’d never been my biggest fan was an understatement, but the contempt radiating from him surprised me.

  Amanda took my hand in hers as we came to a stop in front of him. “Dad, you remember Brendon?”

  Charles ran a slow inspection over me, as if cataloguing every crease and wrinkle in my shorts and T-shirt and filing them under FAIL.

  I offered my hand. “Mr. Sinclair.”

  He didn’t take it. “You’ve been conspicuously absent in my daughter’s life, Osmond. At a time when she – and your son – needed you the most. Can’t say I didn’t expect it, to be honest. I always knew you weren’t—”

  “Dad,” Amanda groaned, embarrassment and regret filling the sound. “I told you not to—”

  “I would have been here, Chuck,” I said, dropping my hand and ignoring his not-so-subtle insult, “but until two hours ago, I had no clue I had a son.”

  His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. The lenses were spotless. Meticulously cleaned. “And why’s that, do you think? Why do you think my daughter didn’t want to let you know you’d messed up her life, hmm? What does it say about you that she’d rather face this alone than with the Neanderthal who got her—”

  “Dad,” Amanda snapped. “Enough.”

  He stopped talking, but he didn’t stop glaring at me. There was some serious hate there. At that point in time, I didn’t give a flying fuck.

  “Excuse me for being rude, but this Neanderthal is here to see his son, not stand in a corridor and trade insults with you.”

  His chest puffed up. It was a ridiculous sight. He stood no taller than my chin and was reed thin. And yet there he was, a father defending his child, protecting his child, with the only weapon he had – words.

  Would I be equally as combative if the situation was reversed?

  I didn’t need to think about the answer. I was ready to do whatever was needed to help a son I hadn’t met yet. There was no doubt in my mind I’d use more than words to protect Tanner if necessary. I’d use every weapon I had at my disposal.

  “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again while I’m here, Mr. Sinclair,” I said, forcing my voice to be calm, composed, despite the turbulent state of my mind. “I hope we can put the hostilities aside until my son’s life is no longer at risk.”

  Charles’ nostrils flared.

  I turned to Amanda before he could respond. “I’d like to see Tanner now.”

  She nodded.

  Flicking her father a quick look, she squeezed my fingers tighter and led me into the room he guarded.

  I noticed three things the moment I entered the small space: the walls were covered with images of colorful balloons and equally colorful birds; there was medical equipment everywhere, beeping and whirring constantly; and in the middle of the room was a high bed, on which sat Chase and a little boy with his back to me. He was wearing Optimus Prime pajamas.

  My feet stopped working. I think my heart did as well. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  “Tanner,” Chase said, tapping him gently on the knee as she directed a grin my way, “look who’s here.”

  The little boy twisted on the bed to look where Chase was now pointing, and everything I’d ever felt in my life to that point – everything – faded to insignificance.

  Gone was the blond Mohawk of the photo I’d seen earlier, but not the devilish delight in his face, despite the oxygen tube threaded into his right nostril and taped to his cheek.

  Oh God, he was beautiful.

  Blue eyes flittered over me, a curious frown pulling at his forehead for a second before his gaze found Amanda.

  “Mommy!” Pure love and joy filled his face. He wriggled about, raising his hands – his little pudgy-fingered hands – toward Amanda. “Mommy.”

  Amanda went to him. In two steps, she was on the bed with him, folding him into her body with gentle arms, kissing his head, his cheeks, his eyes. He giggled, his small hands finding her hair, her ears, as she did so. She kissed him and cuddled him and cooed words I couldn’t make out from where I stood. She loved him, adored him.

  And I couldn’t move.

  I. Couldn’t. Move.

  I stood frozen just inside the room, with Charles Sinclair at my back, watching my son and the girl I’d loved with all my fucking heart, and I couldn’t move.

  “He’s a happy little treasure.”

  I started at the soft murmur to my left. Amanda’s mother stood beside me, her gaze on her daughters and grandson. She looked older, much older, than the last time I saw her. Older, and so very tired. If Tanner was visually a younger version of me, Jacqueline Winslow-Sinclair was an older version of Amanda.

  Still smiling, she slid her attention up to me. “And a fighter. Don’t forget that, Brendon. He’s a fighter.”

  I swallowed, staring at her.

  “Bren?”

  I looked at Amanda, perched on the side of the bed, holding Tanner on her lap. Tanner, for his part, looked busy investigating how the earring in her left earlobe worked.

  She gave me a smile I could only describe as nervous. “Wanna come over here? There’s someone waiting to meet you.”

  I swallowed again. Why was my mouth so dry? My pulse pounded in my ears, so hard I was surprised the hospital didn’t shake.

  “Tanner?” Amanda lowered her smile to our son and jiggled her knees a little, pointing at me as she did so. He giggled. “Can you say hello to Brendon?”

  With another giggle, he reached for her finger. He didn’t look at me. Not at first. It took Amanda another jiggle of her knees, which elicited another delighted giggle, and another point of her finger my way, before he did. He gave me a solemn look, pushing his body closer to Amanda’s.

  “Say hello.”

  Pushing deeper into Amanda’s chest, Tanner studied me, catching his bottom lip with his top teeth. It was such an Amanda action. It tore at my heart. As did the dark smudges beneath his eyes, and the pallor of his skin.

  It hit me then. I had no clue at all what stage of leukemia Tanner was in. None at all. I had no fucking clue about anything about my son except he was sick. And he was right there. Right there.

  He’s a fighter. Jacqueline’s murmured words replayed in my head. I looked at him watching me. What must I look like to him? This massive guy he’d never seen before, looming large in the doorway . . .

  Was he scared? Like me?

  He’s a fighter . . .

  I moved, closing the small distance between us in two steady paces, and squatted down onto my heels directly in front of him until I was just below his eye level. I gave him a warm smile. “G’day, Tanner,” I said, keeping my voice soft and gentle as I rested a hand on Amanda’s knee. Not touching him, no matter how much I wanted to. “I’m Brendon.”

  He gazed at me, face half pressed into Amanda’s breast, teeth still on his bottom lip, and didn’t say a word.

  “Tanner,” Amanda said, brushing her fingers over his head. “This is your daddy. And now that he’s here, hopefully you can start to feel better.”

  Seven

  Oppimus Tuck

  I heard Charles mutter something behind me. I heard Jac
queline mutter something back. I didn’t look at either of them. The whole damn hospital could be standing behind me raging war on my personality and I wouldn’t care. I was looking into Tanner’s eyes. No one else mattered.

  I’m not naive or inexperienced enough about children to think Tanner comprehended the enormity of his mother’s words, but I’m not lying when I say they sheared straight through my heart. A hot lump filled my throat. I continued to smile at him, my head spinning.

  “Can you say daddy?” Amanda said.

  He looked up at her and grinned. “Mommy.”

  I laughed. Before I could stop myself, I touched his toes.

  He swung back to me, consternation on his face, and pulled his foot away from my hand.

  “Hi Tanner,” I said again. Croaked it actually. What was the deal with my throat? My voice? “How’re you going?”

  What a stupid bloody question. How was he going? What the fuck was wrong with me?

  “I mean,” I went on. It’s safe to say I was completely flustered. “I know how it’s going, but I . . . I . . . yeah, I’m your father. I know you have no idea what I’m talking about, I mean, who the hell, sorry, who the heck . . . Actually that’s not better . . . What I’m saying . . . Jesus, what am I . . .” I stopped. I drew in a slow breath and let it out just as slowly. “G’day, Tanner,” I said once more, smiling. “I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  Above our heads, Amanda chuckled. “Oh, Bren . . . you are gorgeous.”

  I flicked her a look, my smile still on my lips. “Shush. I’m doing a bang-up job of creating an awesome first impression with my son here.”

  She chuckled, a warmth and happiness in her eyes I hadn’t seen since I touched down. “That you are, Osmond.”

  Returning my attention to Tanner, I attempted another touch of his toes. They were so small and yet their length spoke of an impressive future stature. Okay, that’s probably completely ridiculous, but I was instantly and irrevocably in love with my son. How could I not be?

  This time, Tanner didn’t pull his foot away. This time, he watched me touch his big toe. Watched me give it a little tickle. He giggled at me.

  Holy fuck, nothing could ever compete with that.

  I was gone right there and then. I mean, I’d already decided I was going to be the best dad ever before I’d met Tanner, but at the sound of his giggle directed at me the monumental shift of my entire existence, my entire purpose, damn near knocked me on my arse. The fact that I knew this delighted, happy giggle came from a very sick little boy, only made me love him all the more.

  Yes, just like that I loved him. Feel free to roll your eyes now, but it was the truth. I don’t do things half measure. Go hard or go home, remember, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

  What I was doing was grinning at my son. And crying. Damn it, my cheeks were wet. When the hell had I started crying? When the hell did I ever cry? I don’t cry. Not because of some macho, tough-guy bullshit reason, but because the world is too incredible to waste energy crying.

  But here I was, crying. Weeping at the marvel of my son, sitting there on his mother’s lap, watching me. Swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand, too choked up to say anything, I touched Tanner’s toe again.

  He giggled again, this time leaning forward on Amanda’s lap to tap me on the cheek.

  “I think he knows you already,” Amanda murmured. “He’s normally a little more stand-offish with new people. Especially since . . . since coming here.”

  She was smiling down at Tanner, an expression somewhere between sorrow and joy on her face. Like me, her cheeks were wet.

  “He’s beautiful,” I said truthfully.

  A soft laugh, more a sob really, fell from her and she met my gaze. “He is.”

  Tanner tapped my face again with another giggle.

  I looked at him again. The sight of the tube inserted into his little nostril tore at something in me I didn’t understand. A powerful mix of fury and love. I wanted to tell him I was going to make everything better. The promise welled through me with equal force.

  I bit it back. I’m an eternal optimist, but I’m also a student of the human body. I’ve got letters after my name that prove I know a thing or two about how the body works, even if only on a physical level, but those letters and the years of study that earned them were enough to silence my promise. I knew what leukemia was, what it meant. Tanner was not going to get better with a change of diet, three cross-fit sessions a week and daily meditation. Tanner wasn’t going to get better without more chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant. Maybe not even then.

  Fuck. It hit me. It hit me hard.

  Not even then.

  What if I wasn’t a match? What if I—

  “Oppimus!”

  Tanner’s happy proclamation jerked me back from the edge of an abyss I’d never stared into before – bleak misery. I gave him a wide smile, still touching his toe as he waved the Optimus Prime toy he was holding. “Optimus is pretty awesome, isn’t he?”

  Tanner nodded, his face lighting up. Mutual appreciation of trucks that turn into robots – the perfect mood lightener. “Oppimus tuck.” He held out the toy to me, wriggling about on Amanda’s knee. “Tuck.”

  “You want me to make Optimus into a truck?” I asked, reaching for the offered robot.

  “Tuck!” Tanner echoed.

  “I can do that,” I said. God, I hoped I could. It had been a while since I played with toys, and if memory served me correct I’d been more a Ninja Turtles boy in my wild toddler days. I didn’t want to let my son down on his first request of me. How to suck at being a dad 101: fail to turn Optimus Prime into a truck.

  Dropping my focus to the plastic blue and red robot, I turned the toy over in my hands. Okay, this looked trickier than it should, given it was a toy for a kid. “Err . . .”

  Amanda laughed.

  I raised my head and gave her an admonishing scowl, even as my lips twitched. “That’s enough from you, Mandy.”

  Tanner giggled, and then wriggled about. “Tuck!”

  I heard movement behind me, low talking. No doubt Charles Sinclair was weighing up my failure and adding it to his list.

  What did that list look like?

  1/ Gets my daughter pregnant.

  2/ Deserts her.

  3/ Has a degree only in Exercise and Sport Science.

  4/ Unlikely to know how many sonnets Shakespeare wrote.

  5/ Possibly doesn’t even know who Shakespeare was.

  6/ First time meeting son wears crinkled clothes.

  7/ Can’t make a simple toy – gives up on being a father.

  Ignoring my brain’s attempt to derail me, I turned to the task of alien/automobile transformation. Surely there had to be a button somewhere . . .

  “Ah-ha!” I burst out, as – almost of its own accord – Optimus folded in on himself and became a semi-trailer. “A truck!”

  “Tuck!’ Tanner cried, hands out, fingers opening and closing. “Oppimus tuck!”

  Smile stretching wider, I offered the toy back to him.

  He took it with an enthusiastic snatch and an enthusiastic, “Tuck!”

  I laughed, smoothing my hand over his head before I realized what I was doing. The downy-soft fuzz of his hair – so short, so sparse – and the warmth of his flesh, his life, beneath my palm stole my breath away.

  And then my wrist bumped against the oxygen tube that rested on his shoulder and I stopped, staring at him, undone.

  He smiled at me and pressed back against Amanda’s breast. “Tuck.”

  “Truck,” I agreed, although the word sounded more like a croak.

  He yawned, rubbing at his eyes with his empty hand as he pressed closer to Amanda and closed his eyes. Around me, around us, the beeps and whirrs of the machines connected to him grew to a deafening soundtrack.

  Amanda’s fingers gently brushed over his temple. “He’s tired,” she murmured. “That was a big event for him, sharing Optimus with you. He’s normally very protective of it.
”

  “Oppimus,” Tanner said, although this time it was less a jubilant cry and more a subdued mumble.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw legs and feet appear at the bedside.

  “Temp time, Tanner,” a gentle female voice said.

  I looked up to see a nurse at Amanda’s side, holding a thermometer to Tanner’s ear. His eyes were closed. A tiny frown pulled at his fair eyebrows. His thumb was in his mouth.

  I watched the nurse take the reading. Watched her make eye contact with Amanda for a quick moment. Watched Amanda’s own eyebrows dip into a frown.

  Watched a tear trickle down her cheek as she lowered her face to our son and pressed her lips to the top of his head. I swallowed, my throat tight.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low and calm. I wasn’t calm inside. Inside, I was a turbulent mess. I also knew everything wasn’t okay. So why the fuck had I asked?

  I think because the mind clings to okay. It hopes for it. Craves it. And in situations that clearly weren’t okay, we project that craving by asking inane questions.

  A firm hand on my shoulder made me flinch. I almost shouted. As it was, I lost my balance in my crouch, my right knee crunching to the cold floor.

  I looked up at the owner of the hand. Chase was standing there. “Want to grab a coffee with me?”

  No. I didn’t. Not at all. I wanted to stay there with my son. I wanted to know what the wordless look between Amanda and the nurse meant. I wanted to know why Amanda was crying again.

  I wanted to know how I could help.

  I wanted to know when I could help.

  When I would be tested. When they would take my bone marrow . . .

  “We’ll get one for Amanda as well,” Chase said. “And some chocolate.”

  I blinked up at her.

  She gave me a cheeky smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “When was the last time you ate chocolate, Osmond? And I don’t mean in a protein shake?”

  Amanda’s warm laughter surprised me. I gazed up to her, my chest aching at the love for her sister I saw in her eyes. Amanda had crushed me. Destroyed me. Torn me apart. Twice. But I still felt . . . something for her. Even if I didn’t want to. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure if that was the case either.