I shake my head, totally unsure.
He’s nice to me. He’s twisting his life around for us. But would he do that if it was me and not Ever?
The note he sent with Will is sitting beside me and I pick it up. It’s such a sweet gesture, something I’m sure not many people get from Crew. I smile to myself, thinking back to all the sweet things he’s been doing.
This is the Crew I loved a long time ago. The Crew that would do anything for me. The Crew that was fiercely loyal to those he loved.
I’m not sure how he feels about me. Hell, I’m not sure how I feel about him. But I do know that he won’t leave us this time. I feel it.
CREW
“Faster! Faster! You better work, Gentry!”
My chest explodes as I sit up with a medicine ball. I clench my teeth and growl into the air, moving faster on Sal’s instructions.
“Give it to me, Crew! Come on! 5. 4. 3. 2. Work! And 1. Done.”
The stopwatch clicks and I drop the ball off to the side, forcing air into my overworked lungs. My daily runs have nothing on Sal D’Amato’s workouts. Hands on my knees, my t-shirt soaked with sweat, I heave in precious oxygen while my coach watches.
The gym is closed for business, the lights in the front of the building on Seventh Street off. Will sits on a heavy bag on the floor, watching me kill myself. It’s like old times, except for the elephant sitting on my shoulders in the form of a beautiful little girl with neuroblastoma.
Sal leans back against the boxing ring set up in the middle of the room. The way he holds himself commands respect. Even if you didn’t know that he was an Olympic-qualifying wrestler back in the day or that he started one of the very first MMA gyms in Boston, you could tell he was someone just by looking at him.
In his old age, he’s still in shape. He wears tracksuits around the gym during the day, training some of the best fighters from around the country. I’ve considered so many times how my life would’ve ended up differently had he not seen me fight behind that supermarket. And how it would have been different if he hadn’t taken me on as a charity case, maybe even as a foster kid in some ways.
“Well, you’re not in as bad shape as I thought,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “But still, for the time we have to work with, we have our work cut out for us.”
I bow my head and stand, rolling my shoulder. “I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Crew? I’ve seen Davidson fight. He’s—”
“I’m sure,” I say, cutting him off. The decision’s been made. Now the work must be done.
“What are you gonna tell me about that injury?”
I shrug. “Nothin’ to tell.”
“You think I’m some kinda fuckin’ idiot?” he asks. “I’ve been around this shit longer than you’ve been alive, Gentry. Not to mention that I know you like a fuckin’ book. Don’t lie to me.”
My gaze turns icy. I owe my life in some ways to Sal D’Amato, but I’m not going to sacrifice someone else’s to save my own.
“What do you know about this?” he asks, turning to Will. “How bad is it?”
“Hey,” Will says, putting both hands in front of him, “I don’t know jack shit.”
Sal laughs loudly. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Will feigns shock, his mouth dropping open. “I’m offended.”
“Good,” Sal laughs, turning his sights back to me. “I get why you want to do this, Gentry. But have you thought it through? I mean, really thought it through and what it might mean for you? I was there when you were carried off that fuckin’ mat, boy. I don’t want to see that again.”
“You won’t.”
“You sure about that? I need to be absolutely certain that you’ve thought this through in an unemotional way. That you’ve made a clear choice.”
I laugh angrily. “I don’t have a fucking choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Not in the real world. Out there,” I say, motioning through the doors behind me, “there aren’t choices, Sal. There are things to be done and this is one of them.”
He throws his head back and sighs. After a few seconds, he stands straight again. His shoulders are square, his eyes steel. “All right then. Be here every night at six sharp. I mean sharp, Gentry.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You still remember how to use that degree, right?” he asks, referring to my degree in Nutritional Science that I’ve never used. “I want you eating clean. Lots of protein. Keep yourself hydrated. No cigarettes. No drugs. No beer.”
“Woah! Wait up,” Will says, getting to his feet. “No beer?”
“Shut up, Will,” Sal says, “And your job is to babysit this guy and make sure he does what I just said.”
“Yes, sir,” Will says meekly.
I start to laugh, but the seriousness in Sal’s tone stops me.
“We gotta cram a year’s worth of work into a couple of months. If I think you aren’t 100% in, I’m out. Got me?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
“All right. Get outta here. Get some sleep and be back in here tomorrow.”
I shake his hand, grab my bag by the front door, and head out. Will grasps my shoulder once we’re in the dimly lit parking lot.
“You look good, man,” he says.
My entire body aches already. I know it’s only a taste of what’s to come and it’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker. But I like it. I like the pain. I like the punishment. I like knowing with every blast of discomfort that comes from my muscles, I’m one step closer to Everleigh getting the medicine she needs. Because as much as I look forward to decimating Davidson, I could’ve lived my life without seeing him again. But I can’t live my life without Everleigh.
“So, I was gonna ask you if you want to go to Shenanigan’s, but I’m guessing that’s a no,” he laughs.
“Yeah. Not happening for a while.” I open the door to my truck and toss my bag inside.
“Guess I’ll have to go find Macie.” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows.
“Macie?”
“Fuck me, Crew. This one,” he blows out a whistle. “This one is different than every woman I’ve ever fucking met.”
“She’s nice?” I ask, climbing in the cab.
“I’m not fucking her personality, man. What the fuck?”
He seems offended I even asked. I laugh and start the engine. “How’d my girls seem today?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret it.
“Your girls?” He taunts.
“Not what I meant.”
“That’s totally what you meant. And we’ve already been over how they were today. Ever liked the girly shit you sent over. Jules almost cried when I gave her the envelope.” He shrugs. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. That Jules smelled like flowers?”
“You get that close to her and I’ll plant you into the asphalt.”
He backs away chuckling. “I gotta go. See ya at work tomorrow.”
“Later, man.”
I pull onto the street, the rush hour long gone. The moon is bright and it seems like I’m following it as I take turn after turn towards my house. The sky is dark except for the big silver ball. It looks lonely up there, hanging by itself.
The driveway is vacant when I park the truck. I cut the engine and just sit, staring at the front of my house. There are no lights on. There will be no smells from dinner, no giggles from a little girl watching some crazy cartoon with singing animals. I won’t have to step over any toys or get a suspicious eye from a beautiful, dark-headed woman wondering why I’m late and what I’m up to.
Those are all the things I told myself I’d never enjoy.
Those are all the ways in which I lied to myself.
CREW
The kitchen is a complete disaster. Dishes and utensils are sitting everywhere, syrup sticking most of it together. I reach across my ma’s blue bowl, pancake batter dripping down the side and onto the counter, and grab a banan
a. I need a quick bite to eat before I head to the gym.
Julia and Ever are in the living room getting situated. They got home yesterday afternoon. I was nervous as hell, only seeing them a couple of times while they were at the hospital. I didn’t know what to expect. I’d talked to Jules on the phone every day multiple times, but I’d only been able to see them three times over the week they were there. Between work and training, by the time I’d call Jules, she’d say they were sleeping. I hate it. I want to be there for them. I missed them when they were there, worried like fucking crazy. But I have to do what has to be done . . . which is also why I haven’t told Julia what I’m up to. I know it’ll add to her worries and that’s the last thing I want. I know I’ll have to tell her at some point, but the right time hasn’t popped up.
“Hey,” Jules says, coming around the corner. Her hair is pulled back, a bit of shine back in her eyes. Everleigh tolerated the first round of treatment better than they expected and it’s brought a little life back to Jules. Yesterday when they got home and got situated, she made dinner. I offered to get takeout, but she wanted to eat “real food.” We ate and watched a movie; Jules and Ever both fell asleep on the sofa. I carried them both to bed.
“Hey,” I say, smiling at her.
“Your pancakes were good.” She brushes passed me and pours a glass of orange juice. “I’ll get this cleaned up.”
I love the way she looks in my kitchen. Probably too much.
“I’ll get it when I get back. You relax.”
“When you get back?” She looks alarmed. “Where are you going? I thought you’d be here with . . .” She looks down, embarrassment staining her cheeks.
I reach out and touch the side of her face. As soon as my hand makes contact with her skin, her head whips up. I start to take my hand away, worried I’ve overstepped my bounds, when she surprises the fuck out of me. As I pull it back, she wraps her little hand around my wrist and puts it back against her cheek. Her eyes are wide as she leans into my touch. Ever-so-carefully, I place my other hand against the other side of her face. I feel her breath hitch, her heartbeat pulsing.
“Hey,” I whisper. I force a swallow, her eyes going to my throat. I want, need to kiss her, to wrap her up and never let her go. But I don’t. “I have to work today.”
“But it’s Sunday.”
“I know,” I say, rubbing her skin with the pads of my thumbs. “And I’m sorry. But I have to do it.”
Her face falls and I pull my hands away. She tears her eyes away from mine. “I know. I’m sorry. I know you’re doing this for Ever and I—”
“No,” I say softly, “I’m doing this for us. For Ever. For you,” I grin. “And for me because I can’t live without either one of you.”
Her eyes go wide and a breath catches in her throat. I know saying it out loud, cut and fucking dry, is probably a bit much, but I can’t help it.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that,” I say.
“I love that you did.”
Things are starting to get complicated and, for both our sakes, I need to keep them simple.
“I’ll be back later.” I grab a bottle of water off the counter and start to leave.
“Crew?” she calls, her voice shaky.
I turn to look at her.
“I’ve missed you.”
The swell of warmth hits me from head to toe. “I’ve missed you, too.”
JULIA
I cinch a pair of sweatpants around my waist. I have lost a few pounds in the past couple of weeks. My appetite has been non-existent with everything going on. I’ve been able to eat a little this week since being back at Crew’s—or home, for all intents and purposes—but not enough to make up for the days of eating nothing.
I settle into the sofa and try to doze off but sleep doesn’t come. I’m too tired to actually sleep, which seems crazy, but I know it’s true. With the interruptions and buzzers and monitors going off all week, plus the stress of everything, I’m past the point of needing rest. I need solutions.
Ever has done well in her first week of treatment, but the therapy still eludes us. She was denied again this week by the board and the insurance. The doctors are being very cautious as to what they say to me . . .
I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to let my mind reel. A counselor came in and talked to me, explained the stages of emotions I might and might not feel. I’ve accepted the fact that she is sick; seeing her lay in the hospital bed for a week helped that hit home. Now I’m just angry about the whole thing.
Why my daughter? Haven’t I had enough pain in my life?
I’m trying to stay calm for Ever’s sake, trying to keep my head on my shoulders. But it’s getting hard. I’ve never been a particularly violent person, but I’d cut the throats of the people that denied Ever the therapy without a second thought. I’m sure those people have the money if their children get sick.
Bastards.
I know the doctors are doing everything they can and Ever seems to be handling everything really well. They said that’s a good sign, to be not panicking over the therapy yet. They’ll explore other options . . . and I’ll pray for a miracle and try to keep myself sane by controlling the little things, the things I can control. It gives me some sense of being anchored, of not spiraling out of control, while I figure out the big things.
I fixed Crew dinner earlier tonight, just as I had all week. I’d been too exhausted to stay up the first few days we’d been home, so I wrapped it up and left it in the microwave to heat up. I figure it’s the very least I can do for all he’s doing for us. This second job he’s taken on is keeping him from getting home ‘til late every night. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but he’s getting banged up a bit. It’s really wearing him down. And I hate that. I hate seeing him work himself to death but, at the same time, I’ve never seen something so beautiful. A man doing absolutely everything he possibly can to help a child he loves.
This whole situation has changed me. I’ve heard cancer changes people, but I never could’ve dreamed how without going through it like we are. Old grudges and hurt feelings don’t matter. Worries about what other people think seem silly when death is facing you head on. All that matters is that you’re right with your life and are as happy as you can be. Life goes on, even when you’re dealing with cancer. The world doesn’t stop. Feelings, life, relationships . . . none of that stops because you have to deal with the illness.
And that’s partially why I called my parents today. It had been weighing on my conscious. I am their daughter and Ever their only grandchild. Maybe my parents are assholes most of the time, but they are my parents.
I didn’t tell Crew I called them because I know he’d be angry. It wasn’t a lengthy conversation, anyway, and I’m not sure my ma was sober enough to even realize what I was saying. But it was off my chest and I could cross that off my mind.
Sitting up at the sound of the door opening and shutting, I see the light in the kitchen bounce off the walls of the hallway. His bag drops to the floor and I hear his shoes hit the tile before he comes around the corner.
I haven’t been up when he’s gotten home from work this week, so I’m surprised to see him in gym shorts and no shirt. Before I can ask him about it, he spots me on the sofa.
“Hey. What are you doin’ up?” he asks.
“Can’t sleep.”
“Ever okay?” He looks alarmed and glances down the hallway.
“She’s staying with Olivia.”
He raises his eyebrows and I know the feeling. I’m not thrilled she stayed there, either.
“She came by and Ever wanted to go with her,” I shrug helplessly. “She was feeling good and cried when I told her she couldn’t go. I can’t keep her from having fun, living her life, can I? Olivia is like a grandma to her.” Suddenly, I feel like I made the wrong decision. I start to stand. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let her go.”
“No, you did the right thing,” he says, walking across the room. “She’s safe with her.” He
sits down beside me and I notice a big bruise on the side of his thigh.
“What happened?” I ask, pulling back the leg of his gray shorts to get a better look.
“Got hit at work. It’s fine. Just a bruise.”
“You look like you just got home from the gym,” I point out, my curiosity peaked.
He laughs. “Well, I did get a workout in tonight. That’s for sure.” And by his tone, I know he’s done talking about it. I can’t question him on it; it’s not my place. Even if he went to the gym after work, there’s no harm in that. God knows he’s giving every other hour of his life to us. “You staying up for a while?”
I yawn and shrug. “I don’t know if I can sleep. I tried to while I waited on you to get home . . .”
“You waited on me?” he asks cheekily.
I shrug again, my cheeks heating. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
“Let me grab a shower and a bite to eat. Then maybe we can watch a movie or something?” His gaze is heavy, his voice controlled. The combination makes my stomach flutter.
I can only nod.
He smiles in return and heads to the shower. He disappears down the hallway and I take a deep breath. The smell of his skin, his sweat, is thick in the air. It is overwhelming in the very best way, in total contrast to the overwhelming odor of antiseptic and disease at the hospital.
Crew’s in and out of the shower in a flash. I hear the microwave kick on in the kitchen and before I know it, he’s walking back in the room. He has on a pair of black sweatpants and is carrying the plate of food I left him.
He’s shirtless and his body takes my breath away. He’s lean and toned beyond belief. His ab muscles ripple with every step, his shoulders rigid and strong. His arms are cut without flexing.
I spy the tattoos I know exist. There’s an “M” for Minnesota on his right shoulder and “Ma” written in script over his heart. “Gage” is on his right forearm in block letters and I know “GENTRY” is written boldly across his back. It was his first tattoo.
He sits the plate on the table in front of us and collapses back onto the couch, wincing.
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