“I can’t do it,” I finally gasped. My fingers were cramped and my biceps trembled. I was going to fall.
“It took a lot of courage to tell me that. To talk to me about how exhausted you were, the struggle you felt you were facing all alone. But you weren’t alone.”
An infusion of strength, as if Jaime had lifted me and taken the weight from my arms, helped me reach for the next ring. I swung my hips, grunting, and found the next one and then the next. It got easier, and I went faster. We took more time out to just be together; each ring a flash of dinners, baseball games, movie nights, moments of passion in our bed—so many nights of carnality, knowing each place to touch, caress, the give-and-take resulting in a freedom to reveal secret desires a casual lover couldn’t be trusted with.
I swung from the last ring, expecting a safe landing… but the seemingly solid ground beneath my feet crumbled. I fell through the air from a height, screaming, until I slammed into a pool of murky water.
My entire body ached. I broke the surface and retched. A blinding headache pounded through my skull, and it was hard to move my arms and legs to keep from going under.
“Jaime?” It was so dark, and I shivered. The water was freezing, and I couldn’t see what else might be in it with me. Had he left me?
“The first time we heard the words was devastating. Tumor. Biopsy. Brain surgery.” A tremble shook Jaime’s voice, and fear flooded me.
The doctor’s voice had been apologetic as he told us the results of my tests. Life had been going so well. Sure, we had little bumps here and there, but the big things had all fallen into place. We were happy. I deserved to be happy.
Life owed me a decent adulthood after the crap childhood I’d made it through. But the hits had kept coming. Now death had taken aim at me. I began to swim until I reached a wall of shiny black rock blocking my way. I began to tread water, sweeping my feet back and forth to stay up as I ran my hands along it, but then I kicked my foot and hit nothing but water. Exploring, I realized it ended a few feet beneath the surface; I had to go under.
“We said we’d fight it together. They shaved a spot on your head and drilled a hole into your skull. They took a sample of the tumor.”
I shoved myself under the thick stone and swam forward. I popped up on the other side with a gasp.
“They took out as much as they could and recommended radiation.”
Nausea and weakness became my constant companions. Each rock wall I swam under was thicker, keeping me under longer. My chest burned, and it grew harder to breathe.
“But you made it through.” A tiny light shone into the blackness and lit up the shallows.
I climbed out of the pool and collapsed. Turning over onto my back was too much effort. “Barely,” I whispered.
The light grew, and I blinked as my eyes watered.
“We thought it was all going to be okay.”
To celebrate the life I thought I miraculously got back, I’d gone out and bought two platinum bands. They were inlaid with infinity symbols set with fire opals that sparked with many colors when they caught the light.
Thanksgiving was spent with Jaime’s family. His parents had welcomed us, and his mom pampered me, telling me how she was going to fatten me up before she went to make a few more pies. Life was moving forward, we were happy, and we made plans to spend Christmas with them as well. I’d hoped to have good news to share with them.
But then I stood up from the couch to eat some of that delicious-smelling pie and took one step forward before crumpling to lie facedown on the floor without the strength to even raise myself up on my elbows. It was like I was a puppet and all my strings had been cut. The tumor had come back, and this time the swelling was impinging on things I desperately needed not to be compressed.
“I told you we’d face it together, just like we did the first time.”
Jaime’s voice gave me the courage to get up, but I was only able to make it to my hands and knees. My muscles ached. My body had been pushed past its limit, but I couldn’t give up. I’d sworn to never give up. Gripping the rock wall at my side, I pulled myself to my feet.
I stumbled out of the darkness and into the light, squinting as I shaded my eyes, blinking until everything came into focus. A smooth wall with handholds spaced impossible distances apart stood just outside the opening of the underground cavern I’d climbed out of.
“How are you going to help me up this one?” I asked. It seemed impossible. I had so little left to give. I waited to hear Jaime’s voice, but all I heard was silence. There was nothing, not even the pounding pulse of my heartbeat thrumming in my chest as I struggled through each and every obstacle placed in front of me.
Emptiness. Oblivion.
It was worse than the pain. Worse than the fear.
No. I wouldn’t accept that this feat was impossible without even trying.
I jumped up to the first tiny ledge and caught it with my fingers. I dangled before I found a protrusion with the bare toes of one foot. It was a mad scramble, sometimes hanging from just two or three fingers, making my way higher and higher.
“I’m coming, Jaime.” When the medical procedures, nausea, and pain all got to be too much, and tears trickled down my face because the effort of going through one more procedure seemed impossible, Jaime had held me and given me his strength without ever saying a word. I held on to that memory, knowing that he was always with me.
Just feet from the top, I slipped, banging my head into the wall. I bit my tongue, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth. I coughed and spit, somehow clinging to the wall, my arms and legs splayed to their limit.
“I’m waiting for you,” Jaime whispered. “I’m right here.”
Clinging to the wall wasn’t an option. I had to move. Galvanized, I looked around. I eyed the next spot, made my decision, and let go in order to reach it. I swung my legs sideways, both hands braced on a piece of wood not even three inches wide, but I made it up and over.
I landed on a hard platform, knocking the wind out of myself. I wheezed, fighting the constriction until it loosened. The platform was narrow, uncomfortable, but at the same time the best thing I’d ever felt because I’d made it. I curled up on my side. “I did it.” All I wanted to do was stop and rest.
“Cohen, please come back to me. You promised.”
His voice reminded me of the words I’d sworn, to fight on no matter what. When I’d needed him most, Jaime was there, just like he always said he’d be. Nothing was impossible because we’d do it together. I’d beat this. They’d removed the tumor, draining what little strength I had left, but I’d squeezed his hand. I opened my eyes and peered around. I was on the top of a giant wooden slide that was so steep, I couldn’t even see the bottom.
“I need you. I need you so much.”
I had no idea where I’d stop.
Yet another leap of faith.
No way I could refuse.
I pushed myself up, letting my legs dangle over the edge.
“Cohen, please.”
“I said I’m coming.” He was so impatient. Didn’t he realize what I’d been going through? The run, the balancing act, the leap, enduring the ups and downs, the harrowing swim through the dark, and the hardest climb of my life? I leaned forward, the edge digging into my palms as I braced myself. Heights were so not my thing. “I can do this.”
Shoving hard, I caught air before gravity slammed me back down. I picked up speed before I hit another bump. My entire body went airborne and then came down hard again. My throat burned as I shouted, my speed picking up and the wind whistling over my bald head. There was no way to stop, no end in sight, but the fear turned to excitement. I’d done it. I’d let go of my fears. I’d faced each and every challenge and overcome them. I was stronger than I ever knew, and nothing would be able to stop me now.
I GROANED. The landing was rougher than I could’ve ever imagined. Well… I didn’t really remember it, but my whole body was a giant throbbing bruise. I didn’t want to
see what was coming next, so I kept my eyes shut. “Ow.”
“Cohen? Open your eyes.”
“Gimme a break, Jaime. I did the slide.” At least, that’s what I tried to say, but it was more of an indistinct wheeze. My throat was on fire.
“Oh my God. Cohen. Open your eyes, please.”
What? No risky feat to accomplish? Just open my eyes? I could do that. At least I thought I could—it was easier said than done. There were ten-thousand-pound weights attached to my lids, but I finally pried them open.
Spikes pounded into my skull through both eyes. “Light.”
“Shit, sorry.” The blinds screeched as they slid down, and the room dimmed. I blinked away the tears. “I can’t believe you’re awake.” Jaime reached past me and pushed the call button.
“Can I help you?” a nurse asked.
“He’s awake!”
“I’ll let the doctor know.”
“Here,” Jaime said. He grabbed an ice chip out of a small white cup and rubbed it across my lips before he slipped it between them. His normally golden-brown skin was ashen, and dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes. My beautiful lover was gone, and the only word to describe the man left in his place was haggard.
My head was killing me, but I didn’t want to go back to sleep, or wherever I’d been. Not when he was looking at me like that. The ice chip melted and eased the painful dryness in my mouth.
“Another one?”
I grunted.
Jaime fed me a few more pieces of ice. He bit his lip and then took a breath. “Talk to me, Cohen. Do you know who I am?”
“Love you,” I croaked. I had to tell him that first. “What happened?”
“You remember that you had brain surgery? To remove the rest of the tumor?”
“Uh-huh.” My eyelids grew heavier.
“The surgery went well, but afterward you had one seizure after another. The first one wasn’t too bad, but then they wouldn’t stop. They’ve been trying to find the right cocktail to keep you from seizing for two days.”
“Two?” I’d been out that long? No way.
“I’ve been so damn scared,” Jaime said. “Your heart stopped once, and I thought you were gone. I begged you to come back, but then they kicked me out of the room.”
“I promised.” My eyes slid shut.
“No, no. Don’t go back to sleep.” Jaime squeezed my hand.
“’M tired. Did everything. Jumped through the fire. Climbed so high.”
“Fire?” Jaime gently stroked my forehead and bare scalp. “Open your eyes, Cohen. Come on.”
I couldn’t do it; exhaustion dragged me down, and they slid shut.
“I hear Mr. Fisher is awake.”
“He was, I swear. I gave him some ice chips after he opened his eyes. He even spoke, but what he said didn’t really make sense. He knew who I was though.”
“Well, he did just have extensive brain surgery. The electrical impulses in his brain have been firing like crazy, causing the seizures, but I think we finally got that stopped. Now it’s just a wait to see how much damage we did.”
“But he woke up. He talked. Cohen’s going to be okay, right?”
I really wanted to hear his answer, but I faded out completely before I could hear what the doctor had to say.
“WAKE UP, Jaime.”
Jaime rolled onto his back and stretched. He yawned. “Cohen? You okay?”
“Stop asking that. It’s been over two months since the surgery. I’m fine, except it’s Valentine’s Day and you’re still asleep.”
“Do you have some sort of special plans, then? The doctor said you need to stay away from crowds, so fancy restaurants are out.”
“Nope, no restaurants.” I’d pulled in a favor from Jaime’s mom, and she’d made churros with chocolate dipping sauce—his favorite treat. My plan to propose before Christmas hadn’t worked out, but I was more determined than ever to make Jaime my husband. “Look, I brought you breakfast.” I could walk, but my balance wasn’t great, so I wasn’t able to make a fancy tray with a flower or anything.
Jaime opened the bag and moaned happily. “Churros.”
“With chocolate sauce.” I held up the small bowl, still warm from the microwave.
“Oh my God. Really?”
I’d made him a promise, and he’d made me one back. Faced with caring for me during recovery from brain surgery and radiation, Jaime hadn’t faltered. He stayed by my side, handling all the crap that came with a tumor nearly scrambling my brain twice. In sickness and in health meant so much more when you’d lived it.
“Are you going to get up here and share these with me?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not yet.” I’d spent the last week practicing with my physical therapist so I could get down on one knee without falling over. I gripped the edge of the bed and bent down, sighing in relief when I made it. I brought my other hand out from behind my back, holding the small black box. Jaime stared at me, the churros forgotten. “Will you marry me?”
Sure, picking Valentine’s Day to propose was cheesy, and getting married was really just a formality, but it was a promise I couldn’t wait to make.
ALICIA NORDWELL is one of those not so rare creatures, a reader turned writer. Striving to find something interesting to read one day, she decided to write what she wanted instead. Then the voices started…. Yep, not only does she talk about herself in the third person for bios, she has voices in her head constantly clamoring to get out.
Fortunately for readers, with the encouragement of her family and friends, she decided for her own sanity to keep writing. Now you can find her stories both free and e-published! Oh yeah, she’s a wife and a mom of two, and lives in the dreary, yet ideal for her redhead complexion, Pacific Northwest. Except for when she disappears into one of the many worlds in her head, of course!
She can also be found quite often at her blog, where she has a lot of free fiction for readers to enjoy or working hard, or maybe hardly working, as an admin on GayAuthors.org under her online nickname, Cia.
Author Links:
Blog: www.ciasstories.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/ciasstories
Twitter: @AliciaNordwell
E-mail: [email protected]
Reluctant Valentine
By Xenia Melzer
A best-selling thriller novelist, Dean writes romances as a relaxing hobby. But when writer’s block strikes, sexy handyman Morgan shows up to provide all the inspiration he needs.
SHANNON WAS trembling all over. Her skin felt hot everywhere Marcus touched her with his skillful hands. She cried out in rapture when two of his fingers slid into her wet, dripping folds….
With a sigh, Dean leaned back in his comfortable office chair, staring blankly at the screen in front of him. This was so not going to cut it. And to think he had, until now, deemed romantic fiction a piece of cake! But the deadline for this particular work was impending, and he was nowhere near done with the short story he was trying to write. The publisher had already cut him a lot of slack by buying the piece on his reputation alone and by extending the deadline for it to the week before February 14. It was supposed to appear in a special online edition for an exclusive circle of readers who spent a lot of money on the publisher’s books.
Which was why his beloved sister would have his testicles on a silver platter to feed to her two German shepherds if he didn’t finish in time. He was most definitely in for a stellar week.
Not that he needed the money. Or the publicity. Dean made most of his dough with his thrillers, the latest of which had just been published two weeks ago and made it to No. 1 in practically every known national and international bestseller list within a week. Thanks to the popularity of his books and the meticulous investments Alice made in his stead, he was practically drowning in money. Writing romantic fiction was a favorite hobby of his, something to relax his mind after hours spent thinking about gruesome fight scenes and building up complicated plots with nefarious schemes to ke
ep the readers hooked on Spy Martin’s adventures. So there was, technically, no reason for him to sweat this particular deadline. If he really didn’t manage to produce something—anything—the publisher would surely have a backup at the ready. They usually did, distrusting bastards they were.
And he would be dead. Alice could become quite violent, even though she was a vegan and a Buddhist. Once she snapped, it was better to get out of her way as quickly as possible, and to do it in a zigzag run as well, just to be on the safe side. Her aim was dead-on. Besides his sister’s violent tendencies, it also went against his professional pride to not deliver. It was just something he didn’t do.
When he had started writing romantic stories, he had been surprised at how easily it came to him, considering he was gay. After Alice had pressed him for a reason—she was also an unrelenting nag—he had finally come up with an answer that satisfied both her prying dirty mind and his own puzzlement about the matter. It was most probably because he was gay. Heterosexual romantic relationships had absolutely nothing to do with his own field of experience, so it was easy imagining them in the most vivid colors, like a fairy tale where everything was possible.
Dean had once read, somewhere in a glossy magazine, that relationships, no matter whether they were hetero or homo, tended to follow the same patterns. Some psychological bullshit about people being creatures of habit and reacting to circumstances the way they had been imprinted during their upbringing. Dean doubted this. When you stripped it all away—the gender issues, the circumstances, and the childhood—it all boiled down to sex. And for many people, having sex with a person they knew and who was readily available at most times was preferable to going at it with a complete stranger. Especially in times where the awareness of STDs had grown. In Dean’s opinion, that was all there was to prolonged relationships.
Love Wins Page 32