Love Always, Kate

by D. Nichole King

  “Yeah,” I said. “I do, too.”

  He laid his controller on his lap, and his face got serious. “He loves you.”

  My breath caught. “How do you know that?”

  “By the way he looks at you,” Brennan said, shrugging. “Plus he told me.”

  He picked up his blue controller and chose a new set of races to beat me on. A lump suddenly materialized in my throat.

  “Wait, he told you what?”

  “Hmm-hmm,” Brennan nodded. “Enough to marry you.”

  I laughed as I envisioned that conversation. His childhood innocence was adorable.

  “Well, he’s never told me that.”

  “My mom says it’s hard for some guys to say. But it doesn’t make it not-true. She always tells me how much my dad loved me, even though he didn’t say it much.”

  Loved?

  “Where’s your dad now?” I held my breath as soon as I said it.

  “He died three years ago. Motorcycle accident.”

  Oh.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “It’s okay. He’s in Heaven now.” The way he said it warmed me. Always looking up. “Are we gonna play?”

  “Come on, Donkey Kong, let’s start this race!” I said, sitting up into my primo racing position.

  After four more races, I still lost. Brennan was doing a victory dance around the Commons. I was giggling at him when I suddenly started to feel dizzy. The laughter died out, and I leaned back on the sofa, wrapping my elbow over my forehead to block out the light.

  I heard Brennan beside me. “Hey, Kate? Kate? What’s wrong? Want me to get Leslie?”

  I took a few deep breaths in and out. In and Out. Thankfully, the dizziness dissipated, but a headache would probably plague me that evening.

  “I’m fine. Just got a little dizzy, that’s all,” I assured him, forcing a grin.

  “Hey! Damian!” Brennan exclaimed, forgetting me and bounding to the doorway.

  “Hey, dude.”

  “I beat Kate on eight races,” the little boy bragged.

  “Whoa! Next time, pick on someone your own size. She’s a lightweight,” Damian teased. He walked over and kissed me.

  “Can I race you?” Brennan asked, standing at Damian’s side.

  Damian was about to answer when Leslie poked her head in. “Time to unhook you, Brennan.”

  “Oh man!” Brennan sulked.

  “Hey, next time, bud,” Damian said, giving Brennan a high five.

  “Bye, Kate. I hope you feel better.” Brennan followed Leslie out the door.

  I waved a hand over my head. “Thanks, kid.”

  Damian’s brows furrowed. “What happened?”

  “I had a little dizzy spell, that’s all. I’m fine,” I repeated.

  He glared at me for a few seconds before he dropped it. Moving closer, he folded me against his chest, kissing the top of my head.

  “I missed you,” he whispered.

  “Not more than I missed you.” I wrapped my arms around his waist. “How was school?”

  “A royal pain in the ass,” he answered, but when I glanced up at him, he was smiling. “Help me again?”

  To answer, I pulled him to my lips and kissed him.

  “Hmm-hmm.” A voice at the doorway interrupted us. We both turned.

  Leslie stood with her hands on her hips. “G-rated room, you two.”

  “Well,” Damian said, rising to his feet and offering me his hand. “In that case, I know an empty room we could…”

  “Sit down, Romeo,” Leslie teased.

  “I’ll be right back.” I laughed and kissed his dimpled cheek.

  I felt his gaze on my back as I followed Leslie out of the Commons and into the chemo room. Falling into the chair, I began to feel light-headed again. All around me the clear lines of walls and furniture, IV poles and medication, started to blur into a poorly replicated Van Gogh painting.

  I didn’t feel myself slump lower in the chair. Nor could I respond to the fuzzy sound of Leslie’s voice calling my name. The blinding light shone even brighter, causing my eyelids to close. My throat tightened.

  I thought I heard a thunder of footsteps run into the room. I was suffocating. Voices—I couldn’t decipher how many—ripped through my ear canals. I tried to cover them before my head exploded, but I didn’t know if my hands moved or not.

  My head pounded, and I wanted to throw up. The heaving in my stomach increased as my lungs cried out for oxygen. I vomited.

  I just wanted everyone to stop moving, stop talking. I wanted the lights off so I could sleep. The room felt smaller than normal, like the walls were closing in, crushing me. All over, my body got tighter and tighter.

  Then it stopped. The burning quenched. The sounds dissipated, and the lights darkened.

  Warmth cascaded through me. My muscles relaxed, and my stomach calmed as I drifted to sleep.

  ~*~

  When I opened my eyes, my mother was sitting next to me holding my hand.

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  I rubbed my temples, trying to remember what had happened. I scanned the chemo room. It was just Mom and me.

  “Where’s Damian?” My voice cracked.

  Mom’s gaze dropped, and she shook her head. “Sweetie, I didn’t know you hadn’t told him yet.”

  Like a kick in the stomach, pain radiated from my gut through the rest of my body.

  Finding a renewed sense of strength, I sat up. “What did you tell him?”

  “That you were no longer responding to treatments. You’re considering an experimental drug, and you’ll stay on the bone marrow transplant list.” She squeezed my hand. “I think he went to find his father.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  Mom sighed. “Eight hours.”

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I’ve got to go find him.”

  “Kate,” she said, standing in front of me. “You passed out and—”

  “Am I being admitted?” My tone sounded a little harder than I intended.

  “Leslie—”

  “Am I. Being. Admitted?” I repeated, getting to my feet.

  Mom shook her head. “No, but—”

  “I’m fine. Please.”

  Stepping aside, my mother patted my shoulder, guilt flooding her face.

  “Thanks Mom,” I said and kissed her cheek.

  I hurried out the door, wondering where to start searching. As I passed the nurses’ station, one of the night-shift nurses asked me how I was doing and if I needed anything.

  “Is Dr. Lowell in his office?”

  “I think so,” she replied.

  Without thanking her, I ran down the hall and rounded the corner to Dr. Lowell’s office. The door was cracked as usual, but I still knocked.

  “Come in.” His voice sounded strained.

  Slowly, I pushed the door open. Dr. Lowell was sitting behind his desk flipping through a stack of medical files.

  “Kate,” he said, taking off his glasses. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Thank you.”

  “The migraines—”

  “I’m not here about that, actually.”

  Dr. Lowell nodded.

  “Where is he?” My voice hung in the air.

  Dr. Lowell rubbed the stubble on his chin. “He came to me after your mother talked to him. I only confirmed what she said, nothing more.”

  “And now?”

  “Probably home with a bottle of Jack. Here,” Dr. Lowell wrote something on a piece of paper. “You’ll need this to get into the house.”

  I took the key code, thanked him and walked to the door. When I got there, I swung around.

  “You’re okay with his drinking?”

  My doctor sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”

  I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to speak, then closed it, too disgusted to say anything. For emphasis, I slammed the door on my way out.

  B
ecause it was late, the parking lot was emptier than usual. I ran to my car and jumped in. Without allowing the engine to warm up, I threw it into drive and sped onto the street, heading to Lincoln Place Drive.

  Visions of how I’d find Damian when I got to his house flashed in my mind. Fear flushed my face at each picture. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, wishing I’d just told him.

  The traffic light turned red, and I squealed to a stop, jerking my body forward then back against the seat. I laid my head back against the headrest, reminding myself to breathe.

  “Come on, come on, come on.”

  As I waited for the light, I tapped the top of the steering wheel with my fingers. I considered running it when there was a break in traffic, but my foot didn’t leave the brake pedal until it changed to green. My tires spun before the car finally sped forward.

  Pulling into the Lowells’ driveway, memories of our Christmas date filled my mind. Tonight, all the Christmas lights seemed dim in comparison. The house itself loomed in despair. No lights graced the windows.

  I stepped out of the car in less of a hurry than before. Now that I was there, I had to convince myself to keep moving. My arms ached to be wrapped around Damian’s body, but all I could envision was the sorrow that would be behind his sea-blue eyes.

  Standing on the entryway of the door, I paused, resting my forehead against it. What would I find inside?

  If he falls for you, and you die, it will kill him.

  I took a deep breath, remembering how I hadn’t seen any full bottles of alcohol in his room the last time. My spirits lifted slightly.

  I dug in my pocket for the key code and punched it in the pad. The little green light glowed, and I opened the door.

  “Damian?” I said quietly.

  Please, just be asleep.

  The foyer was dark. I stopped and listened, hoping for some clue as to where he was in the massive house. Dead silence stung my ears. A knot formed in my stomach as I scanned the room.

  Something else didn’t feel right, though. Goose bumps formed over my arms.

  I patted the walls for a light switch. After almost knocking over a vase, I found the switches and flipped them all on. I’m not sure what I expected with the lights on, but nothing seemed different.

  My eyes drifted to the entrance to the den. Clenching my fists, I walked across the foyer. All I heard was the beating of my own heart and the heaviness of my breath.

  I fumbled inside the doorway for the light switch, silently hoping not to find what I feared. Maybe Damian was just asleep on the sofa. And maybe this feeling in the pit of my stomach was my imagination. Then the smell of alcohol stung my nostrils.

  When I flipped on the light, my stomach lurched. Beer cans littered the floor, most only partially drank and pouring out onto the hardwood floor and Persian rug. Half-empty vodka and whisky bottles laid on their sides on the end tables. It looked as though he’d opened them, drank some, then dumped the rest. Damian wasn’t there.

  I returned to the foyer. “Damian?” I hollered up the stairs.

  A sense of urgency took over, making me dart up the stairs. My clammy hands balled at my sides. I hurried through the shadows. There was only one room I had in mind, and the more I thought about it, the colder I got.

  My hand shook as it reached for the doorknob of Damian’s bedroom door. I paused for a second before pushing it open. My heart pounded.

  I almost turned around at the smell that wafted out of the room. Quickly, I placed a hand over my face, trying to breathe in some sort of freshness. There wasn’t any. I lifted my shirt up over my mouth and nose and held on tight. My stomach churned, and I fought the urge to throw up and add to the horrific odor of vomit and alcohol already in the room.

  Holding my breath, I turned on the light. Wide-eyed, I dropped my hand, letting my shirt fall back into place. A few seconds passed before I realized the scream filling the room belonged to me.

  Chapter 17

  I had expected to see Damian passed out. The rest of it, however, made my insides shake. Yanking the cell from my pocket, I dialed 911 as I strode over to where Damian lay on his bed, surrounded by a pool of his own vomit.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “I need…I need an ambulance.”

  Stunned, I knelt next to him, taking in his pale skin and sunken sockets.

  “Are you injured, ma’am?”

  “No. Not me. He’s…he’s passed out.”

  “And where are you, ma’am?”

  I don’t know how many times she repeated her question before I gave her the address and the key code Dr. Lowell had given me.

  “I’m sending an ambulance now, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” I said, dazed. I didn’t recognize my own voice.

  “Ma’am? Stay on the phone with me, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” I repeated, not taking my eyes off Damian. Without hanging up, I allowed the phone to slip from my hand and fall to the floor.

  I took a couple of steps backward, staring at his lifeless body. Was he breathing? Holding my breath, I stood perfectly still watching until I saw his chest rise and fall slightly. Then I let the oxygen out of my lungs.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you there?” The voice on the other end of my phone grew louder.

  The words woke me from my trance. A bottle of Scotch, half drunk and without the lid, had poured out on his bed, a few beer cans lay on the floor covered with vomit, and an array of cigarettes were crushed into the carpet. I covered my mouth with my hand.

  Squeaky whimpers sounded in my throat.

  Blood had dried down the inside of his forearm. I glared at it, unable to process what I saw.

  “Send two ambulances.” The operator sounded muffled. “The girl who called…”

  What? Me?

  As if on their own, my eyes glided to the phone. I don’t remember picking it off the floor and hanging up, but the voice on the other end stopped talking. With the phone still in my hand, I swallowed. It took everything I had to remember how to breathe. Heat flowed through my body, burning in my veins. I slipped the phone in my pocket on autopilot.

  Listening to the sound of thick silence, I fixed on the way Damian’s legs fell over the edge of his bed. His head lay cocked to the side with one hand over his chestnut hair, the other sprawled out over the blanket. Without thinking, I yanked the tourniquet off his arm and threw it as far across the room as I could.

  “I thought you cared about me!”

  I wanted to beat on his chest. “I thought you—”

  Shaking, I reached down and took his hand in mine and squeezed too hard. With my lids closed, I lifted his hand to my lips.

  If he falls for you, and you die…Katie, it’ll kill him.

  I dropped his hand as if it were on fire.

  No. NO!

  Talking a few steps backward, I locked on Damian’s ghost-like face.

  I should have told him. He should have found out from me. I should have been there.

  “Damian, I’m so sorry!”

  My whole body trembled as I stood against the closet doors for support. A mixture of anger, fear, and regret shot out in small gasps. Then I’d calm myself for a few seconds before another round began. No matter what I did, I couldn’t look away.

  Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead. Wiping them away, my knees buckled and I lost my balance, landing on the floor. I couldn’t get back up; I didn’t want to. Instead, I curled my legs up to my chest, and stared out in front of me.

  That’s how the paramedics found me. I never heard them come into the house or walk upstairs. I don’t even remember them coming into Damian’s room. One second my eyes were concentrated on Damian, the next, a bright light blinded me.

  EMTs spoke to me, but I don’t know what they said or if I answered. One took my blood pressure and another put an oxygen mask up to my face. I tried to shake it off because it blocked my view of what another group was doing to my boyfriend.

  A paramedic picked some
thing up off the bed beside Damian. He put it to his nose, a grimace appearing on his face.

  “Heroin,” he said, showing the woman taking Damian’s blood pressure the needle.

  “Bag it,” she instructed.

  I don’t know what happened next because I started getting dizzy.

  “Her blood pressure is sixty over thirty-five. We’ve got to get her to a hospital, now,” someone said.

  “Dami…Da…” I breathed.

  “He’ll be fine,” a woman’s voice assured me.

  “But…”

  I don’t remember anything else.

  ~*~

  When I awoke, I was alone in my hospital room. The sun sprinkled glitter through the window. My mouth felt like cotton, and I didn’t see a glass of water anywhere. I thought about buzzing a nurse when the door to my room opened.

  Dr. Lowell walked through quietly until he noticed I was awake. Then his shoulders fell, and he made his way over to my bed. He didn’t have a hold of my chart, and his lips were pulled tight.

  “Kate—”

  “How’s Damian?” I wasn’t messing around. I had to know.

  “He’s fine. I’m more concerned about you right now.” His eyes met mine on the last sentence.

  “Me? Your son is falling apart and—” My nostrils flared.

  “Kate.” Dr. Lowell assured me with a hand on my shoulder. “I know. I’m taking care of it. Thank you for caring about him when I…”

  His gaze dropped to the floor, sadness filling his aging features. He shifted his weight before resuming our conversation.

  “I’m letting you go home today, but I need you to stay home and rest. You’ve overworked yourself the last couple of days, and your body can’t handle it, Kate. Your mother is—”

  “What do my parents know?” My voice was barely a whisper.

  “No. They think it’s alcohol poisoning. But if they ask, Kate—”

  “They won’t.”

  I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I gripped the edge of the blanket to ease the trembling.

  “I’m not giving up on him,” I said in the same tone as before. Then I glanced up at my doctor’s face. “And neither should you.”

  His lines softened. He said nothing for a few seconds. “Take care of yourself, Kate.”