by HC Michaels
She felt like she’d launched a hurricane into the world and for the moment she was sitting quietly in its eye, waiting for it to sweep her away. She just hoped when it eventually blew over, she’d be able to land on her feet.
Amber was sitting at the kitchen counter, her headphones clamped to her ears, swaying to the beat of the music as she ate her toast. She’d planned to skip breakfast, given how much weight she’d gained lately, but she’d woken up famished, so decided to put off starving herself until after breakfast.
She noticed her father standing before her. His mouth was moving. He must be saying something to her.
She turned the volume down and raised her eyebrows at him. “What?”
“Amber, can you take those things off your head for one minute so I can talk to you?”
She groaned, wondering what she’d done wrong now.
“What, Dad?” Slipping her headphones to her neck, she grimaced as they caught in her hair. Her mum had the same uncontrollable curls and apologised regularly for passing them onto her. Everyone said it was uncanny how much they looked alike. She hated that. It wasn’t that she thought her mum was ugly—she looked all right for a mum—it was just that she’d rather have taken after her father a little more. In a heartbeat she’d exchange her dark skin for her father’s olive tones, her curls for his sleek locks and her rounded hips for his athletic frame.
“Just checking you’re coping with the news about Skye?” he asked. “You seemed pretty upset when we told you.”
She shrugged, needing more time to process her feelings. It was all a bit confusing.
Amber had many secrets, but how she felt about Skye wasn’t one of them. All her friends knew. Even her father knew if he was forced to look at the situation without wearing his love goggles.
Skye had stolen her father right when she’d needed him most and part of Amber hated her for it. She’d ruined everything, including their house. She’d drained the life out of it, along with all the colour. Who in their right mind would decorate an entire house in white? It was ridiculous!
Amber was embarrassed to bring any of her friends home, not just because of their house and its battle with albinism, but because she couldn’t stand for any of them to see the way her father fawned over Skye like he was some kind of lovesick teenager. Yuck! It was the grossest thing on the face of the earth.
Amber was sixteen. She should be the one thinking about sex, not him. He was halfway to one hundred for goodness sake.
She’d taken to wearing headphones around the house, particularly in the morning when the moaning coming from the master bedroom would echo around the quiet of the house, making her want to vomit. Thank goodness for modern technology.
“I was just shocked, I guess,” she said.
It occurred to her that maybe she should ask him how he was coping but lost the thought as he spoke again.
“I know you two haven’t always been the best of friends and it’s been tough for you living here away from your mum, but it was really nice to see how much you cared.” He smiled at her, waiting for her to melt at his compliment.
She shrugged again, wondering if this was a roundabout way for him to ask her to move back in with her mum. Which would be pretty inconvenient given her school was only a short distance from here—the whole reason she moved in with her dad and Skye in the first place.
“It was pretty random news,” she said, trying to keep her responses short in case she said the wrong thing. God! Why is it so freaking hard to hate someone with cancer?
“You know Skye’s story went live today, so you can tell your friends about it.” He swiped half a piece of toast from her place and bit down. “Be careful what you say, of course.”
“Like how? How careful?” Hopefully he didn’t know about all the things she’d already said about it online.
“Oh, you know, just don’t go into details. Leave that to Skye. You know she likes to control what information goes out about her in the press.” He went to grab another piece of toast and she moved her plate away.
“Sure. I’ll be careful what I say.” She reached for her headphones, hoping he’d get the hint. She didn’t really want to talk about Skye.
“Amber, I’m still talking to you.” He tipped back her headphones.
“Careful!” she snapped, checking them for damage. She’d be lost without those things in this house.
He wiped his hands on a white tea-towel, which would be sure to upset Skye if she found out. Those things are for looking at, not for actual use. Her dad really should know that by now. “You know you can talk to me, don’t you?”
Her eyes widened as she tried to hide her outrage. Talk to him! She’d love to if on the rare occasions he was home, he wasn’t being monopolised by Skye. He’d become a stranger. She missed her old dad who used to take her to movie premieres, concerts and dinners at fancy restaurants. He was fun in those days. When she was little, he used to tickle her feet until she laughed so hard she could feel tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I’m fine, really, Dad.” She forced a smile to her lips. “Don’t worry about me. Just focus on Skye.”
He nodded. “Okay, go back to whatever it is you’re listening to that’s so interesting.”
She turned her head before he could see the tears sliding down her face. Her father still made her cry, only now her tears were never accompanied by laughter. How could you tell someone you missed them, when they’d so clearly chosen someone else?
Theo sat down on the ab crunch machine—his favourite piece of equipment at the gym. He’d already turned the resistance up high, planning to do at least a hundred crunches. Skye loved his abs. Hell, he loved his abs.
He didn’t need to get a tattoo like George to tell the world anything about himself. His body was his tattoo. It symbolised his determination to succeed in life. He wasn’t going to let something like turning fifty get in the way of that.
Fuck! Fifty. It seemed impossible.
He counted his crunches, trying to obliterate thoughts of his age from his mind.
One. Two. Three.
Stupid-arsed lion tattoo.
Four. Five. Six.
George probably only got it to piss him off, knowing how much needles freaked him out. Competitive prick.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
Anyway, there was no contest. If there were, he’d win hands down.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
He had a better job. A bigger house. A hotter wife.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Skye.
Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
Shit. Skye. Fuckin’ cancer.
Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He finished his hundred crunches, one fuck for every crunch like he was praying some kind of demented rosary. He hadn’t prayed to any actual god about this. He’d tried that when his mum died, and it hadn’t helped. There was no reason to think it was going to help now.
Deciding to give his quads a good burn, he headed for the bikes. That should help with his anger. Normally he used his latest case as motivation, but not today. Skye drove him on as he pressed down on the pedals, spinning them faster and faster until his muscles screamed for mercy he wasn’t prepared to offer.
The thought of Skye with cancer was like the devil nipping at his heels. If only he could outride it and leave behind his frustration, confusion and...grief. Yep, grief. It was like he was in mourning for someone who hadn’t yet died.
Not that he thought Skye was going to die, but it was certainly possible.
Those two words—cancer and death—were linked together with handcuffs made from titanium. It was impossible to think of the C word without the D word directly following it, just like some kind of fucked up alphabet.
No, Skye wasn’t going to die. It was just that everything else around him was shrivelling up, his cock included. He didn’t want to touch her. He couldn’t touch her. She had cancer. You can do lots of
things to cancer. You can poison it with chemo, scorch it with radiation, cut it out of your body, but you sure as hell didn’t fuck with it, let alone fuck it.
Sex would have to wait. Looking for it elsewhere wasn’t an option in this marriage. He took his wedding vows seriously, having stuffed them up so majorly the first time around with Rin. He may as well have had his fingers crossed behind his back when he’d promised to stay faithful to her. If he could’ve paused the ceremony and dragged one of her hot bridesmaids out the back for a quickie, he would’ve relished the chance. That was pretty much exactly what he’d done, too, except it was a month after the ceremony, not actually during it.
He never should’ve married Rin. She was a nice woman. Just not the right sort of woman for him. He only married her because of Amber. Stupid really. Amber had coped just fine with them being divorced. She didn’t need them to be together.
Rin seemed to be coping just fine these days, too. It’d been years since she’d called him in the middle of the night crying. He kept telling her she deserved better than him. Not that Skye didn’t also deserve better. It was just that he gave Skye a better version of himself. Anyway, now Rin had Jeff to give her everything he hadn’t been able.
Including a son. Two actually. She had two sons as well as another daughter. Maybe if he’d stayed with her a little longer, she’d have given him a son. Nah, she’d probably have pushed out six more daughters and he’d have been well and truly stuck with her then.
His quads were burning now, past the point of being ignored. Time to switch to the calf press. He didn’t want to turn into one of those guys with puny calves. George had puny calves. He never went to the gym, claiming his job was his workout. It was sort of true. He had fairly impressive biceps from lifting all those pipes or digging all those holes or whatever it was that he did all day. Unfortunately, they were matched by his equally impressive beginnings of a pot belly. It seemed plumbers didn’t have the need to do many sit-ups. George’s kids were a worry, too. Not so much Beth, but Lukas. He was a very big boy. Sophie must be feeding him too much of her Greek cooking. She was a bloody good cook, but she was killing that boy. She was certainly killing his chances of ever getting a girlfriend. Nobody wants to date a fat bloke.
Theo lay down on the calf press and pushed up the weight platform, extending his legs, being careful not to lock his knees.
One. Two. Three.
Everyone had a son except him.
Four. Five. Six.
Everyone.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
My son this. My son that.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Fuck you and all your sons.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Maybe Amber would present him with a whole football team of grandsons one day.
Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
She’d keep her maiden name and insist they all carry the Manis name.
Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one.
Yeah, that would be awesome.
Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.
Except it wasn’t going to happen.
Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.
It was fucked. Everything was fucked.
He stood up, deciding to cut his workout short and hit the shower. Skye was going to hospital tomorrow and she needed him. She was more important than puny calves.
“Everything okay, Theo?” asked one of the female trainers. She was wearing a name badge, yet every time he’d talked to her he never managed to take in her name. He’d go to look at it and get so distracted he’d forget why he’d lowered his glance in the first place.
“I’m fine, thanks, umm…” He forced his eyes to her badge. “Carly. Just calling it a night.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” The flirtation in her voice was as obvious as a hard on at a swimming pool. It was also as inappropriate. His wife had cancer for fuck’s sake. Everyone knew. Didn’t she?
“Just need to get home,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”
“See you tomorrow.” Carly’s eyelids batted as if she were a cartoon character.
He smiled.
Everything’s fine. Yeah, everything’s fine-ally fucked.
That was why he was in mourning. It wasn’t Skye’s potential death—she’d get through this—it was the certain death of the son he’d always thought he’d have.
43 Days Before The Break
George was at the table feeling pleased with his wife and the feast she put in front of him every night. Tonight’s dinner featured a few of his favourites. A big plate of lamb kebabs with homemade tzatziki on the side, stuffed peppers for Beth who was going through some kind of freaky vegetarian thing (he really needed to talk to her about that), some spinach pita bread and the finest damn marinated chicken in town.
That was the best part about marrying a Greek girl. Sophie loved her food almost as much as he did. So did their kids. Well, Lukas, anyway. He’d had the appetite of a grown man by the time he was twelve, putting away plates of food almost as big as George’s. He’d grown into a strapping young bloke. A little on the chubby side perhaps, but he was only seventeen and still growing. He needed his food. He’d slim out when he got older.
Damn, he was proud of him!
If Skye were able to give Theo that son he’d always wanted she’d probably feed him like a bird. He’d be a skinny, rich kid with slicked back hair and an ego so big it’d be a wonder he could stand up. One of those poofter sorts he saw walking to the train station in their posh blazers.
He grabbed a couple of kebabs by their skewers and put them on his plate.
“Thanks, Soph,” he said. “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving.” She laughed as she slopped a large dollop of tzatziki on her plate.
He took a quick bite of chicken as he reached for some pita. “It’s your fault for being such a good cook.”
“Too good a cook.” She patted her stomach. “I feel so fat lately.”
He’d been married long enough to know his cue when he heard it. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”
The truth was she had put on a little weight over the years, but he didn’t mind. Her curves were a sign of the good times they had together. She was still a looker. As much as he liked checking out women like Skye, there was no way he could be married to one of them. He far preferred his blonde goddess. Although, recently she’d reverted to her more natural hair colour of light brown and cropped it into a bob. He preferred it long but, again, he wasn’t stupid enough to tell her that.
He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re gorgeous, Soph.”
She rolled her eyes, not as good at taking compliments as she was at cooking.
“It’s true.” He slipped his hand to her thigh, causing her to turn a nice pink colour. He loved that he could still do that to her after all these years.
“Get a room,” said Lukas, stuffing a pepper in his mouth.
“Hey! Mum made them for me.” Beth crossed her arms and pouted.
George’s hand returned to his cutlery and he took a bite of his lamb.
“They’re for everyone,” said Sophie. “There’s plenty there.”
Beth put three peppers on her plate and scowled at her brother.
“Did you talk to Theo today?” asked Sophie.
“Yeah, he’s doin’ okay, considering,” George said between mouthfuls. “Skye’s going into hospital tomorrow for her surgery.”
“That was fast.” Sophie set down her knife and took a sip of water.
“No point mucking around, I suppose.” George shrugged.
“Does Skye still have cancer?” asked Beth.
“Of course, she does, you idiot,” said Lukas.
“Apologise.” George pointed his knife at his son. “You do not call your sister an idiot.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Lukas, his mouth full of food.
“It’s so sad.” Beth sighed loudly.
“Who cares,” said L
ukas. “It’s not as if we like her or anything.”
“Lukas!” This time it was Sophie who reprimanded him. “We do not talk about family like that.”
“You do,” he said. “I’ve heard the way you and Dad talk about her.”
The colour returned to Sophie’s cheeks, although this time for a different reason.
“Enough, Lukas.” George eyed his son. It was tough reprimanding your kids when they spoke the truth. He and Sophie needed to be more careful about what they said.
“Maybe they’ll put her in the same hospital as her mother,” said Beth.
Lukas groaned loudly.
“No darling,” said Sophie. “That’s a different kind of hospital. Skye’s mother has a sickness in her head. Skye’s is in her body.”
“Lukas showed me a video of Skye’s mum dancing,” said Beth.
George looked across at his son. “How’d you get a video like that?”
“It’s called YouTube, Dad.” Lukas rolled his eyes.
“They didn’t have YouTube when she was a dancer,” said George. “And for the record, I know what it is.”
“Yeah, but they had video recorders.” Lukas shook his head like it was an effort to tolerate someone as old as his father. “Some fan of hers posted heaps of videos of all the old ballerinas.”
“What on earth made you look that up?” asked Sophie.
Lukas shrugged. “Just curious.”
“He was checking out the ballerinas.” Beth giggled.
“Shut your mouth.” Lukas glared at his sister.
“How am I going to eat with my mouth shut?” Beth shoved a piece of pita bread at her tightly closed lips.
“Stop being silly.” Sophie waved her hand in Beth’s direction. “Eat your dinner.”
“Show us the videos,” said George. He wouldn’t mind seeing what the fuss was all about. People were always raving on about Skye’s mother and how brilliant she’d been. From what Theo had described, the day he’d met her she’d been anything but brilliant.