Fix You

by Mari Carr

  “So, Rob,” Sheila placed her hand on his knee, moving it slowly along his upper thigh, “why don’t we find somewhere private to celebrate?”

  He grinned, ready to accept her offer when something behind her caught his eye. Zoey had joined the circle of kids around the bonfire. She was bleary-eyed and unsteady on her feet. Rob’s gaze narrowed.

  Shit. She was drunk. He’d never seen Zoey drink in her life. He stood up. Sheila must have taken his movement as acquiescence because she grabbed his hand, intent on dragging him away to one of the tents set up for kids planning to spend the night.

  “Wait,” he said, releasing Sheila’s hand. “There’s, um, there’s something I need to do first. Meet you back here in a little while?”

  Sheila seemed a bit annoyed, but one of her friends chose that moment to offer her another wine cooler. She squealed when she saw the flavor and drifted away. Rob reconsidered coming back to find her. Sheila wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb.

  He circled the bonfire until he stood next to Zoey.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice unnaturally loud.

  “I see you’re having a good time.” He gestured to her cup. “What are you drinking?”

  “Kool-Aid. It’s really good. Wan’ some?” She offered him the cup, tipping it slightly and splashing some of the red drink on his jeans. “Oops. Shit.”

  She reached down to wipe it off, unaware of exactly where she was touching him. He hastily grabbed her wrist before she could stroke her hand along his cock a third time. Damn thing didn’t care who was touching it or why, it began to stiffen. He glanced over his shoulder. Fuck. Maybe he would hook up with Sheila tonight after all.

  Zoey giggled when she realized what she’d done. “Oops again.”

  Rob took the cup out of her hands before she could spill any more and sniffed the contents. The overpowering smell of grain alcohol caused his eyes to water. “Jeez, Zoey. How much of this shit have you had?”

  She frowned, appearing to really think about his question. “Um, two? Or maybe three. Or…” She shrugged and started giggling again.

  Great. This wasn’t going to end well. As if his thought provoked the outcome, Zoey grabbed her stomach.

  “I don’t feel so good.”

  He didn’t waste any time. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her as far away from the fire and party-goers as he could. She’d be mortified tomorrow if she found out she’d been sick in front of everyone.

  The sound of the music in the distance faded, mercifully. The silence drove home just how loud it was and he was suddenly grateful for the quiet.

  At least, he was until Zoey shrugged off his hand and fell to her knees. The alcohol came up quickly. He leaned over her, grasping her hair to hold it away from her face. She continued to be sick for several minutes more before she finally leaned back on her haunches.

  “God,” she said, “I hate being sick.”

  Rob grinned. “I know it might not seem like it right now, but I think you’ll feel better tomorrow for what just happened.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Better out than in?”

  He nodded. “Something like that.”

  She didn’t smile at his joke. Instead, she just looked at him. “Promise me…” She paused and he realized she didn’t intend to finish her request.

  “I’ll promise you anything, Zoey. You know that. What do you want?”

  The clouds overhead floated away from the moon, providing enough light for him to see there were tears in her eyes. He helped her stand and they walked deeper into the field.

  “Promise me our plans aren’t lies, aren’t just silly dreams that kids make up rather than face that things are changing. I don’t want to lose you.”

  He felt the same way. There was a bond between them stronger than any Rob had ever forged with anyone outside his family. Hell, he was closer to her than he’d ever be with his brother…or his father. “Our plans aren’t lies or dreams. I mean every word, I swear. We’re going to save our money, get our own place. You’re going to be the best paralegal in town and I’m going to be…” His words faded. He couldn’t speak his true desires because he was afraid they would sound like the foolish dreams of a child.

  “A rock star,” she finished for him. “That’s the only part of our plans I truly believe.”

  “If you can believe that, you can believe the rest.”

  She nodded and smiled. “Yeah. You’re right. Promise me anyway. Promise you’ll always be my friend, no matter where we go or who we grow up to be.”

  “Always.” He’d never meant any promise more. “We’ll be friends forever.”

  Rob sighed and glanced at the closed bathroom door. Zoey had been quiet for several minutes. He stood and knocked once more.

  “Can I come in now?”

  “It’s not locked.”

  He took that as permission, turning the knob to find her sitting on the floor near the toilet. She was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. She was the poster child for exhaustion.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded once, then changed direction, shaking her head. “Nope. I think I must be dying. I’m actually starting to like the god-awful wallpaper in here.”

  Rob laughed. Zoey had made no secret in the past about her disdain for the bathroom’s décor. Even after years of redecorating, paint touch-ups, and weekend DIY projects, it was the one room he’d never touched because he loved jerking her chain about it. “Come on. I’m putting you to bed.”

  She reached for him, accepting his outstretched hands. He pulled her up and helped her to the sink. Putting toothpaste on her toothbrush, he wet it and handed it to her.

  “I feel like a helpless child.”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “You’ve never been helpless a day in your life.”

  “I hate being sick.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I think you’ve told me that a time or two.” After graduation, he’d only seen Zoey truly drunk on two other occasions. Once was after her nasty breakup with Drake, the asshole. The other was on her thirtieth birthday and he was to blame for her intoxication that night. He’d thrown her a surprise party at a local club. His band was playing and once he’d announced it was her birthday to everyone in attendance, Zoey was the recipient of lots and lots of celebratory shots.

  After she finished brushing her teeth, he took her hand and walked with her to the bedroom. He helped her undress, careful not to bother the port, which was still sore. She crawled beneath the sheets and sighed. “I’m so tired.”

  “The doctor said that was normal.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I hope I’m better tomorrow. I have to go to work.”

  Kristen had come through for Zoey, making arrangements for Dottie, a newly retired paralegal, to fill in for her on chemo days. Problem was Zoey was pushing herself too hard, refusing to take off other days when she really needed them. During the last month, he’d waged a constant battle with her about calling in sick. Regardless of her stubbornness, he intended to keep fighting the war, determined that she take better care of herself. If not, she’d work herself to exhaustion and make herself truly sick. He’d recently enlisted the help of the wine girls.

  “Kristen said Dottie’s perfectly willing to work more than one day every other week. If you need an extra day or two to recover, I think you should take them.”

  Zoey sighed. “I know you think that, but I can’t let this take over my life. Why couldn’t things have stayed the same?”

  It was the closest Zoey had ever come to complaining about her fate. “Life moves fast, things change. Sometimes I think our only job on this planet is to hold on so we don’t get thrown off the ride.”

  “Hold on,” she repeated in a whispered breath. “What happens when you’re too tired to do that?”

  He ran his hand through her hair. “You let someone else help. And you take off from work until you find your strength again.”

  She gave him a sleepy smile. “You’re like a dog with a b
one.”

  “Zoey—”

  “Don’t let me sleep long. I only need a little nap, and then I’m sure I’ll be right as rain.”

  “Zoey,” he started to persist.

  “Let me see how I feel tomorrow, Robbie. If I’m still sick, I’ll call Dottie.”

  “Promise?”

  She stared at him, the grin tugging at the corner of her lips growing. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

  “I’ve made you a million promises in the past. You owe me a few.”

  Her grin broke free. “Fine. I promise.”

  He was only slightly appeased. After all, she’d promised to consider calling in, not that she would definitely take the day off. Freaking semantics. Next time he’d word his request better.

  He started to leave the room, then changed course. He closed the blinds to dim the outside light.

  “Fuck it.” He pulled off his shirt before kicking off his shoes and pants.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, even as she scooted over to make room for him.

  “I’m tired too. A nap sounds pretty damn good right about now. What do you say we just hold on to each other for a little while?”

  Neither of them had slept well the night before. Zoey had tossed and turned, worried about her second treatment. Knowing what to expect at the center hadn’t alleviated her anxiety so much as compound it. She’d also struggled to find a comfortable position, cursing the port as she tossed and turned.

  She’d offered to sleep on the couch around three a.m. when it was clear she was keeping him up as well. He’d refused and pulled her close. They’d lain in the dark for nearly an hour talking. He couldn’t even remember what about now—stupid crap like what they needed from the grocery store and a title for the new song he was writing. It never mattered what they said as long as they were together.

  Zoey stretched out on her back as he lay down next to her. She reached over to grasp his hand. He knew she was too sore to cuddle, so he took her hand and gave it a little squeeze.

  “Two treatments down,” he said.

  “And too fucking many more to go.”

  “Yeah. Go to sleep, Zoey.”

  “Love you,” she whispered, her eyes drifting shut. He’d known the second she hit the bed that she wouldn’t last long. Her exhaustion had been almost tangible.

  “Love you too.” He looked at her briefly, then let sleep take him as well.

  Chapter Six

  Zoey lay in bed, still drowsy, but not tired. She marveled over the difference. Before chemo, she wouldn’t have recognized it, but now she could. Instead of the usual bone weariness that kept her down for days, this morning she felt rested, lazy, comfortable, warm.

  Nearly a month had passed since her first chemotherapy treatment and so far her reactions to the drugs seemed fairly textbook. Dammit. The textbook sucked. She was always thirsty, her hands were numb and she was prone to nosebleeds. She was spending way too much time in the bathroom these days—due to nausea or diarrhea. She felt like one giant blob of disgusting.

  As if to add insult to injury, the bathroom was her least favorite room in the house and Robbie knew it. If she weren’t in the midst of chemo hell, she’d demand that Robbie finally do something in there to fix the room up. Unfortunately, there was no way they could plan to remodel at this point in time. She spent too much time clinging to the freaking toilet right after her treatments.

  She glanced to her side and studied Robbie’s face as he slept. He looked so peaceful. Sleep was the only time when the shadows around his eyes disappeared. She knew she was to blame for the stress lines that had formed around his lips and in his brow, but she didn’t know how to take them away.

  Laura assured her time cured all ills. She’d said leaving her husband after twenty-three years of marriage was the most difficult thing she’d ever done and that nothing short of time had eased the pain of her husband’s anger and her grown children’s devastation. As the weeks and months passed, things got better. Laura was now on relatively friendly speaking terms with her ex and her children had gotten over their initial hurt and even found some understanding.

  So all she and Robbie needed was time. Time to see if the chemo would work. Time for her body to recover and heal. Time to figure out what they were going to do about their relationship. For weeks, she’d accepted the changed status without question. Robbie had come home when she needed him most, offering not simply friendship, but love, sex and laughter.

  She wanted to ask him where he saw them going, but she didn’t feel like she had the right. Guilt kept her quiet. How could she ask him about their future when hers was so uncertain? Could she really ask for a commitment when there was a chance she wouldn’t even be here a year from now?

  She wouldn’t do it. Not yet. It was too soon. She thrust the wayward concern away and tried to concentrate on something easy, innocuous. The bathroom. Once the chemo was over, she was going to treat herself to a brand new décor in there. They’d rip down the wallpaper, paint it green or yellow—something cheery and bright. They’d buy new fixtures and towels and some of those fancy toiletry accessories she’d always liked from Bed, Bath and Beyond, but had never purchased because of her ongoing war with Robbie.

  She grinned as she recalled the huge fight they’d had over the bathroom a month after they’d moved in. When they spoke of it now, it was always with laughter and they referred to it as The First Battle of the Bathroom.

  Fourteen years earlier

  Zoey walked into the bathroom to find Robbie shaving. He’d just gotten out of the shower and had a towel wrapped around his hips.

  “What’s up?” he asked as he scraped the razor along his chin.

  “I think we need to redecorate in here. This wallpaper sucks.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Wallpaper is fine. The landlord said it’s only a couple of months old.”

  Zoey walked behind Robbie, dropped the lid over the toilet seat and sat down to talk. “It’s hideous.”

  Robbie glanced around the room. “It’s purple flowers. What’s hideous about that?”

  Zoey crossed her arms. “It looks like something from my grandma’s house. She hasn’t remodeled in nearly thirty years. Besides, our towels are blue.”

  Robbie stopped shaving to face her. One side of his face was clean, clear of stubble, while the other was covered in white, foamy cream. “You bought the towels after we moved in here knowing the bathroom was purple.”

  She lifted her face, feeling defensive and annoyed by his easy dismissal. Half of the house was hers too. “The towels were on sale. It was a really good deal.”

  “Cheap or not, you knew they wouldn’t match.”

  “I thought we’d redecorate in here. We could pull down the wallpaper, sand the walls and paint the room—”

  “No.”

  She didn’t like being interrupted any more than she liked being dismissed. “What do you mean no?”

  “I mean when you rattle off lists like that I end up doing the lion’s share of the hard labor.”

  Zoey’s temper spiked. “That’s not true and you know it. I helped you repaint the whole downstairs.”

  “You swept up the floors after I spent hours sanding them until I thought my arms would fall off. You painted the low parts of the walls while I broke my back trying to do the ceiling and tricky places. Then you held the ladder while I hung up ceiling fans and curtain rods. I crushed my thumb at least a dozen times hanging up all the pictures. I’m done with house repairs for a while, Zoey.”

  “You act like I didn’t do a damn thing. I offered to do all those things you just listed, but you had to act like the big he-man and do them all yourself.”

  Robbie laid his razor on the sink, planting his fists on his hips. “You would have screwed up those other jobs. Despite your ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ attitude, you aren’t physically strong enough to do those things.”

  “Bullshit!”

  Robbie shrugged. “Regardless of who did wh
at, I like the wallpaper in here just fine, so it’s staying.”

  “What if I take it down myself?”

  He gave her a dark, annoyed look. “Don’t.”

  She stood up. “Don’t? Did you really say don’t? Oh, Robbie. Why don’t you just say I dare you? Both statements have the same effect.”

  He took a step closer. If she weren’t so pissed off, she’d laugh at him standing there in nothing but a towel with half his face covered in shaving cream. “I mean it. I know you. You’ll get halfway through ripping the shit down, realize you can’t do it and then we’ll be stuck with a wrecked bathroom until I finish the job. This room looks fine. Leave it alone.”

  “No.” She smiled viciously as she threw his word back in his face.

  He was silent for a moment, then he turned back to the sink. She didn’t move as she waited for him to continue the argument. Instead he shook the can of shaving cream and put more in his hand. He was going to keep shaving?

  Surely he didn’t really think she was going to let the argument end this way. After years of disagreements, he should have known better.

  “Listen, Robbie. If you think—”

  He turned to face her once more. Rather than speak, he lifted his hand and rubbed the huge gob of shaving cream along her face. The movement shocked her speechless.

  “Wow. Look at that. I actually shut you up.”

  She sucked in a deep, furious breath. “You asshole.” She scraped the cream from her face and flung it at him. Robbie tried to dodge, but he didn’t move fast enough as some of it hit his shoulder and started sliding down his arm. Unhappy with her aim, Zoey reached for the can of shaving cream, grasping it a fraction of a second before Robbie could claim it.