“When will we know any kind of results? I need to head back to North Carolina for a short while,” Bryce informs us both, and her face falls.
I want to punch him for ruining her mood. Seldom do patients maintain this attitude, and I truly believe a person’s will is sometimes stronger than medicine.
“Peyton,” she complains.
“It’s the reality we face, baby. I have to go to work for a bit and I need to plan around your treatments.”
“I know, but can’t we just enjoy what we have right now?” she asks him.
I shift my weight a little and they both stop. “It’s okay,” I reassure them both. “Allison will be monitored with more frequent scans since she’s on the trial. She has six doses ahead, and we’ll do scans each week, but remember, she’s been given a strong dose of chemo, and though she may be feeling okay today, we don’t know how she’ll respond in the next three days. I would keep an eye on her if you can.”
“Yes, that means no going back to North Carolina. Doctor’s orders,” Allison points at him.
“Okay, I’ll call my firm now,” he sighs.
“Just don’t back down,” Allison urges him.
“I won’t.” Bryce grabs his phone, kisses her forehead, and heads out of the room.
“I know he can be harsh,” Allison says.
“Who?” I ask, knowing she means Bryce.
She smiles impishly. “My husband. He’s been through a lot, and sometimes his need to save me overrides his sense of diplomacy and reasoning. It’s like he can’t see what’s in front of him, because he’s already a mile away.”
“Sometimes we’re all weak when it comes to certain things,” I reply.
Allison shrugs. “I just . . . I wish you knew the man I know.”
My chest is tight as I try to scramble for the right thing to say.
“Don’t worry about anything, it’s my job to make sure everyone is comfortable.” It’s as close to the truth as I can get. “I want you to promise that you’ll keep smiling though, Allison. The more positive you are, the better it will be when things are hard, okay?”
“I promise. I don’t know how to be anything but me.” She looks up at the bag of chemo and back to me. “This disease has taken enough, I won’t let it destroy who I am and what I want.”
A part of me wants to wrap my arms around her and tattoo the words on her head, because I feel like that’s exactly what I did when my mother got sick. I allowed my grief and anger at cancer to overwhelm me. I let it break me to the point of no return.
But now I know one thing for sure. I won’t break again, even if everything crumbles around me.
Chapter 23
“You need all of this to see your dad?” Westin asks as I’m loading the car with cleaning supplies.
My brother called late last night. Apparently, my father locked the cleaning crew out of the house and has basically barricaded himself in his room. God forbid Everton actually manage things. No, he calls me to handle it.
Thankfully my surgery was postponed and my trial patients were all released today. Now I get to drive back out there and try to make my father stop being a stubborn ass.
“You have no idea,” I grumble. “You’re sure you want to meet them?”
“Are you trying to back out?” Westin asks.
“No, I’m just giving you one last chance to save yourself.”
He moves close, pushing a stray of blonde hair from my face, giving me an unfettered view of him. Westin has decided not to shave his beard again, and I like it. He’s rugged, a little mischievous, and irresistibly sexy when he doesn’t force himself to look perfect all the time.
“I’m not backing out.”
I smile. “I’m not either.”
He taps my nose. “Then let’s go.”
“All right,” I laugh. “Be ready to see my crazy in all its glory.”
We get in the car and make our way south to Normal, Illinois, where nothing about my life was normal. Westin asks questions about my childhood and I do my best to warn him about my father. Daddy is a protective man by nature, but when it comes to me, he’s a little past crazy and borders on insanity.
“Scared yet?” I ask as we’re entering the county limits.
“I’ve dealt with you for two years, Ren. Nothing scares me anymore.”
I slap his chest and laugh. “Jerk.”
“It’s fine, once I meet your dad, and he realizes how good I am for you, it’ll be just a matter of time.” Westin pushes back in the seat with a self-assured smile.
“Until what?” I challenge him.
“Until you realize how good I am for you.”
“Is that so?”
He looks over, grips my hand in his, and laces our fingers. “Two years of waiting for the perfect moment to make the move has me pretty damn sure. I’m a surgeon who would never make a cut I wasn’t sure would heal right.”
I roll my eyes and snort. “Surgical talk about relationships?”
“I figured you’d appreciate that one,” he laughs.
“You really know the way to my heart. Nothing says romance like scalpels and stitches.”
“Let’s be real, we both know that the idea of surgery is a turn on for people like us,” Westin challenges.
He’s not wrong. There’s a thrill in knowing you are in control of life and death in that moment. The patient can’t advocate, you have to make the tough calls, and if things go down a bad road, you fix it. I love the power I feel over myself more than anything. I can’t get excited or flustered. I need to be composed and ready to handle whatever gets thrown at me. I’m very good under pressure—well, at least in the operating room.
“So if I talk about the weight of the scalpel and the bright light that hangs above you,” I drop my voice to sound seductive. “Does that turn you on?”
He shifts a little. “Nope.”
I lean close, taking the tip of my finger and running it around his ear. “Really? You wouldn’t want to tear my clothes off if I said something about the way everyone’s eyes are on you when you take the blade to someone’s skin the first time? How every breath is being held because you’re about to start . . . surgery?” My voice is barely a whisper while my lips graze across his skin.
Westin’s pupils dilate, but he keeps his eyes on the road. “You really want to play this game as we’re getting close to your dad’s house?”
I giggle and move back to my seat. “Well, here’s one more thing about you to catalog. Surgery turns you on.”
We enter the town of Normal and my nerves hit me. I have no idea how bad things are at my father’s house. I worry that once Wes sees the real truth about who I am and what I come from, he’ll look down on me, or his family will. It won’t matter that I’m a doctor now, and don’t need their money. I’ll still be the white trash girl from Illinois who has more student loans than she can manage. I’ll never be good enough because I’m poor, and rich guys don’t love poor girls.
Westin grew up in an affluent family. They go to church on Sunday, have big Christmas dinners, and he doesn’t know what it’s like to struggle. I don’t want anyone to judge my family.
“There’s an opening in the cornfield right up there, turn right,” I direct him.
I wanted to drive up here, but Westin was adamant we take his car. I bet he’s regretting it now, based on the sound of rocks clanging against the paint on his very expensive Tesla.
The house comes into view after the bend, and I try to see it through someone else’s eyes. It’s a small white farmhouse in desperate need of paint. The shutters are missing from the one window, and my brother’s motorcycle sits by the front steps. And then there’s the washing machine that broke five years ago that currently serves as a lawn ornament. Over on the other side is a scarecrow sculpture I made in high school. And apparently Everton hasn’t mowed the lawn in about three years.
We look like hillbillies.
I close my eyes, inhale, and look to Wes for the judgment I�
�m sure will come.
Instead, Westin just takes my hand. “Let’s go meet your dad.”
“It wasn’t always like this,” I say quickly.
His head jerks back. “What?”
“The house,” I explain. “It was once beautiful. My mother would’ve never let it look this run down. She would’ve kicked their asses until they cleaned it up. I just don’t have the time to come up here as much as I should. That’s why it looks like we’re poor and a mess.”
This is just another example of me not being able to hold it all together.
“Ren,” Westin says and waits for me to look at him. I slowly lift my eyes to his. “I don’t care about any of this. I care about you, and my first thought when we pulled up was: I bet they had fun growing up on this farm. My house was a museum. We weren’t allowed to touch anything or build a tin man.” He points to my scarecrow. “I would’ve sold my left arm to have a place where we could just . . . be.”
How is it that he sees the house the way I once saw it? It was my happy place. I could be whoever I wanted to be when I was on this land. I was a grease monkey who loved to sew clothes, equal parts my father and mother. Each day here was an adventure with two loving parents who nurtured whatever it was we were passionate about.
My gaze moves back to the same house and instead of focusing on the washing machine, trash, and overgrown lawn, I see the tire swing in the tree. I’m hit by memories of Everton and me trying to swing each other high enough to make the other puke. A little farther over is the tree my mother and I planted on my fifth birthday. Each year, she’d take me out there for a photo. That tree is huge now, and we grew together.
This land was more than just a place we lived, it’s home.
“Thank you.” I move in and press my lips to his. “Thank you for reminding me that I was looking at this place I love without seeing it the way it really is. I was so nervous you would judge me, or my family, because you didn’t grow up like this. I wore thrift store jeans, and I made my own dresses.”
“Just because we grew up different doesn’t mean either one was better, babe. Yeah, I had nice things and a new car at sixteen, but I had demands and expectations. There was no tire swing. It was fencing lessons. I didn’t get to climb trees, I had to climb to the top of the class with grades. I fucking hated my life.”
“I’m sorry I predetermined how you’d see me.”
Westin’s smile is warm and comforting. “I think we’ve all been judged enough. With me, you don’t have to worry about that.” It seems like I’ve been doing the same in regards to him.
I touch his cheek. “I’m a lucky woman, aren’t I?”
“I’m glad you’re finally seeing it. Come on, let’s get inside,” he nudges.
We exit the car and my father steps out onto the porch.
“Hi, Daddy,” I say as he studies the both of us.
“Serenity.” His expression turns to a smile. “You’re back so soon?”
I look to Westin, and he moves toward me. “I told you I would be, but Everton called. Daddy, this is Westin, my . . .” this is so awkward “. . . boyfriend.”
Daddy hobbles a little down the stairs. “Well, I’ll be,” he chuckles. “The girl listened to me for the first time in her life.”
“Dad!”
Westin laughs and starts to walk toward him. “Hi, Mr. Adams, it’s great to meet you. I’m Westin Grant.”
They shake hands and Dad slaps him on the shoulder. “It’s great to meet you too, son. Come on in. You must be tired from your drive.”
“It’s only a little over an hour, Daddy,” I scoff.
“One would never know that based on how hard it is for you to get your ass out here and see your old man,” my father tosses back.
Touché.
“Here we go,” I mutter as we head into the house.
“I like him,” Westin whispers.
“Give it time. You’ll change your mind.”
We enter, and sure enough, the house is trashed. How, in one week, they were able to reverse everything I did baffles me. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I want to scream at him, but it won’t help. Instead, I move things off the kitchen table and chairs and take a seat. Westin and Dad follow me and now it’s time for the talk.
“Dad, why didn’t you let the cleaners in?”
He turns quickly, glaring at me. “I told you before. This is your mother’s house and I’m not letting some strangers come in and move her stuff.”
Tears fill my eyes, but I shove them down. “I understand that, but the house has to be cleaned. Did you eat the food?”
He curses under his breath. My father and I had an amazing relationship that’s been reduced to me having to scold him. This is not what I envisioned. “I eat every damn day, Serenity. I don’t need you telling me what to do.”
Westin’s hand grips my thigh and he clears his throat. “Ren tells me that you fix cars?”
Dad nods once. “Since I can remember, I’ve been fixing engines.”
“My dad has a love for cars. I actually restored my first car.” Wes sounds proud.
I glance over at him since he just mentioned getting a new car at sixteen.
“Really?” Pride fills my father’s tone. “How about that?”
Dad gets to his feet and heads to the fridge. He grabs a soda for himself and offers one to Westin.
Cars, bikes, and my mother is all anyone needs to talk about to win Dad’s heart. So far, Westin is off to a good start and I didn’t even tell him what to say.
I lean in, speaking so only he can hear, “I thought you got a new car.”
He whispers back, “I got two. One I could drive and one I had to fix.”
Two cars for his sixteenth birthday? Who does that?
Westin and my dad start to talk about the car he restored. I expected Westin to be trying to get back to Chicago by now, but instead, he’s looking relaxed and carefree in the chair at the kitchen table. My heart, which has been trying so hard to not lose another piece, is pulling away and seeking him out.
I get up and start cleaning a few more things. This place is a mess and I really need to get to work making it livable.
The two of them talk and I lean against the counter with a smile. My father has never done this. I feel horrible for the guy I brought home in high school, when Daddy told him he had a hundred acres and no one would ever find his body. Then, when he met Bryce, he threatened to beat the shit out of him. After that, there was no one else. I never imagined he’d react this way to Westin.
The screen door makes a loud bang and I jump. “You got him to leave his room? Nice,” Everton says as he tosses a six-pack on the counter and grabs one.
“Yes, well, it helps when you talk to him.”
Everton flips me off and pops the bottle cap off, letting it drop to the floor. “Who is this?” he asks as he tips the bottleneck at Westin.
“This is your sister’s boyfriend,” Dad answers.
“Amazing how you have time to be a mediocre doctor and date someone, but not enough to help out up here.”
My family is falling apart and there’s not a damn thing I can do. Everton is so angry at the world, he can’t even see what’s around him. I’m aware that everyone deals with grief their own way. I chose to immerse myself in work, but becoming the town drunk isn’t exactly the best coping mechanism.
“Go take a shower. You smell like a bar.” I cross my arms, refusing to play his game.
“Go save our mother, oh, wait . . .” Everton walks out of the room with the rest of his beer and I want to kill him.
I feel as though he just slapped me across the face.
Everton’s insult stings more than I want it to. I have enough guilt over losing my mother the way we did. She trusted me to help her make the right medical decisions. Even though I was only in medical school, she had such faith in my ability to lead her down the right path.
I was the one who convinced her to do the trial. But that drug didn
’t help the way it promised, and she spent months in pain. Our family watched her struggle through the treatments.
“Don’t you dare let him in your head, Serenity Adams.” My father’s voice is hard as steel. “You did everything you could for your mother. You hear me? She was proud of you. She trusted you because you loved her and would never put her in harm’s way.”
My head might know that Everton is a drunk asshole, but my heart doesn’t care. She wouldn’t be proud of the choice to change Allison’s medication when I was drowning in my own sea of grief.
Westin gets to his feet as my lip trembles. He wraps his arm around me, tugging me against his chest. I really hate my stupid brother.
“I’m fine,” I say after a few seconds.
“I knew you were,” Westin says with a light tone. “I just wanted you to hug me. I was feeling lonely.”
I burst out laughing. He’s so full of it, but I appreciate the gesture. “Well, at least after this, you can’t say you didn’t see it all.” I smile and then look over at my dad, who is grinning.
“You know, I have this car that’s giving me problems, would you like to check it out?” Daddy offers to Wes and my jaw drops.
“Sure, it’s been a while since I’ve been under the hood, but I’d love to take a look.”
“What?” I ask. Both their heads turn. “You want Westin to go to the shop? To work on the car?” This can’t be happening. No one goes in the garage but me and Everton.
“That’s what I asked the man.” Dad looks at me like I’m crazy.
Is there anyone that Westin can’t win over in one minute? It’s not normal. The toughest man I know is putty in his hands, inviting him to work on a car. Unbelievable.
“We’ll be back in a bit.” Westin grins at me.
Then another possibility hits me. Maybe my father is trying to make him think he likes him so he can berate him when I’m not around. Westin will be alone—in the woods—with my father who may be old, but has a gun.
“He could be trying to lure you into a trap,” I warn.
Westin’s face scrunches. “Are you all right?”
“I’m serious, Wes. Daddy doesn’t like men who date his daughter.”
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