Until I Fall

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Why after the place?”

  I flinch. “That’s where Mom and Dad believed I was conceived.” I roll my eyes, laughing at my parent’s lack of originality or sappy reasoning. “My brother’s name is Austin—same reason.”

  He laughs, sipping his juice. I yearn for his hand, carrying two drinks makes it impossible for him to hold mine. We walk in silence the rest of the way. He lives above the tattoo parlor, but the shop and the living area’s doors are on different streets.

  “Kevin lives across the hall,” Anderson explains stopping at the door across from his place. He hands over his juice, knocking on the door and setting down the coffee next to it. “I got your fancy coffee.”

  “He lives next door?” I inquire.

  He nods, turning around and opening his apartment door.

  “Kevin and I own the building,” he explains as I enter his apartment, and close the door behind me.

  “How did you become a tattoo artist? It’s obvious you were in the force—your mom said so.” I glare at him before he denies the obvious.

  Anderson places his juice on top of the counter, I do the same with mine and keep the coffee in hand.

  He explains how his dad was a Ranger and how he died when Anderson was only six. How his genetic code told him to be a warrior, to defend his country. Sophia, his mother, didn’t want that life for his children. She encouraged him to find another career. Sports and art attracted him.

  “Once I decided to retire, a buddy of mine hooked me up with a job and introduced me to Kevin.” He brings out cutlery and napkins, and drags the table toward the couch where I sit. “A couple of years later he offered me a partnership, it included buying half of the building.”

  “What job did your buddy hook you up with?” I smile. “You do more than tattooing inconspicuous drunks, don’t you?”

  Anderson scratches the back of his neck, shaking his head. There’s a knock at the door. “Thank you for the coffee, asshole. Your food is here—it wouldn’t hurt to fix your doorbell.”

  “So, you work for the private sector,” I guess, finishing my coffee. “One of those companies that take wealthy contractors to dangerous zones.”

  “Nah, I don’t babysit—much.” He flinches, opening the door and picking up the bag of food. “If I’m free, I oversee the security of the Silver Moon—the place we visited yesterday. I’m a preferred security detail for my boss’s family.”

  “When you’re not free?”

  He rubs his chin. “I do some private work.”

  “Yes.” I clap excitedly. “You are the type, one of those men who are committed to the mission. So why retire?”

  “There’s a point when I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t place the mission first. I lost too many brothers during battle. Innocent people died . . .”

  “What’s the difference between that one and the job you do?”

  “I have freedom to operate and to choose my mission.” He sighs, handing me my breakfast, then opening a container filled with crispy bacon. “I’m glad I retired. Now I can see Mom often, care for her now that . . .”

  There’s pain in his eyes, seepping out in his words. Placing a hand on top of his arm, I kiss his cheek.

  “She’ll be all right, we’ll find a new treatment.”

  Anderson leans back in his seat, holding the takeout box in one hand and a fork in the other. “Yesterday she made me promise to stop if this new treatment doesn’t work.” He digs into his eggs, taking a few bites before speaking. “She’s the only family I have.”

  “She’s your mom,” I add, squeezing his muscular leg. “Tomorrow we’ll be in San Jose. I researched Dr. Vadapalli, he’s one of the best in the country. I wished I had found him when Dad was diagnosed. He might still be around.”

  He sets the empty container on top of the table, his attention completely toward me. “Sorry for your loss.”

  I shrug. What can you do? Life happens. “We detected it too late; his body couldn’t withstand the treatments,” I give him the quick notes. “He left peacefully, one night while I cared for him.”

  Anderson takes my food, places it next to his container and hugs me. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

  I don’t know what to do with his words, or the ticking bomb that is my heart. Logically I should fight him, fight this attraction and leave. Instead, I hug him back. My mind might not like it, but my heart and my body feel safe. He fills the void.

  “Where have you been?” Brynn looks over the door as I shut it close.

  I blink twice, side walking toward my room.

  “Aspen Winter Zimmerman, bring your ass to the living room!”

  “No!”

  “The walk of shame? Really? How old are you?”

  “Judging by the tone of your voice I’d say five,” I retort hurrying into my room, changing my shirt for a tank top and a light V-neck sweater. “It’s not the walk of shame if sex wasn’t involved.”

  “No sex?” Her voice is right next to me. I jolt as I turn and see her light gray eyes staring at me. “You’re smiling, and there was no sex. Fuck, I can’t imagine what’ll happen when you two finally fuck.”

  “He’s my friend. I have a boyfriend—”

  “Ah yes, a friend.” Brynn walks to the dresser showing me my cell phone. “Heath came earlier to check on you. You haven’t been answering your phone.”

  I rub the corner of my eye. “Heath and I aren’t working out, are we?”

  Brynn gives me a ‘you think?’ glare. “What’s going on with Anderson?” I open my mouth, and she shakes her head. “No, no, no. Please, don’t bullshit me with that ‘we are friends’ line. Answer my question.”

  A complicated question. Analyzing each word and touch between us worries me. I hate thinking about the different comments, smirks, and tones he uses. The panty melting, heartwarming treatment game he’s playing is hard to ignore.

  “Not enough to worry about being a cheater, sufficient enough to call it off with Heath,” I explain, taking out my luggage from the walk-in closet. I’m happy that I took my time to pack yesterday after my nap.

  Brynn crosses her arms, waiting for more. “You were gone all night, what else happened?”

  I plop onto my bed, adjusting the pillows and hugging the body pillow while resting my head on top of it. My journey started when I opened the door, and found him holding a helmet, asking me to wear a warm jacket, leather if possible. I changed my flat shoes for a pair of riding boots. We drove along Interstate five toward Seattle, then east to Redmond, and back to downtown—the Silver Moon to be precise. Brynn and I share everything. I explained the kiss, the delicious margaritas, and my morning after.

  “This is confusing. I want to run away far away from him but a part of me wants to stay and find out what’s next with him.”

  “When are you breaking up with Heath?” Brynn is now lying next to me, playing with her phone.

  I unlock my phone typing a message. “Today?”

  Me: We need to talk.

  Heath: Where were you?

  Me: Out with a friend, lost track of time and left my phone behind.

  Heath: I have the kids today.

  Me: I’m going out of town tomorrow morning, can I swing by?

  Heath: Mom agreed to come over to check on them later tonight. I’ll be there around seven.

  “It’s not you, it’s me,” Brynn recites, staring at her phone. “We’re better as friends. We are too alike. I need space.”

  “Cliché much?” I comment.

  “I’m not ready for commitment.” She laughs, and I join her. As she sobers up, she looks at me. “I think we’re moving too fast.”

  “You’re ridiculous!”

  “The question is, are you breaking up to get rid of him?” I raise an eyebrow, what is she getting on about? “Or are you breaking up to start something with Anderson?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  ANDERSON

  I HATE THINKING about that douchebag touching Aspen
.

  “You’ve been looking outside my window for the past two hours.” Mom lowers the volume of her television. “Watching The Walking Dead by myself isn’t as fun. What happened to ‘that’s not possible. No zombie can walk as fast,’ or my favorite, ‘that guy should’ve died three episodes ago’?”

  I check my phone, tempted to text her. We’re leaving tomorrow morning for San Jose, and she’s not home. Fucking jealousy.

  “She’ll be back soon,” Mom declares with confidence.

  “Who?”

  “Aspen,” she says, smiling knowingly at me. “You like her.”

  “We’re friends,” I lie because friendship is the last thing I want from the girl-next-door.

  Running a hand through my hair, I let out a breath. For years, my missions took priority over my life. They came first. My unit came second. Socializing wasn’t on my mind. Not until I quit and started living a civilian life, or something closer to it. People, mainly Mom, don’t understand it. They don’t realize that what I do takes center stage, and it’s the engine that drives my life. Dedicated to the cause, I never had time to meet a woman the way I’m getting to know Aspen.

  Last night was different. Every day with her is special: a dose of life, something new to learn, a call from the outside world. Like in everything I’ve done, I have to research and explore my surroundings. I need to understand what’s happening between us, and wait for her to trust me.

  “I’m glad you found someone.” She ignores my ‘we’re friends’ declaration. “Happy that it’s one of my girls. Leaving you is getting easier.”

  My head snaps back at her. “No. You’re not leaving.”

  “You don’t want to listen to the doctors, but I’m not responding to treatments. This illness might win over my body, but I won’t let it dictate my last days. You have to stop.”

  “One more doctor, you promised.”

  “She’s here,” Mom says, pointing at the window. “Those red lights next door are usually his car.”

  Mom’s right. The black sedan is here. “How do you know?”

  She tilts her head, winking at me. “It’s a gift. Go check on her before your head explodes.” Crossing my arms, I glare at her. She touches her temple. “That vein is pulsing fast, just like the one on your neck.”

  “Aspen is a friend, Mom.”

  “You keep saying that, honey.”

  “Be right back, Mom.” I lift my hands, giving up. She can’t possibly understand what Aspen and I have. I don’t even know what we have. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing with her.

  I walk outside through the back door. I’m making my way to the main entrance when I hear her utter, “drive careful.”

  “Call me when you get back, Aspen,” he kisses her on the cheek, turning around and sauntering to his car.

  “You can come out from wherever you are, Anderson,” Aspen calls out when douchebag turns on his engine. “I know you’re there.”

  “How?”

  “What’s going on, Hawk?”

  That name slips out of her lips, it’s like a siren call. I want her to scream it while I fuck her hard. I stop in front of her, my boots touching her colorful, flat shoes. Did he touch you? I stare at her lips, recalling our kiss and smile.

  “Hmm.” She bites her bottom lip. “I just noticed that you have a fake smile.”

  Her hand lifts, caressing my jaw. “Do you want to come inside to watch a movie with Brynn and me?”

  “Not tonight.” I stop her hand, pressing it to my lips, trailing kisses along it and stopping at the inside of her wrist. “Mom and I are watching a series. I came downstairs to check on you.”

  She purses her lips. Her eyes smiling. “For years, I’ve been able to come and go from home without any issue. You don’t have to check on me.”

  “So, why was the douche here?” I use a casual voice, and serve her a smirk, poorly masking the grinding of my teeth. I don’t mention how much I loathed these couple of hours while I thought of another man touching and kissing her.

  “Douche?” She raises an eyebrow critically, shaking her head and chuckling. “Heath, that’s his name. And he’s nice. I don’t owe you an explanation of why he was here.”

  I nod, pressing my lips together, reserving any nasty or angry words toward the fucker for my next mission.

  “He’s now a good friend, and he might stay in my life—as friends,” she adds, smiling at me while dropping a warning, and the greatest fucking news. A fucking grin tugs on my lips. “See you tomorrow morning.”

  I bend, my lips touching her ear, my hands resting on lower back. Pressing her closer to me, I tell her, “Sweet dreams, Aspen.”

  My lips trace her jaw and meet her lips. It’s a chaste kiss, one that friends can have. “I’m going to miss you tonight.”

  Resting my forehead on hers, I close my eyes. I can’t bring myself to move. The pull between us intensifies each time we see each other. At least the pull she has on me.

  “Goodnight, Hawk.” She sighs, pivoting and opening the front door. She closes it behind her, and I feel like she has taken a part of me with her.

  After a two-hour flight, we arrive in San Jose. Mom and Aspen chatted all the way from the house to the hotel about work, books, knitting, and family. About her parents and how her dad died a few years ago. They talked about her brother, Austin, who’s a counselor and a human resources administrator. Once we check into the hotel, I drive us to the clinic which is only a few miles away.

  Dr. Vadapalli receives Mom immediately. He reviews her medical history, going through the paperwork her current doctor sent and explaining his views. Not everyone is eligible for his treatment, he’ll run a series of tests for the next few days. Once he has enough information, he’ll discuss the results and a probable plan of action. He hands over a folder with Mom’s schedule if we decide to proceed.

  Opening the folder, I see that starting the second day there’s a big note. DEPENDING ON RESULTS.

  “Any questions?”

  “What does ‘depending on results’ mean?” I turn around the paper and point to the uppercase words.

  He taps his pen on the desk, looking at me. “The tests we run are a sequence. Depending on the data we receive, we either need more information to take the next step, or we can determine the plan of action. It might take a day or it could take the full five days to determine if she qualifies.”

  “What disqualifies a candidate?” Aspen jumps in.

  “Our exclusion criteria is extensive,” he responds. “And so are our exceptions to those exclusions. Naming all of them would be unfair because Ms. Hawkins might fall into one or several, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be eligible.”

  Aspen nods. I’ll have to ask her to explain this to me, because it sounds like a bunch of bullshit. “Do you have statistics on your meta survivors?” she continues.

  “Meta survivors?” I turn my attention toward her, my brows arching. What is she talking about?

  “I’ve researched about Meta survivors,” she explains me. “Those who transition from a terminal illness to a manageable situation where they can live so much longer.”

  She turns then to the doctor. “What are your statistics?”

  “Every patient is different from the other, I don’t create statistics,” the doctor counteracts. “I create treatments.”

  The doctor looks at Mom. “Ms. Hawkins, I can only promise to do what’s best for you. If it’s in my hands to treat you, we’ll create a plan to either eradicate the cancer or expand your life expectancy for as long as we can do so.”

  Mom clutches her purse and nods. “I think it’s fair to give this a try.” She turns toward me. “In the event that my treatment isn’t able to eradicate the cancer from my body, I won’t continue, Anderson.”

  “Mom?”

  “Do we have an understanding?” She looks around the room.

  The doctor nods. “Let’s not make decisions based on our first meeting. Why don’t we head to my lab and star
t our procedure?”

  Aspen holds Mom’s hand with hers. “Would you like me to join you?”

  She shakes her head. “I’d prefer if you stay with him, sweetheart. He doesn’t want to let me go.”

  “We are fighting, Sophia.” Aspen kisses her cheek. “You can’t give up.”

  “It’s not giving up, dear.” Mom stands up. “This is giving myself a chance to feel alive during my last days. Life doesn’t have to be long; it has to be well lived.”

  ANDERSON

  MOM ONCE TOLD me that the biggest tragedy in life is to lose time focusing on the negative. The biggest loss is not following your dreams while living in the past. Not death. Death is only the next step in the circle of life. Sophia Hawkins savors every moment, appreciating the fact that every day is precious. That each moment could be the last. Death isn’t a tragedy. Losing your mother to cancer isn’t a big loss. Simply put it, it’s life—according to Mom.

  It’s a big fucking deal. I’m losing my only family.

  “Accept my future,” she insists as I drive her from the oncologist to our hotel. Dr. Vadapalli’s plan of treatment didn’t satisfy Mom’s expectations.

  “The cancer is too advanced,” he said. “Once it takes over the bones and organs it’s almost impossible to eradicate it.”

  One fucking day and he already had a plan. He can promise to extend her life by about six more months, maybe a year. My world collapsed when he said that without it, she only has a couple of months left. His words stabbed me in the back. This was our last hope. Dread crept over me, numbing my brain. My stomach is full of rocks.

  “I should live my last days the same way I’ve lived my life: fully with no regrets,” she continues. “That’s what you should do, Anderson. Laugh more often, live without fear, love with all your heart.”

  With my line of work, I can attest to being fearless. I don’t experience fear during my missions. This one life I have is disposable. Like her, I’m aware that I can die during a mission or in a simple car accident. Getting over losing my mother, the only family I have left, isn’t as easy. Pancreatic cancer is killing her slowly. She lost her appetite and weight, and never complained about those stomach aches she had. She never mentioned her symptoms until the doctor told her she had cancer. The medical explanation made no sense to me—she had to start treatment immediately, and they didn’t give us a good prognosis. Fucking cancer ate through her organs faster than we could fight them.