The Cane Series: A Complete Forbidden Romance Series (4-Book Set)

by Shanora Williams

  My eyes prickled with heat. “Okay,” I whispered.

  “I know you want to see him,” she murmured.

  I looked into her eyes. “I do…but I know I shouldn’t.”

  Her lips pressed a moment. “I overheard you on the phone,” she confessed, looking apologetic. “Your father would hate that I’m saying this, but if he’s leaving or whatever he’s doing, that means he won’t be here as much. I think you should at least talk to him one last time, settle the tension. But you can only do so if you agree to let me have you checked thoroughly by a professional. I know this great doctor who works uptown. He’s very thorough and honest.”

  I nodded rapidly. “Yeah, Mom. Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Good.” She leaned in to kiss my forehead. “Now get some rest.” Standing up, she turned and made her way to the door. Before she could leave, I called after her. “Yeah, sweetie?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me Kelly had been caught?”

  My question clearly took her off guard. She thought on it for a beat, and then answered, “Because it wasn’t the right time, and the last thing I want is to talk about the bitch haunting my daughter’s nightmares.”

  I blinked my tears away, nodding. When she was gone, I laid down and cried myself to sleep.

  Tomorrow would be a new day, and I refused to let the tears keep taking over me. I had to get over what had happened—I had to be stronger. Kelly was caught now, which meant she couldn’t come looking for me, trying to threaten me again. I needed to get better, not only for myself, but for my parents too.

  Chapter Seven

  KANDY

  The doctor Mom took me to see was Dr. Bhandari. He was short and quite thin, with a great head of black hair and pearly white teeth— I’m certain those teeth were veneers. With his sable skin, bright brown eyes, and strong accent, I safely assumed he was Indian.

  I’d peed in a cup, had blood drawn, and was even offered a complimentary lollipop all in the span of forty-five minutes. I rolled the stick of the lollipop between my fingers, the wrapper still intact, and couldn’t help thinking how the old Kandy would have been eager to eat it.

  “Okay, Kandy. Would you be so kind as to get on the table for me?” Dr. Bhandari stood from his chair, gesturing to the exam bed in front of him. “I’m going to perform an ultrasound, see how everything’s looking for you.”

  I placed the lollipop on the counter beside me and then glanced at Mom, who was sitting in the chair on the opposite side of me. I climbed onto the bed and laid flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. There was a design on the ceiling, made of starfish and koi fish. It was soothing.

  Dr. Bhandari’s assistant came into the office, moving things around and starting up the ultrasound machine while he shrugged out of his jacket, washed his hands, and then put on a pair of latex gloves.

  “Okay. Are you comfortable?” he asked, hovering over me. I nodded. “Good. Okay, so just do me a favor and lift your shirt and lower your pants just a little so that I can apply the gel to your pelvis.”

  I did as told, and his assistant came up right away to tuck what looked like a napkin in my pants. “This is so your pants don’t get any gel on them,” she said.

  I smiled at her before she stepped away.

  “Okay, machine is up and running, and here we go with the gel.” Dr. Bhandari smiled warmly at me as he grabbed a clear container with blue gel inside it. He poured some onto my belly and then brought the ultrasound wand down, running it over my pelvis. He ran over my wound several times, but luckily my stitches had dissolved. It was mostly tender to the touch now, but he was careful.

  Dr. Bhandari’s eyes squinted, even behind his glasses, as he moved the wand with his right hand and used his left to capture pictures on the computer. His chitter-chatter had come to a stop at this point, and that alone made me nervous.

  “Everything looking okay?” Mom asked anxiously, sitting forward in her chair.

  “Uh…hmm…” Bhandari lowered the wand. “Kandy, I’m going to press on the wound just a little bit to get a better shot, okay?”

  I nodded. “Kay.”

  He pressed down and a sharp pain shot through the area, but I closed my eyes and breathed as evenly as possible. He took several pictures on the computer, and when he finally let up, I released a steady breath.

  “Okay. All done.” He placed the wand down, and the nurse stepped up, wiping the gel off my stomach with a warm rag. When it was all gone, she took the napkin-looking thing that was tucked in my pants and tossed it, then smiled warily at me before leaving the room.

  Dr. Bhandari sat down in front of the computer, going through the images. I looked at Mom, but her eyes were cloudy, full of worry. I was worried too, especially when he took off his glasses and swiped a hand over his forehead. “I, uh…Kandy. The doctors told you that the stabbing punctured your uterus, correct?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Well, I don’t think they realize how deep that knife actually went.” He used the mouse of the computer to draw a circle around something on the screen. “See that dark little area right there?”

  I nodded.

  “That is your uterus. The knife wound went so deep that it hit the lining of it, almost where the egg had originally implanted itself. From what I am seeing, you would have been fine to carry the baby, but with the stabbing, and how it punctured, there’s a chance that every pregnancy could lead to a miscarriage, or quite possibly that you may not get pregnant at all ever again.”

  “Wh—what do you mean? Won’t the wound heal?” I asked, panicked.

  “There is a possibility that with time, it will heal. We can always perform surgery, see if closing that wound from the inside will help, but that can lead to even higher risks and more unnecessary complications. I personally would not advise the surgery, but as your doctor I must tell you every option possible. The thing is, this isn’t like a C-section, where doctors cut in the correct place so the child can be delivered and so the mother can heal properly. This cut is jagged and in an awkward spot.”

  Okay,” Mom breathed. I looked over and saw tears brimming at the rims of her eyes. “B-but her eggs and everything else is fine?”

  “Yes, her eggs are okay. When we ran the tests, the count was standard. It’s just a matter of carrying a child that concerns me.” Dr. Bhandari looked at me. “What I am trying to say, Kandy, is that your uterus is not as strong as it once was. It could take years for that wound to heal, and even if it does, the lining has been damaged. It will be hard for a fertilized eggs to stay attached, which could result in either never getting pregnant, or getting pregnant, but the egg not being able to securely attach to the uterine wall, which in turn results in miscarrying.”

  The information was hitting me hard, but all of my words had been lost. Mom stood and came to my side to rub my shoulder, still listening to him go on.

  “I never like to say never. There are always possibilities, and there is always hope,” he went on.

  “So… what would you suggest she does?”

  “I would suggest resting the uterus. I don’t recommend birth control or even sexual activity at this point, as your uterus is still healing, but in two to three weeks, you should be okay to do those activities again. I’m just adding time here, just to make sure you heal properly because everything seems okay, and you’ve stopped bleeding. I can recommend some vitamins that are good for healing. Perhaps walking a bit more, stretching, staying active…” Dr. Bhandari was still talking, but his words became a buzz.

  I remembered the stages of grief—how once I was angry, but now I wanted to bargain. I so badly wanted to climb off that bed, drop to my knees, and pray that the doctor was wrong. I instantly regretted dismissing the child that had become attached to me. I’d lost that baby, and would probably never get the chance to have another. I was so young. So, so young. There was no way I couldn’t carry a child.

  Ever since I was playing with baby dolls, I knew I wanted to have two kids—a boy an
d a girl. I wanted to have a nice, quaint, elegant wedding, and grow as a family in a two-story home. I wanted to paint my daughter’s room a sherbet orange because pink was too cliché, and I’d paint my son’s room green, because blue was just as basic…but now he was telling me that none of that would be able to happen. Sure, there was always adoption, but I never, ever thought it would have to come down to that for me.

  Mom and Bhandari kept talking as my vision blurred, and even though the next stage had already hit me before, it hit me even harder in this moment. The next stage is depression. It’s lethal and ugly and can attack anyone.

  I don’t know when they’d wrapped up on their conversation. I went with the motions. Mom walked with her arm hooked through mine to get to the car. She helped me get inside, too, and when I got in, I could only stare through the windshield. She was talking, telling me everything would be okay, and that I still had a young body with plenty of time to heal…but she didn’t know that.

  There was hope, yes, but I heard the percentage. There was an 85 percent chance that if I tried to have a kid, I would lose it. Not that having babies was high on my to-do list at the moment, but knowing that I likely would never have one changed everything. It meant the life I’d dreamed of wouldn’t be mine. It would change my personality, my life. I was too young to want to try…but it was all I could think to do, just to see if I could. I now had to live my life in this paralyzing fear that if I ever got married one day and we wanted to start a family, that there was an 85 percent chance that I would not be able to. The other 15 percent felt meaningless.

  To my surprise, I didn’t cry when I got home. I took more pills to ease the minimal pain of my wound and they knocked me out cold. Mom said I’d slept a total of 14 hours that day, and that it was the calmest I’d slept since the incident. No screaming. No whimpering. I don’t even think I dreamed.

  The next two days, I tried remaining numb to the feeling, but all I kept wondering was—why? Why did all of this have to happen to me? Why was so much stacking up against me? I had reason to believe I was a good person. I was nice, had manners and respect, was raised by two loving parents, both of whom were also good people. Yes, I’d made mistakes, but what human hasn’t? I was still young, still learning, and life wasn’t being fair to me at all.

  Curled up in my recliner, I stared out of my window, watching the wind yank fresh leaves off the tree in front of my house. It was gray outside, the sky so hazy I couldn’t even figure out where the sun was. I heard Mom in the kitchen, pans and pots clattering and silverware scraping. She was most likely cleaning.

  I didn’t care.

  I didn’t care about a lot of things.

  I didn’t care that I hadn’t showered in days. I didn’t care that the world was still spinning, that I was lucky to be alive. I wasn’t living.

  I sat in that chair, slept in it—lived in it for three whole days. Food was brought up, of course, but I didn’t budge and neither did Mom. She understood my grief, I suppose.

  “I know it’s hard,” she whispered one day, caressing my hair, “but you are strong, baby. God didn’t raise us to be weak.”

  Those words went in one ear and right back out the other, but the next set didn’t.

  “I called Frankie a few days ago,” she murmured. “Told her everything that’s happened. She’s in town. Wants to see you.”

  I perked up then, turning my head and peering up at her. “Tell her she can come by.”

  Mom smiled and relief shimmered in her eyes. “Okay.”

  She took off instantly, as if she were afraid I’d change my mind at the last minute, but I wouldn’t. I think what I needed was Frankie. Someone who I knew wouldn’t judge me for anything I’d done. A friend who would see both sides of the story and tell me what to really do.

  An hour later, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

  My best friend walked into the room, and of course her smile was sympathetic. She shut the door behind her with one hand and in the other she had a plastic bag. “Hey, K.J,” she said softly, like I was some lost, fragile child.

  “Hey, Frank.” I had finally made a move and got out of the recliner to sit on my bed with my back against the headboard. Frankie came toward me and dropped the bag on the bed. She looked me all over, but I pulled my eyes away before she could find them.

  “I brought some of your favorites.” Her voice was hopeful, cheerful. She opened the plastic bag and dug out a bottle of Mountain Dew, our favorite brand of gummy worms, and even had my favorite cheese puff chips. I couldn’t help smiling as she dangled the gummy worms in my face. “I’ll let you have all the green ones.”

  I huffed a laugh, grabbing the pack and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “When’s the last time you washed that nest anyway?” she asked, and when I looked up, of course she was focused on my hair.

  “I thought washing was only required if I left the house.” I bit into a gummy worm, shrugging.

  “Actually, now that I think about it, that’s true.” She sighed, taking the worms from me and digging in for a handful. “You could have called me, you know? Sent a text—anything instead of ignoring me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’ve had my phone off for the past few weeks. Haven’t really wanted to talk to anyone.”

  She nodded. “It’s okay. I understand. Your mom told me about Kelly.” Her eyes stretched wide as she chewed. “I still can’t believe that happened. And then to know that you might not be able to have kids because of it.” She slid closer to me.

  I avoided her eyes.

  “Tell me how you feel,” Frank insisted, and I finally looked up at her.

  “It should be pretty clear how I feel. How would you feel?”

  “Honestly? I’d feel like killing her.”

  “Well, if prison wasn’t a consequence, I’d have done it already.”

  “I know. Fuck.” She dropped the pack of gummies. “I read in the newspaper that they aren’t taking the case to trial. The story isn’t even on the news anymore. That’s how quiet they’re keeping it. Anyway, someone vouched for her mental health, so it will be a quiet case. For all we know, she’ll strike a good deal and only have to do community service or something.”

  My eyes stretched. “What?”

  Frankie looked uneasy. “I—I thought you knew, K.J. They made it a bench trial a few days ago. No jury, just a judge. Your parents haven’t told you?”

  “No, they haven’t told me!”

  “I guess they didn’t want to upset you. But hey, she can’t bother you anymore, right? She would be stupid to come after you while her trail is so hot.”

  “She should be in prison for what she did to me,” I growled through my teeth. “She won’t suffer with community service or a stupid slap on the wrist. That’s bullshit, if she pleads mentally unstable.”

  “I know, but she’s rich and pretty, and from what your mom told me, her family has a lot of power. There’s never really any justice these days for people like them.” She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t tell you to upset you.” She paused, drawing imaginary circles on my comforter with the pad of her finger. “Have you talked to him? Cane?”

  I looked her over, then shook my head. “Not since the hospital.”

  “Are you upset with him about what happened?”

  I thought on it for a moment. “I don’t think it ever would have happened if he’d let her go the right way. He never broke up with her. Not only that, but there’s a lot I’ve learned about him since the stabbing. Cane isn’t who we think he is.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I just mean that…he’s not safe to be around. Even Lora said he isn’t a good person, that it’s probably best if I stay away.”

  Frankie inhaled deeply before exhaling. She then kicked off her shoes and climbed up to where I was to sit beside me. “But what does that have to do with loving him?” she whispered, and my eyes shifted over to hers rapidly. “When you love someone, none of their flaws are supposed
to matter. When you love them, you work through it, even if some of their flaws fucking suck. And as for the secrets, you just have to figure out if they’re worth making your own too.” She put on a faint smile, lowering her gaze. We were quiet a beat. I could hear the TV playing downstairs. Mom was watching The View.

  “I still love him, and I miss the hell out of him, but even if I saw him, it wouldn’t feel the same.”

  She sighed, nodding subtly. “Well, I did tell you to be careful, K.”

  “I know.” I put all my attention on her. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on with you?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Her eyes got bigger.

  “I mean…you’ve changed, Frankie. I’ve noticed since the last time I saw you. Your hair is…plain. Probably the plainest it’s been since we were kids,” I laughed, pinching a strand of her dark hair between my fingers. “And your eyes, Frank. They’re…hollow. Empty. Like something bad or crazy happened.”

  She pressed her lips, avoiding my eyes.

  “My mom says I lost some of my light since the incident, but if I have, at least you know why now,” I went on. “I’m your best friend, so I deserve to know what happened to your light, and why it became so dim.”

  She finally looked up at me, but her eyes were filled to the brim with tears. She bit them back though, blinking rapidly and sitting up higher, drawing her knees to her chest.

  “I told you it was because Mom—Aria—is starting to lose money. I mean, that was the main reason, and working all these hours is killing me.” She sighed, and it took me a second process who Aria was. She hadn’t used the name in years. Frankie had grown up calling her adopted mother, Mom, when her real name was Aria. Aria tried getting Frankie to stick with calling her by her real name, but she never did. After all, she was only four years old when she lost her real mother, who just so happened to be Aria’s best friend.

  Aria took Frankie in when the accident with her mother happened, raised her, and it changed things for Frankie. In my opinion, I think Frankie lived in denial her entire life and never accepted that her real mom was gone, so she insisted on calling Aria that as a replacement. It was her comfort and to be completely honest, I didn’t blame her for it.