Owen ventured into the bathroom and stood over the toilet. Once done, he checked back to see Tegan sound asleep, facing away from him. He closed the door before flushing, so as not to wake her. He moved over to the sink but found the act of washing his hands an extended task as the reality of what she had said washed over him. He leant against the sink and stared at the water running from the tap.
Pregnant. He was going to be a father. Sick. She would be in for a huge fight. Only one of those, he felt he could help her with—the latter. It hadn’t been confirmed, but it was possible. Was he ready for this? Was anybody? His life was so unorthodox. Could he possibly take her and a baby on in his life and give them the proper time? Could he give her medical appointments and treatments the respect they deserved? How could he hope to shield her from the media? They weren’t a couple. Did she even want to be with him?
These questions and more flooded his brain, unravelling the calmness of his mindset when reassuring Tegan. He had meant what he said to her, that he would be there. He wanted to believe she would be OK. He had meant what he said to her, that he would be there. The first test of his word would come the very next day.
Chapter Nine
“Are you sure?” Owen asked.
Tegan smiled. “For the fiftieth time, yes. It’s OK. I’ll make it for tomorrow. Go do your commercial. It’s only a day shoot right?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t trying to guilt trip you into changing it. I was just asking what time it was to see if I could get the shoot out of the way. Then he’s happy, dad’s happy, and I get to spend the rest of my time with you.”
“Owen, it’s fine. While you were getting your shoes on, I left a message for the doctor to give me a call. Like you said, the results won’t change either way. Go.”
Owen kissed her before making his way out the door. Tegan made herself a cup of tea and sat on the couch. Had she known she was going to shift her appointment, she wouldn’t have asked for today off. Fiona had offered to cover for her, proving again, what a lifesaver she was. She took a sip as her phone buzzed with her doctor’s ringtone.
“Hey, Lucy, thanks for returning my call. Sorry, I have to reschedule but—”
“Tegan.”
She had been going to Dr. Lucy since she was a teen. It had taken a few years until she could call her a friend, but all through those years, Tegan had never heard Lucy say her name like that.
“You need to come in.”
“Yeah, sorry, I can’t. Something has come up, and I tried to move things around, but—”
“Tegan... I’m sorry. I don’t care what you have to move around. I need you to come in. Today.”
A familiar, dreaded sense of wanting to be sick came over her. “Oh, God... It’s bad isn’t it?”
“You know I can’t tell you over the phone, but it’s important. When you get to the desk, ask them to page me. See you soon.”
And the line went dead. Tegan put the phone down and covered her mouth.
Almost forty-five minutes later, Tegan made herself known to the receptionist and was asked to take a seat. She sat and watched toddlers on their knees, playing with the old toys found in the practice. She smiled at the few who could be bothered to turn away from their monster battles. And most smiled back at her.
It didn’t feel right being here to hear the news without Owen. She didn’t want to keep this from him, and she really didn’t want to be alone, but she felt telling him her fears about how Lucy acted on the phone would cause him to ruin his shoot.
“Tegan,” came Lucy’s voice, standing outside her office. “Come in.”
Tegan did so, and Lucy closed the door after her. Tegan sat opposite the small table in the room, unable to hold her tapping feet still.
“OK, I’ll get right to it... We found cancer Tegan,” she said, looking straight at her.
Tegan swallowed, unsure and hoping she hadn’t heard correctly. “Oh, Christ...”
“You have what’s called germ cell cancer. It’s a type of ovarian cancer that grows within the eggs of the ovary. Now look, I know when someone says ‘cancer’ people naturally assume the worst. But the truth is, research has come a long way. That’s why I wanted you in as quickly as possible. Depending on what stage you’re at, we could still have plenty of options to look at.”
Tegan didn’t say a word, staring at the desk. It was a few minutes before she felt the warm streaks of tears fall. She started to speak, but all she could do was blink.
“It’s OK. Take your time.”
“What about... I thought I was pregnant. Am I?”
Lucy gave her a sad smile. “Yes, you are.”
“What will happen to my baby?”
“We need to determine what stage it’s at before you make any decisions, but I don’t want to mislead you. You need to be prepared for the possibility that you might lose the baby.”
“What am I going to tell him,” she whispered to herself before catching Lucy’s quizzical gaze. “My...” Her what? Owen was nothing to her. Officially. They weren’t dating. What was he? “The father...” Tegan’s words got caught. How strange this was. Just last night, panic had filled her at the possibility of being pregnant or having cancer.
After telling him, and seeing his response, she had found herself with a hint of excitement and wonder in the midst of all that worry and confusion. Now, that was all gone. She thought about his face when he found out. It was absurd for him to be that calm, that happy, at the news. Not after knowing her such a short time, but he was. She had given him something, and now she had to take it back. This wasn’t just bad news; it was the worst possible news.
“If he cares about you, he’ll understand.”
“How can he when I don’t?”
“Well, that’s one of my jobs. To go over the options and help you understand. I can give you my strongest recommendations and urge you to consider them. But ultimately the choice is up to you.”
“Is there...any way to save my baby?”
“Tegan—”
“Is there or not?” Tegan mumbled, trying to hold back tears.
“We’re not there yet. We need to run more tests. We did an ultrasound at your last appointment, but an ultrasound isn’t always a good indication of if or how far it’s gone. If the cancer is just in one ovary, we can remove that. If it has gone to the other, then the best course of action is to remove your uterus. But look, we aren’t there yet. I need to book you in for urgent screening, and we can go from there.”
* * *
“OK, can we hose him down a bit more, please?” came the director’s voice. Owen stood still and closed his eyes as the make-up assistant walked over with a spray bottle full of water and gently sprayed his face and torso, already slicked with baby oil, to give the impression of sweat under the lights.
“Quiet on set... And... Action.”
Owen launched into his boring spiel yet again. “Is your current car lacking punch? Well, kick it to the curb and head down to your local—”
“Cut! Cut. Sorry, Owen. It was great, but can you flex a bit more for us?”
“Sorry, what?”
“When you start talking, you move your hands. They cover up your abs, and we need to see your abs.”
“So, you need to see my abs in order for me to say a line and sell cars?”
The director smiled. “What can I tell ya’, babe. You’re hot. Women like abs. When you win the championship, we’ll have you wearing the belt. Everyone loves a winner. But for right now, let’s get those poppin’.”
“Don’t suppose I should just... I dunno, stand still and speak?”
“Whatever you feel comfortable with, champ.”
Owen let out a frustrated breath that puffed out his cheeks yet moved his shoulders around and set himself to try again. He sucked his stomach in, which made the director gasp. “Fuck. That’s it. Perfect. Hold it... And… Action!”
Owen launched into his lines again, trying to say them as quickly, yet professionally, as possible. When done, it appear
ed he had satisfied them. Calling a break for the day, the director lit up a smoke as Owen came over to him.
“What happened to the girls? The dancing girls?”
“Dance—oh, yeah. We canned them at the last minute.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Some hairy feminist group contacted the boss man and claimed this would exploit the girls based on their looks alone. If we went ahead, they were going to protest outside. So, we fired them. We didn’t need ’em anyway. Bloody stupid idea in the first place.”
Owen shook his head, but let it go. “Can I get a shower before I head out?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Owen thanked him and made his way to the men’s shower room of the gym, nodding to the guard outside his door. He stripped off and showered quickly. He stepped out and placed his hands on a towel, not attached to a surface, but a hand; a female hand. Owen wiped the water out of his eyes and saw the receptionist from the gym standing in the shower block, taking off her jumper.
“Are you lost?” Owen asked.
“I think I know where I’m supposed to be,” she removed her top and bra, and wrapping her arms around Owen, kissed him tenderly. Owen stepped back. “Look, I’m sorry, but how did you get in here?”
“I walked in.”
“Why didn’t the guard stop you?”
“There wasn’t a guard.”
“Yes, there was. I walked past him.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a party. No one will come back here.”
“Except you...because you wanted to fuck an MMA athlete? Well, it’s not going to happen. Can you please leave?”
The woman looked at him but stood her ground. “You’re serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“But you... I thought... Is it me?”
Owen dried himself off and stepped into his underwear. “You think because I don’t want to have sex with you, there’s something wrong with you?”
“You hook up with so many girls. I just thought you liked having fun. Sorry, my mistake.”
Owen watched her leave with a slightly tense hitch in his jaw. He hooked up with so many girls? How did that even come up? Was that her opinion? Her assumption? That’s what gave her the right to think she could waltz in on him showering? Did others think this way? He shook his head. So many things wrong with this two-minute-long scenario. So sudden. So out of left field.
Owen got dressed in his casual gear and walked out, drying his hair. The crew was packing up, but something on the reception desk caught his eye. A magazine. A tabloid with the headline “Owen Gasnier’s Aussie Hook-Ups!”
Before he could open it, the security guard he had passed to enter the shower room was marching back over. “Oi!” Owen called. “What’s going on?”
“Sorry, Mr Gasnier. We had a bunch of people sneak in, trying to take pictures of the set with their phones. The boys needed some help tossing them for a minute. Everything okay?”
Owen picked up the tabloid. Eyeing the cover, he saw a picture of himself with a woman, posing for a photo. Several pictures of himself with women. He remembered his first night back in Sydney. He had been approached by dozens of fans as he ventured into the hotel. He must have taken over thirty photos that night. Some taken by hotel staff, others were selfies. So, this was where the assumption of so many girls came from. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He flicked through to the third page; the main story of the issue. He glazed over the bullshit until he came to a section that made his heart sink. Alongside more selfies he’d taken with fans were grainy photos. Three of them. One showed him outside the coffee house, his arms around a woman. Her face was hidden, but he knew it to be Tegan. Another photo at night in Circular Quay, on his date with Tegan. It showed them kissing under the tree. No matter how dark it was, they had brightened the picture. The last was of the two of them about to enter the apartment block.
He had been followed. Hounded from the shadows by those who wanted quick bucks for an exclusive picture. He ran his eyes over the article and several words stood out:
serial womaniser, many meaningless dalliances, hero to many…star has dimmed.
On and on it went.
“Mr Gasnier…everything OK?” the guard repeated.
Owen barely registered a question was asked of him. He fumed. The receptionist and his anger at the guard, for leaving his post, were forgotten. Thankfully, Tegan hadn’t been named, but those close to her would be able to tell it was her. The article was complete bullshit but with enough evidence to make it believable. He had expected media attention but not this. He knew he would come in for extra attention, but he never wanted to do this to Tegan. A twinge of guilt hit him. Had he been selfish? Had he not given their time together enough thought? Had he overlooked a chance to shield her from this?
“Owen!” The director’s voice thundered into Owen’s head. He had obviously been failing to get his attention for several seconds.
Owen tossed the magazine down. “Yeah... Sorry.”
“I said we need you in tomorrow for a few hours, just to do some little re-shoots. We only have this set up for four hours, so we gotta be quick, yeah?”
Owen ran a hand through his hair and with his other, he searched for his keys. Hearing, but not listening. All he could think of was getting to Tegan. Calling her, at least, before she read the article. Explaining. Apologising if necessary. “Yeah, sure.”
* * *
Owen made sure to check his speed on the way back to Tegan’s even though her not picking up when he tried to call her was concerning. Hopefully, she was just asleep. He parked and made his way to the entrance of the building, but he paused to look around, fearful he was being watched even now. Was there some photographer in a car, or in the bush, clicking away? Did they know who lived here? It wouldn’t take too long to find out, or that he had been there more than once.
He moved the thought out of his head, or tried to, as he made his way up the stairs. He used the spare key Tegan had given him and found the apartment looking empty, yet the lights were on.
“Hello?” he called before the sound of the shower reached him. He made his way to the bathroom and opened the door, expecting her to be washing, but she wasn’t. She sat with her knees high to her chest, allowing the water to fall over her head, drenching her naked body. Silently, he closed the distance between them and opened the shower door. She looked up at him with trembling, slightly blue lips. He didn’t want to guess why she felt she had to be on the shower floor or how long she had been there. Something was wrong. Something had happened.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Her face told him. He touched the tap, but instead of turning it off, he twisted it to make the water slightly hotter and sat down with her. As he became level with her, she gripped his arms and pressed her head to the side, silently begging him to hold her. She shook in his arms with almost silent sobs as he ran his hands along her back.
“Talk to me?” he asked into her ear.
“I can’t. I just can’t.”
“OK. OK,” he said, kissing her saturated hair. “What do you need?”
“Will you just hold me?”
He tightened his grip on her as he answered, “For as long as you want.”
Chapter Ten
Tegan sat on the edge of her bed, eyes burning from lack of sleep and crying. She had spent the majority of the night and early morning telling Owen everything. Everything she had been told, or really, everything she had processed enough to remember. She had been given a pelvic exam and an ultrasound which had confirmed the doctor’s news: a tennis ball sized lump on one ovary.
Tegan was fortunate, she had been told. She was at stage one of the disease, and it had not spread yet, not that they could tell. Apparently, that was a big plus. There was a good chance if they removed one ovary and hit her uterus with aggressive chemo, she should make a full recovery. Her doctor’s definition of aggressive chem
o: five days a week for nine weeks.
The pregnancy, though, was another issue. She was in the first trimester, only just begun really. She could keep the foetus and prolong her treatment, but that would severely hamper the chance of success. And it would almost be a certainty the disease would spread. Perhaps to her other ovary. Perhaps to her whole uterus. Then she would need a hysterectomy, or it could spread into her bloodstream. From what the doctors said, even though it wasn’t exactly a death sentence, it was a virtual countdown.
She and Owen had talked long into the night. He had listened for the longest time, merely nodding or telling her to continue. Ultimately, when he did speak, he came to the same conclusion she had. Together, they made the hardest choice of all. They would lose their baby to focus on saving her life. He had held her hand, kissed it, and said, “As hard as it is...you know it makes sense.”
“But it’s just not fair,” She choked out. “So many women and couples can’t get pregnant. They’ll never know what this is like,” She held her stomach, cringing. “I can... I feel it, and it has to go away. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t this have gone to someone that can give this baby what it needs? I can’t even give it life.”
“Stop,” Owen said, cupping her face. “It’s not your fault.”
She knew he was right, of course. It was no one’s fault. But she had to blame something. Someone. To simply shrug her shoulders and just say it was “one of those things” was too hard.
Now, she watched Owen pace the room, wearing only underwear, as he held his mobile to his ear, on a call he had been on for twenty minutes. His second call in thirty minutes. The first had been to the director of the commercial shoot to reschedule his appearance. Tegan was due for her first official appointment and procedure today, and in Owen’s own words, he wouldn’t miss being by her side.
The call had been calm on Owen’s end. Polite. Tegan could only imagine the anger and confusion on the other end. A lot of money had been put into the shoot. The contract was worth millions. Owen not showing up put the whole thing in jeopardy.
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