Where the Road Takes Me

by Jay McLean

  “Blake!” I dug my heels into the ground. “What’s wrong? You haven’t mentioned anything about my hair. Do you not like it?” And there was that insecure teenage girl again. He grunted but didn’t say anything else. He took my hand and started walking to the car again. I stayed frozen, refusing to move, and refusing to let him move me. Dropping his hand and crossing my arms over my chest, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Talk!”

  He let out a frustrated groan and then looked around, searching for something. His eyes lit up. He must’ve found what he was looking for. Probably a ditch to throw his ugly girlfriend in. He grabbed my arm, pulling me toward an alcove between two stores.

  “You think I don’t like your hair?”

  I nodded, pouting as I gazed up at him.

  He looked around again before he cleared his throat. Gently, he tugged on my hand and led it down to his crotch, where I could feel how hard he was. I bit my lip, containing my moan at the feel of him in my hand.

  He raised his arms, flattening his palms on the wall on either side of my head. “Does that feel like I don’t like it?” he whispered in my ear. “I need to get you back to our room, Chloe. Now.”

  “Oh my God!” I quickly snapped on my bra and pulled on my shorts. “We’re gonna miss Hoosiers.”

  He laughed, lazily shrugging his shirt back on. “I’ve seen it a million times. I can tell you exactly what happens.”

  “That’s not the point. I want to see it. I want to see it with you. I want to fall in love with basketball the way you have. I want to feel what it feels like for you.”

  “When did you do all of this?” I asked as I took in the trunk of the Jeep. He’d set up a blanket, food, drinks, and a jar full of lollipops.

  “While you were at the salon somehow getting more beautiful.”

  “This is amazing.”

  He grinned and took up his position, knees up, legs spread, waiting for me. I sat cross-legged between them, like we’d done so many times out at my mom’s lake.

  His arms wrapped tightly around me as he softly kissed my neck. “I love you,” he said. And it didn’t matter that it was the seventh time he’d said it that day. Each time it was said held a greater significance.

  I tilted my head up to kiss him. “I love you, too.”

  Blake

  We watched the movie in silence. She got so caught up in it that she didn’t even realize that I was so caught up in her. I could watch the movie whenever I wanted, but this moment, with her, it was once in a lifetime. She sniffed, wiping at her tears as the final scenes played.

  I knew what was happening without looking. It was the state championship game; they were tied at forty, twenty-four seconds on the clock. Hickory, the underdog heroes, had just called a time-out. Coach Norman Dale had given them the play, using Jimmy as a decoy. The players hadn’t wanted it, and Jimmy had spoken up, “I’ll make it,” he said. And the story went back to game play.

  She leaned forward, her eyes glued to the screen as the seconds ticked by. I knew the moment the shot was about to be made. The sound of a ball hitting the hardwood floors. Once. Twice. Crossover. Third time. The music blasted. Chloe held a hand to her heart. Then that swoosh—that unique sound a ball makes when it passes through the hoop, nothing but net. And then the cheers. Not just on the screen but from the people around us. She let out a sob, so relieved that the shot had made it, and that Hickory had won. On the screen, the crowd swarmed the court, people hugged, people cried. In my head, it was silent, all but for the thumping of my heart.

  “Chloe.”

  She turned to look up at me, her eyes welling with tears.

  She blinked.

  They fell.

  I wiped them away.

  And then she smiled.

  And that was all I needed to say the words.

  “Marry me?”

  Chloe

  My breath caught.

  My heart stopped.

  My eyes closed.

  Nothing but red.

  “Chloe.” His voice sounded far away. “Did you hear me?”

  I opened my eyes to see his beautiful face watching me, waiting. “What did you say?”

  His hand went in his pocket, and he pulled out a little black box. “I’m asking you to marry me,” he said. And then he flipped the lid.

  I looked away, too afraid that I might be dreaming.

  “Marry me,” he said again, his voice softening and his confidence waning. “I know it’s not much,” he continued, “and I get that we don’t really know what’s going to happen or what our future might be. But we’re eighteen, so it’s okay that we don’t have that stuff worked out yet. And I know that I have nothing to offer you, just this car and a bunch of maybes. And I know it’s selfish, to want you like this, to need you the way I do—”

  “Yes,” I cut in. Because I knew it, too. I knew that I was being selfish—to want the same things as he did. But a part of me wanted that selfishness to be okay, because he knew about my chances. He knew what might be coming. He just didn’t know how soon.

  “Did you say yes?” He lifted my chin so I would look him in the eyes. “Is that what you said? Did you say yes?”

  I nodded, and then he lunged at me. Kissing me. Hugging me. Holding me. Then he took my hand in his, pulled the ring from its box, and slipped it on my finger. And then it was my turn. I jumped on him. Hugging. Kissing. It was a messy kiss, but we didn’t let that stop us. Through laughter, through tears, we never stopped kissing. “I love you,” I cried.

  And then we did it all over again.

  “I need to call Mary,” I managed to get out.

  He handed me his phone.

  It rang twice before she answered. “Hello?”

  “Mom!” I squealed.

  And then I froze. My heart dropped to my stomach.

  Blake took my hand and squeezed it once. He smiled and nodded, encouraging me to continue.

  I closed my eyes and I saw her, my mother, in my vision, in my memory. And that was exactly what she was. A memory. An irreplaceable memory.

  A calmness washed over me and I smiled.

  Mary stayed quiet on the other end.

  I wiped my tears, and inhaled deeply. “Mom,” I whispered, afraid of how it would make me feel. But all it did was make me feel lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. It felt right. “Mom, it’s Chloe.”

  Silence.

  And then I heard her shaky exhale. The line clicked, and Dean’s deep voice filled the space of the car. “Who the hell is this making my wife cry?”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I missed them. And I loved them. “Dad, it’s Chloe. Put Mom back on the phone.”

  “I’m here,” she choked out. “Sweetheart, I’m here.”

  “Mom! Blake just asked me to marry him!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Chloe

  The diamond sparkled in the moonlight. The wind blew into the alcove of the balcony, causing my freshly washed and dyed hair to whip around my neck. I shivered and wrapped the dressing gown tighter around me, and then I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  Everything felt normal.

  The same.

  Only it wasn’t.

  I could be dying, and Blake—he had no idea. I have cancer. The words played in my head, but they sounded wrong. I think I might have cancer. That sounded better but not great. Not reassuring. Not the way it should be. He had the right to know, especially now. But I could barely breathe at the thought of how it would hurt him. A bitter laugh escaped, and I tried to reason with myself. He knew it could happen. It was not my fault.

  Before I had a chance to find the right words, his voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “What are you doing out here?” He slid the balcony door closed behind him and took a seat opposite me. “So?” he asked, reaching out for my arm to pull me to
him.

  I pulled away, wanting to be face-to-face so I could see his reaction when I told him the truth.

  He sensed my mood and leaned in closer, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes locked with mine. “What’s going on, babe?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Blake?”

  He let out a bitter laugh and leaned back in his chair. “Wow. One night, and you’ve already changed your mind.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind, but I’m giving you a chance to change yours.”

  “I don’t want to change my mind, Chloe. What’s this about?”

  “I just want to make sure that you’re sure. That you know about—”

  “The cancer? Yes, I know about it. And I still wanna marry you, so what’s your next excuse?” He skimmed over the subject as if it didn’t mean anything.

  “It’s not an excuse. It’s a reality.”

  “One that I already knew before I fell in love with you, before I asked you to marry me. Chloe . . .” He sighed and leaned forward again. “What’s really going on here?”

  I sucked in a breath and let the words leave me. “I could have cancer, Blake.”

  “Like I said, I already knew that. It doesn’t—”

  “No, Blake. I mean now. I could have cancer now.”

  Blake

  Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. And even though they were clear, formed, premeditated, I still found myself asking, “What?”

  She nodded slowly. “If you want to take it back, now’s your chance.”

  I got up and started pacing, too edgy to stay in my seat. A million questions passed through my mind. She stood behind me and placed her hand on my back. “Blake?”

  I flinched.

  I fucking flinched.

  I didn’t mean to—because I knew she’d take it as a rejection.

  Her sob was enough to make me turn around. She was halfway to the door before I caught her arm. “I’m sorry.” I pulled her into me, holding her close. “I’m just trying to process everything, okay? I’m not . . . I’m not taking anything back, Chloe. I promise that’s not what this is about. I just need time. You need to talk me through this.” I pulled back and tilted her head up to look at me. “I’m just scared. And I don’t want to be. I’m supposed to be the strong one—the one to hold you up. And I’m crumbling because I’m so fucking scared of what you’re saying right now.”

  “I’m scared, too,” she whispered.

  My eyes snapped shut as her shaky hand guided mine to her left breast. “Do you feel it?”

  She hadn’t stopped crying since we came in from the balcony. I didn’t console her, I couldn’t. On the inside, I was crying, too.

  She told me that she had discovered it the day of the “night that never happened.” That was why she’d acted the way she had. Josh had been right; she’d gotten scared.

  I nodded as I felt the lump, like thick skin, close to her underarm.

  Her voice came out a shudder when she spoke. “I always knew there might be a chance—that this might happen—but I never prepared myself emotionally.” She let out another sob and pulled away from my hand, closing her robe as she did. “I never got tested, Blake. I’m sorry.” She sat on the bed and let her head fall into her hands.

  I kneeled in front of her, stroking her hair.

  “I never thought that I’d have someone like you to explain that decision to. And now it’s too late. Now you have to deal with it, too,” she sobbed. She gazed up, and shook her head, her eyes wild as they bore into mine. “Blake, you can’t deal with this. You’re eighteen. You shouldn’t have to deal with a dying fiancée.” She clasped the ring and began to slide it off her finger.

  I covered her hands. “Stop! I’m sorry, Chloe. I am. But you can’t do this. You can’t take away your answer. You said yes, and you meant yes. I told you the other night, if you push me away—if you do that again—I’m leaving, and I meant it.” It was an empty threat. One I had absolutely no intention of keeping. I would never walk away from her. Not now, and not even then.

  “Blake, you can’t possibly still want to marry me. Not now.”

  “No,” I answered truthfully. “Not now. But afterwards. After you fight this . . . after you’ve beaten this . . . after you come out on the other side, then we’ll do it. Promise me you’ll still want me then?”

  She laughed and cried, all at the same time.

  I pulled on her hands so she was straddling me and placed her hand over my heart, my other hand skimming the lump on her breast. “What I feel in here,” I covered her hand on my chest and, with the other, stroked my fingers across the thick skin, “completely outweighs what I feel here. The love I have for you . . . Chloe.” I sighed. “What’s happening now, it doesn’t change a thing. Do you understand me? Not a damn thing is going to take this away from us. Ever.”

  She held my face in her hands and kissed me with her tear-stained lips. “You, Blake Hunter, are my unexpectedly phenomenal.”

  Chloe

  My mother hadn’t left me many material items when she’d died. She’d been too young to possess a lot, but she had left a letter. One I was told to open if the disease ever got me. I used to wonder what magical words she might have in case I needed them. Now I needed them.

  Like I had when I’d been a kid, I sat on the chair in the corner of the room and stared at the letter in my hand, tracing my name on the envelope with the tips of my fingers. I watched as Blake slowly moved onto his back, his arm out on my side of the bed, waiting for me to crawl in beside him, throw my arm and leg over him like I did every night. And in that moment, there were no insecurities, no petty teenage jealousy. There was just me—and Blake—and our maybe forever.

  And that was all the courage I needed.

  I lifted the envelope, taking one more look at its unopened form before quietly peeling back the flap and pulling the letter out.

  I unfolded it.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  A gasp escaped before I covered my mouth with both hands, dropping the letter onto my lap.

  To my beautiful girl, Chloe, it said.

  White paper.

  Red ink.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Chloe

  He wasn’t in bed the next morning, and neither was a note on his pillow. For a second, my heart dropped, believing that he’d left in the middle of the night. And then I remembered everything he’d said, everything he’d declared, and I knew it wasn’t possible.

  Sitting up, I searched the hotel room, smiling when I saw his figure out on the balcony.

  Two coffees in hand, I made my way out there. He was sitting on the chair—phone in one hand, pen in the other—frantically writing something on a notepad. “Morning, babe.” I set his coffee on the table. “What’s all this?”

  I didn’t wait for an invitation before taking my regular seat on his lap. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around things . . . what we need to do from here . . . but my phone keeps fucking up, and I can’t get to certain sites, the signal keeps cutting out . . .” He was rambling, lost in his own thoughts.

  I looked at the notepad; his now-familiar handwriting graced the page. Words like symptoms, malignant, chemo, mammogram all stood out.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  My gaze shifted to him.

  “I’m sorry if I don’t do things right or if my emotions get the better of me, but all of this . . .” He motioned to the notes on the table. “This is all new to me . . . so if I get off track or go a little crazy with the research, I apologize now. I just need to know that I’m doing everything I can to take care of you.” He paused. “I think I’m going to enlist, Chloe.”

  I did everything I could to contain my reaction. It was his decision and one that he’d made on his own, but deep down, it wa
sn’t the choice I wanted him to make, though I’d never tell him that. “Okay.” I nodded and smiled, but the smile was tight. “That’s good, Blake. I’m glad you made a decision.”

  He let out a heavy breath. “If we get married and I enlist, we get free housing, more pay, and you could be covered under my healthcare, so at least that’s one less thing to worry about. I called my recruiter, Hayden, and told him everything. He said that he’d help me out—do everything he can so that I could serve out my time here and take care of you while you’re going through treatments. I’d have to go to basic for ten weeks and then AIT, but still, I might not have to travel like I would with ball. Maybe Mom can be there when I can’t be. I wouldn’t do it if I knew that I had to leave your side . . . I couldn’t do that . . . but so far it’s the best option and—”

  “Wait. Do you want to enlist because of the free housing and healthcare or because you want to?”

  His face fell.

  “Blake?”

  I waited for a response, but it never came.

  “Before you knew about my cancer, yesterday—when you proposed—what did you want?”

  He swallowed before lacing his fingers with mine. His gaze lowered, fixed on the engagement ring. “Duke.”

  A relieved laugh bubbled out of me.

  He eyed me sideways. “What?”

  “So you’re going to Duke.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Blake. We’ll make it work. I promise. Did you look up the best treatment centers in the state?”

  He shook his head. “No, I was just—”

  “It’s here, Blake. Duke Cancer Institute is one of the best hospitals for cancer treatment. You choosing Duke doesn’t have to change anything. You can get what you want. I can get what I need. And we can do it together.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “But you have to promise me something.”