Sara sat on the other side and watched as the two of them playfully picked on each other. With all the time they had spent in and around the oncology floor, they’d formed a special bond with Heather because of the way she cared so deeply for others. Her warm personality was genuine, but they’d also witnessed her stubborn, take-charge side. She was an advocate for her patients as much as she was their cheerleader. She’d bravely correct an intern for giving incorrect information just as she’d forcefully demand that her patient had to keep fighting until she gave them permission to give up.
Sara had also witnessed Heather handle that very painful situation with finesse and grace. A woman held on to life with every ounce of willpower she possessed while she waited for her son to arrive at her side. The lady was obviously suffering, painfully struggling to hold on until she’d heard that last goodbye from her loved one. Though her son was on his way, his trip would take too much time, and Heather realized there was no way her patient would be able to rest in peace under those circumstances.
Heather leaned in close to the lady, kept her voice low, and spoke soothingly to her.
“You carried him for nine months. Fed him, nurtured him, cared for him, loved him. Jordan knows how much you love him, sweetheart. I’ll tell him how hard you fought to have him close to you just one more time. I’ll tell him how much you love him. You don’t have to suffer anymore. You can let go now.”
Sara watched from the hallway, mesmerized by how the woman responded to Heather’s words. Her labored breathing became calmer. Her clenched fists relaxed. Her face, distorted with pain, became peaceful. Then she did exactly as Heather instructed and let go. And Sara’s heart broke as she watched Heather sob uncontrollably when it was all over.
The playful banter between Steve and Heather pulled Sara from her inner thoughts. Steve already seemed so much better than he was just a few hours before. As long as Heather instructed Steve to fight, Sara held on to the hope that he would be completely healed of cancer.
“I’m going to step out in the hall and call Noah. Do you need anything, Steve?”
“No, babe. I’m fine. Tell all of our kids I love them.”
Sara closed the door behind her and drew in a deep breath. The daily roller coaster rides of emotions drained her mentally and physically. She knew if it affected her that much, the impact on Steve had to be so much worse. If she was considered selfish because she wanted her husband to live, and willed him to keep going regardless of how tired he was, then she’d wear the label with pride.
At the end of the hall, she pulled her cell out of her pocket and dialed Noah’s number. When he picked up, she decided it was time for her to be blunt about Steve’s health status. Playing down the symptoms wouldn’t make them go away.
“Hey, Mom. You’re calling earlier than usual. Are you and Dad all right?”
“Hi, Noah. I thought you’d want to know your dad was admitted to the hospital early this morning. He’s feeling a little better now, but he had a high fever in the middle of the night. With his low white blood cell count, they’re keeping him here for IV antibiotics and to monitor his counts for the next few days.
“They’ve, uh, had to temporarily stop his chemotherapy so his bone marrow can make more white blood cells. It’s a fine line to balance the need to kill the cancer cells but not kill his immune system entirely. We’ll know more in a couple of days…if he can continue in the trial, with the experimental drugs.”
“There’s a chance they’ll drop him from the clinical trial?”
“If he can’t finish the program, yes. If it’s weakening his body to the point his bone marrow isn’t producing blood cells, there’s really no reason to continue the chemotherapy. We’re not there yet, and we’re not giving up hope, but I can’t let you, Chaise, and Silas be blindsided by it if it does happen.”
“Mom, is he worse than you’re telling me?”
“He’s had some ups and downs lately. Nothing in particular that any other man going through chemotherapy doesn’t have. It just seems to be hitting him harder, more things at once.”
“How are you, Mom? Are you eating, sleeping, taking care of yourself? I wish you’d told me sooner. We would’ve been there with you.”
“No, son. Brianna just had a baby last month. I know you’ve been busy with work. You have a life and a family of your own to take care of, and that doesn’t include babysitting your mother.”
“It’s hardly babysitting, Mom. You don’t have to do this alone. Chaise and Bull could’ve been there with you until Brianna was able to travel. Silas could’ve been there. We’d work it out. How do you think that makes me feel, knowing you’ve been carrying this weight on your shoulders alone all this time?”
Tears escaped from Sara’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “You’re such a wonderful son—and a great man. You’re all welcome to come stay here with me anytime you want to. But I understand if you can’t, so I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
“Love is never an obligation, Mom. It’s a privilege.”
In Steve’s room, Heather continued her medical assessment of Steve. The clever banter and quick comebacks demonstrated to her that his mental faculties were intact. He was alert to people, time, and place—meaning he could match faces with names, he knew what time of day and year it was, and he knew where he was. His speech was clear and concise, no audible sign of slurring his words or exaggerated forgetfulness.
The main discrepancy that concerned her was the color of his skin had significantly changed since she last saw him. That could be chalked up to a byproduct of the chemotherapy, but it was significant enough to be noted in his chart. The optimist in her hoped it was simply a side effect of the nearly lethal cocktail he’d been given to stop the progression of his disease. The realist in her told her nothing good came from kidding herself.
This was the part of her job she hated, when she had to face the fact one of her patients may no longer be responding to treatment. The time when they had to have “the talk.” The one where she helped the doctor convince the patient to stop focusing on the future and start focusing on the present. The discussion that inevitably left the patient with thoughts and feelings of hopelessness, because the message they delivered essentially said to give up hope that the treatments could change the prognosis.
While Steve still joked and played along with her, she sensed a distinct change in his overall demeanor. A peaceful acceptance of what will be will be, regardless if he tried to alter the course or not, had replaced the tough as nails, hard as Steele man she’d met initially. He was no longer fixated on eradicating all the mutated cells in his body. His focus was on his family, mainly his wife, who’d been by his side every step of the way.
Steve often joked that he was made of Steele, an obvious play on his last name, but when Sara was out of earshot, he openly confessed she was actually the strong one who made him keep going. Keep trying. Keep fighting. The last time he’d said those words to Heather, her initial gut reaction was Steve was preparing to face the end of his life. He kept trying, kept fighting, kept going for Sara, but when it was clear it was no longer helping, he could accept his fate as long as she held his hand.
“Who did Sara say she was going to call?” Heather asked Steve to test his cognitive skills again and to clear the morbid thoughts from her own mind.
“Our son, Noah,” Steve replied proudly.
Heather stopped writing and jerked her eyes up to meet Steve’s. “Your son is Noah Steele?”
“Yep, that’s my boy.”
“Noah Steele from Miami?”
“Born and raised.”
“Noah Steele of Steele Security?”
“That’s exactly right. Wait. How did you know that? How do you know Noah?”
4
CHAPTER FOUR
September 2001
Heather walked into her parents’ house, located in one of Houston’s more upscale neighborhoods, and headed to the kitchen where she knew she’d find her mom. Th
e house itself was gorgeous, set on just over an acre of lush green grass, professionally landscaped sweeping gardens, and a backyard pool oasis that boasted an outdoor kitchen. Inside, every room was decorated by an interior designer who stayed booked up to a year in advance. The fine dark wood trim accented both the expansive arched windows that spanned the front of the house and the wood flooring with alternating planks of light and dark shades. Everything about the inside and outside of the house exuded opulence, but it reminded Heather of a museum more than a home.
Her childhood home where she grew up next door to Braxton would almost completely fit inside the entertainment room of their current house. Their old home may have been small, but there was so much love and so many wonderful memories in it. It was pure coincidence that most of those beloved and cherished childhood memories in the other house involved Braxton in one way or another.
Kay Greer wrapped her arms around Heather and squeezed her tightly. “How’s my baby? I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Heather replied, although she was actually anything but fine. Depressed. Sad. Lonely. Despondent. Those were more accurate descriptions than “fine,” but that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have again that day.
“You’re so thin. You’ve lost more weight, Heather,” Kay insisted, her tone rife with genuine concern. “You’re not eating, are you?”
“I said I’m fine, Mom. That means I’m fine,” Heather insisted stubbornly. “Don’t start. I just got here.”
Emmett silently stood in the doorway through which Heather had entered, intentionally not announcing his presence so he could listen to their exchange. “Your mother’s right. You’ve lost weight. Sit down and eat.”
Heather turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Don’t think I didn’t know you were back there eavesdropping. I’m not one of your employees you can just order around. I may be your daughter, but I’m also a grown woman. I’m married. And I make my own decisions.”
“Eighteen is hardly a grown woman, Heather. You’re not even old enough to buy alcohol yet. But you’re definitely my daughter—there’s no denying you got that stubborn, defiant streak from me. Speaking of being married, did you get the papers I had my lawyer draw up?” While he meant well as a father and a businessman, Emmett had a tendency to run over everyone else’s thoughts and feelings.
“Yeah, I got them all right.” She made no attempt to conceal her contempt or the challenge that her arched eyebrow conveyed.
“Did you sign them?”
“Nope.”
“Heather.”
“Emmett,” she retorted, mimicking his stance by putting her fists on her hips and staring him down.
“What did you do with the papers?” His voice was even, showing no signs of his frustration. But she knew all too well that was just part of his tactic, an act to encourage others to lower their defenses so he could pounce at the opportune moment.
“I put them on my kitchen counter,” she replied.
“Good.”
“With the rest of the junk mail that needs to be shredded,” she added.
“That’s not funny.” He was beginning to lose his composure. Tiny cracks in his armored façade were beginning to show.
“It wasn’t funny when I opened the packet and saw divorce papers, either,” she snapped. “No warning. No heads-up. You could’ve said, ‘Hey, Heather, my lawyer is sending some papers for you to read over. Let me know what you think.’ But no, you didn’t even give me that common courtesy. I thought they were from Braxton when I first opened it. Do you have any idea what that did to me? Don’t you think I’ve been through enough already?”
“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think—”
“No, that’s a lie, so don’t even finish that sentence. You thought about it enough to have your damn lawyer write up a very detailed, explicit legal document that divides everything between us, right down to the couch and the loveseat. You try to control everyone and everything in your life, but I will not be controlled. Do you understand me? You will not steamroll over me and my decisions for my life.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
Exasperated that he would even ask that question after the outburst he just experienced, her jaw dropped open, and she blatantly glowered at him. “Whatever the hell I want to do. That’s what. I don’t need your permission or your approval. Or even your support. But if you want to stay in my life, let me live it myself. You’re not living it through me.”
“I can’t talk to her,” Emmett complained to Kay. “There’s no reasoning with her.”
“You’re exactly right,” Heather replied. Emmett raised his eyes to meet hers, hopeful she had seen the error of her thinking, until she continued. “So stop trying because it’s really irritating when I have to keep repeating myself.”
“You’re still young, Heather. It’ll be good for you to start over with a clean slate,” Emmett pressured. “You need to trust me.”
“A clean slate?” She emphasized each word as she spat out her reply. With her pointed finger in his face, she continued. “Since you’re my father, I’m giving you one chance to rephrase that and then never say it again. Because if you ever even tiptoe around the words ‘clean slate’ to me again, as if I should just forget, I promise you will regret it.”
“That came out wrong, Heather. Of course, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you.”
“Don’t you see? That’s exactly what you’re doing every time you want to sweep everything under the rug and pretend it never happened. It did happen—and it happened to me. Stop trying to make it seem insignificant, like a few sheets of legal paper will make it all disappear.”
“I’m just trying to do what I think is best,” Emmett replied softly, humbled. “I said I’m sorry, and I mean it. Forgive me. Your mother and I were just about to throw some steaks on the grill. Do you want to stay and eat with us?”
“No, I need to go. Errands to run. I just wanted to stop by for a minute to see you.”
“There’s no need to run off. I promise to be on my best behavior if you stay,” Emmett pleaded. “I don’t get to see you nearly enough.”
His eyes begged her to stay. His own pain at not being able to shield his daughter from the cruel world lay just beneath the surface.
“Okay. I’ll stay for a little while longer,” she conceded, though she was still mad and upset with him.
“That what I want to hear. I’ll go fire up the grill and burn some steaks while you ladies handle the fixings.”
Heather and Kay started pulling items from the pantry and refrigerator to begin cooking the side dishes. As they worked together to accomplish the tasks, Heather instinctively knew her mother wanted to continue the conversation, but she didn’t know how to approach it without alienating her daughter.
“Just come out with it already. If you keep holding it in, you’ll end up in the bell tower with a high-powered rifle,” Heather deadpanned.
“I didn’t know your father had our lawyer draw up divorce papers, Heather. Not until you’d already received them, and it was way too late by then. I’ve already told him what I thought about it, but you know how he is once he gets something in his head.
“My concern is about you and your well-being. What are you going to do, Heather? Braxton has been gone for going on three months now. How long do you plan to wait for him?”
“I’m fully aware he’s been gone for eleven weeks and three days. That’s exactly eighty days. One thousand nine hundred twenty hours. One hundred fifteen thousand two hundred minutes, give or take, since I don’t know exactly what time he left. I only know what time I found the note.
“What you and Dad don’t seem to grasp is this isn’t puppy love. What I feel for Braxton isn’t just young love that’ll fade as I get older and realize it was just infatuation. He’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We know each other better than anyone else does. Ev
ery dirty, rotten secret we’ve kept from everyone else. Every good deed we did without letting anyone else know. Our imperfections and perfections only made our bond stronger. If you and Dad had faced what Braxton and I have faced, could you simply walk away from him as easily as you expect me to walk away from my husband?”
“You’re right. We’ve underestimated how much he means to you and how being in love at your age can be just as real as being in love at my age. Your love for him really hasn’t waned in the least bit, has it?”
“No, and it won’t. We’re both dealing with the aftermath the best way we know how. I’m partly to blame for why he left the way he did. Not that it doesn’t hurt like hell, but I have to be fair about it. Sure, there are times when I get really mad at him for leaving me. I scream, cry, make stupid threats I know I’d never go through with, try to strike a bargain with God. Then I remember how I mentally checked out for a while and left him feeling responsible,” Heather explained.
“You stayed away from your dad and me for a long time,” Kay said sadly. “Your dad thought maybe you came back around us after Braxton left because you’d changed your mind about being married.”
“I stayed away because neither of you respected my marriage, especially Dad. I didn’t come back around because Braxton left. It was because I knew how badly it was hurting you.”
Kay glanced out the window and saw Emmett was busy in the outdoor kitchen, fighting with the grill and marinating the steaks with his signature mixture of steak sauces and spices. “While the potatoes and rolls are cooking, let’s sit down and have a little girl talk.”
As they sat at the kitchen table, Kay deliberated how to share the personal information from her youth with her daughter. “I know you’ve loved Braxton since you were kids, but it doesn’t happen like that for most people. When I was a sophomore in high school, a handsome boy my age moved in to our neighborhood and, of course, every girl in our class had a crush on him. Including me.
Wicked Intentions (Steele Secrurity Book 4) Page 4