Harper could practically feel the fumes coming off her head as if she were a cartoon character. She didn’t owe anyone an explanation about why her doctor was calling, even someone who knew her secret. That the someone was Brandon was tantamount to salt in a wound. But there was nothing she could do to change the fact that five years earlier, a few days after their first and only date, Brandon had found her crying in the lobby of the medical building that housed both his prosthetist and her oncologist, after she’d received the test results that she’d been dreading. Vulnerable and scared, she’d let herself lean. To this day, he still wasn’t letting her live it down.
“Like I told you, it’s none of your business.”
Scowling, he strode past her and grabbed the phone from Susan before Harper could react. He punched the hold button. “Hello, Doctor. Harper asked me to confirm, is this Dr. Nguyen, her oncologist?”
Harper grabbed for the phone, but his free hand closed around her wrist. He torqued it at a funny angle that made her stumble back until she was trapped between the wall and his body, right there in front of her employees and the bar patrons, everyone. Her face flushed hot.
“Uh-huh,” he said into the phone. “Hello, Dr. Nguyen. Please tell me you’re calling to convince her to get the surgery, like I’ve been telling her to for years.”
She smacked him on the shoulder and made another play for the phone, but he responded by pinning her body even tighter against the wall. His scowl deepened. “Yeah, I understand you can’t discuss it with me. I’m just sayin’, enough is enough with this Russian roulette. It’s not like her risks decrease the longer she waits.”
“It’s none of your goddamn business,” Harper hissed. Opting against surgery wasn’t precisely Russian roulette because she underwent extensive testing several times a year that would alert them to the first signs of trouble. But he’d been right about the risks inherent in the mutated BRCA1 gene she carried. She was living with a cancer bomb inside her that arguably carried a more than fifty percent chance of detonating at any moment, according to some of her doctors. More like eighty percent when they factored in her family history.
Furious at him, she wiggled her wrist, but she was unwilling to get in a wrestling match with him in front of her employees and customers. How dare he do this to her in her place of business. How dare he have a conversation with her doctor as though he had any right to an opinion about her life and her health.
He was silent another moment, listening, then, “Yes. I’m sorry you’ve had trouble reaching her by phone this week. Oh, she missed her appointment last week, too? And this week? Hmmm.” He narrowed his eyes at her, shaking his head. “Yes, I happen to have her right here, actually.” And he shoved the phone up against her ear. “Say hello to Dr. Nguyen, Harper.”
“I hate you,” she said, taking the phone in her free hand.
His scowl intensified. “I’m not so crazy about you at this exact moment, either.”
With a disgusted shake of her head, she looked away. “Hello, Dr. Nguyen. I’ve been meaning to call you back.”
Brandon snorted at that. He released her right wrist, but his body remained crowded against hers.
She tightened her grip on the phone, fantasizing that it was Brandon’s neck. Anything to take her mind off her pounding heart and dizziness. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to hear what Dr. Nguyen was going to say.
She shoved against Brandon, fighting to escape his hold. “Just a sec, Doctor. Let me get to my office so we can talk in privacy.”
Then, Brandon backed up enough for her to slip away. She pressed hold again and set the receiver in the cradle. Without looking up from her feet, she pushed through the double swinging doors to the kitchen. It came as no surprise that Brandon followed.
“Did something change with your test results this time?” he asked.
Harper dodged a waitress, then another, and then a line cook hurrying across the room with a frying pan. “I don’t know yet.”
But she did know. Something had changed inside of her; she could feel it. She could smell the change on her skin and in her hair, as crazy as that sounded. Could one actually smell cancer? “There’s at least a twenty-five percent chance I’ll live my entire life cancer free. With careful monitoring and—”
“If you’re avoiding your doctor’s calls then you’re not monitoring it carefully.”
She whirled to face him at her office door. “Yeah, I get that. Why are you being so bullish about this?”
He folded his hands over his chest, his eyes narrowed. “You might find this hard to believe, but I care about you.”
Sure, right. Yet next week he was leaving town for good. She gripped her office door handle. “Once you move to Miami, there are decent odds we’ll never see each other again.”
“You’ll be with me for a few days down there.”
No, she wouldn’t, but Dr. Nguyen was waiting on the phone, and so opening this can of worms with Brandon had been a mistake. For the purpose of saving time, she’d let him hang on to that fantasy a little bit longer. “And after that?”
He mashed his lips together, his jaw rippling. For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to answer her. “After that, I think you’re right. It’d probably be best for both of us if we severed our ties for good.”
She’d been the one to bring it up, and he was only agreeing with her assessment of their non-existent future, but her heart still gave a rippling squeeze of pain to hear it from him. But she wasn’t going to let the hurt show on her face. “I agree. So back off and let me handle my health on my own terms.”
Nodding, he backed up a step and watched her close the door. Alone in her office, she was too agitated to sit. She lifted the receiver of the phone, pressed the hold button, then paced to the window and stared absentmindedly at the bricks on the wall of building across the alley from Locks. “Thanks for waiting, Dr. Nguyen.”
“That’s okay. Listen, I’m going to get right to it. You missed your appointment last week and then the rescheduled appointment this week. I don’t like doing this over the phone, Ms. Johnson—Harper—but it’s critical that you hear me out. Time is of the essence.”
For some crazy reason, the sound of her first name was what shocked her spine straight and her mind clear, more than the urgent gravity of his tone. He’d been her oncologist since her BRCA1 gene testing and he’d never once called her by her first name before.
She pressed a hand to the thick line of cool bricks lining the window. This was it. This was the conversation that was going to change her life. “So I was right. It’s bad news.”
He was quiet for a beat, then, “That depends on if you’re a glass half-full or a glass half-empty type of person.” Half empty. As much as she longed to be an optimist, cancer had robbed her and her family of too much.
“Just give it to me straight.”
“Fair enough. Your blood tests came back with concerns, so I had the radiologist take a second look at your mammogram. He found a shadow in your right breast.”
A shadow. That’s how it had started for her mom. She closed her eyes and sagged onto the brick windowsill, letting her legs give out like they threatened to. At least she’d had the good sense to take this call in the privacy of her office.
“I understand,” she said, her voice carefully modulated. “I suppose a biopsy is next?”
“That would be ideal, but in your case, the shadow’s too small to biopsy successfully, unless it’s grown substantially since your mammogram three weeks ago. Which means you’ll probably have a tough choice to make. First, you need to come to my office to undergo more testing and so we can accurately discuss what those choices are.”
“I’m assuming they’re the same as they always were, beginning with a prophylactic double mastectomy.”
“It wouldn’t be considered prophylactic anymore because of the shadow. A
nd now, your new choices potentially include, depending on the results of our additional testing, a single mastectomy of your right breast, a lumpectomy, chemotherapy, and/or radiation. Or, the least advisable, wait on any action and continue to monitor the situation closely.”
Those were the worst options she’d ever heard in her life. “When should I come in?”
“I have you down for first thing Friday morning. Eight o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
“You’d better. Don’t think I’m too busy to come to your bar and drag you out of there.” Harper couldn’t help but smile at that. She’d seen Dr. Nguyen every three months for the past five years, and they’d reached a level of familiarity that was comforting, if not occasionally maddening. “Better yet, put your boyfriend back on the phone. I’ll tell him, too. He’ll make sure you come in.”
“Not my boyfriend and definitely not my babysitter. I’ll be there. I promise.”
“You should know that I took the liberty of starting the process of booking an operating room for a mastectomy. These things take time to arrange and you deserve the best team I can assemble. We can always cancel, depending on what you choose, but at least the wheels are in motion.”
She pressed her forehead to the glass. God, this sucked. “Thank you. That’s good.” The words came out as a croak. Damn it. She cleared her throat and snapped her posture straight and tall. Tough. Proud. She might be relegated to a fate of dying of breast cancer like her mother, her aunt, and her grandmother, and so many cousins, but she was going to do it with dignity.
“I’ll see you on Friday, Harper. Try to get some rest until then.”
“I’ll try. Thank you, Doctor.”
When Dr. Nguyen hung up, she let her mind wander, her empty gaze staring at nothing in particular through the window. When she was twenty-four, she’d sacrificed her ovaries and fallopian tubes because of a possible shadow that the pathologists couldn’t even find to biopsy after surgery. And though she’d frozen eggs so she could keep hold of her dream of bearing children, she’d had to sacrifice that, too, when she found out she was a BRCA1 mutation carrier. The odds of passing along the gene, as well as the heartache and pain that came with it and from having a mother who carried the mutation, were too steep.
Even if she didn’t pass the gene to her child, nothing would save him or her from the dire odds of having to watch their mother wither and die from cancer, as Harper had endured as a teenager. When and if cancer took her, she didn’t want the added pain of knowing she was leaving behind a child to bear the grief.
The office door opened. She lifted her heavy eyelids and watched Brandon walk in. He dropped into the chair across the desk. “Are you okay?”
She walked to the desk and set the phone receiver in its cradle. It was none of anybody’s business but hers. Not her friends’, not her relatives’, and especially not Brandon’s. “Our bet’s off. And I’d like you to leave.”
His face blanched. “Are you saying that because of what Dr. Nguyen told you?”
“No. I’m saying that because I don’t have time to waste on men who only want something temporary from me. Life is temporary enough.”
He rotated his jaw. “What did the doctor say?”
“He told me I have an appointment on Friday. Are you happy now?” She bit her lip. His happiness wasn’t a factor in her life or her choices.
“No. I wish you had a different reality than this. That’s what would’ve made me happy. What time do you want me to pick you up for the appointment?”
Huh? “I don’t need you to escort me. I’m not going to stand up Dr. Nguyen. And, at the risk of repeating myself, our bet’s off.”
He pushed up from the chair and headed toward the exit. “Whatever Dr. Nguyen told you that you’re not sharing with me, it changes nothing. Our bet rides.”
With a curse under her breath, she followed him back through the kitchen. “Damn it, Brandon, you can’t just railroad over my wishes.”
He spun around. His hand slammed onto the steel near her ear. Gasping, she pressed her back against the stainless-steel refrigerator door as he loomed over her.
“No, not damn it, Brandon.” He speared a finger at her, tapping her shirt over her heart. “Damn it, Harper. Because nothing’s changed. You still need help with your problems at the bar, and I still need you in Miami.” Then his expression softened. He cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing her lips. “No matter what’s going on with your health, and maybe even more so because of it, we both need that. After all this time, why won’t you give yourself to me?”
She stretched her neck, cocking her head to extricate her lips from under his thumb. “As I told you last night, I doesn’t matter what I want or what you think I need. I have responsibilities. I don’t have time to go off gallivanting with you in Miami.”
Though his expression remained warm and needful, he raised an eyebrow, letting her know without words that he didn’t believe one iota of her argument.
Of their own accord, her hands lifted to his chest to trace the outline of the muscles beneath his shirt. They really could have been something, the two of them. “Our bet’s off,” she breathed into the heavy silence.
The hand on her jaw tightened, holding her in place as his face lowered toward hers. “Yeah, I heard what you said.”
She parted her lips, her eyes closing. This didn’t mean anything. Their bet was still off and he was still walking out of her life for good the following week but, damn, she loved kissing him. She was going to miss that so much when he left. Nothing made her toes curl and her body melt like Brandon’s lips and tongue working their magic on her mouth.
His lips brushed hers with a feather-light touch, teasing, tempted.
She hooked a hand around his neck and pulled him to her as she rose on her tiptoes, begging him without words to take her mouth hard and fast like he knew she loved.
Straightening, he peeled her hand from his neck and stepped back, giving her a once-over. Judging by the smirk of ego dancing in his eyes and lips, he relished seeing her reduced to the unsatisfied puddle of need he’d created. Jerk.
He licked his lower lip. “I’ll see you at the game tomorrow night.”
Chapter Three
Brandon shouldered through the front door of the Iceplex and froze midstep as the aroma of freshly baked cookies smacked him hard in the face. He dropped his hockey bag on the floor. “Are you shitting me?”
Theo Lacroix, one of his Bomb Squad teammates, was leaning against the check-in counter and chatting with Jay, the weeknight front desk clerk. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s with the cookie smell?”
“New offering at the snack bar,” Jay said.
“Just terrific.” Brandon had embraced a lifestyle of clean eating long before his first modeling gig, and he rarely felt deprived or got cravings because his body felt terrible when he ate crappy, low-quality food. The only exception was cookies. Chocolate chip cookies that evoked the memory of the ones his mom was fond of making, specifically.
If the Iceplex was going to smell like cookies from now on, then it was a good thing he was leaving soon because that would get real irritating, real fast.
Theo pushed away from the counter, smirking. “You got something against cookies? Because that would be downright un-American.”
Jay chortled. “Says the Canadian.”
Brandon struck an exaggerated bodybuilding pose, poking fun at himself. “You think I keep this physique by eating cookies?”
“No, and you also don’t keep that physique by flexing for yourself in the mirror, but that never stops you.”
The only reason Brandon ever flexed while looking in a mirror was when a photographer required it at a shoot, but truth didn’t really have a place in an old-fashioned razzing like his teammates were fond of dishing out to him ever since his first modeling gig. Damn, he w
as going to miss these guys.
The locker room was half-full of players. He sucked in the dank locker room odor until his stomach turned, and he couldn’t have conjured the craving for a cookie if he’d tried. Yeah, neither of those smells would be things he’d miss after he was gone. Not that cataloguing a few unpleasant smells would make it any easier to say good-bye to the team that had been his rock for five years.
He stood just inside the locker room door, taking in the sight of his teammates, who were more like honorary brothers. They were sprawled around the room, shucking their piles of hockey gear, teasing one another, and going over plays for that night’s game against the Slap Dragons. He would miss this like hell.
A glove pelted him in the side of the head.
“Hey, space cadet, what gives?” Will Corgan called from his left.
Brandon reached down and scooped up the glove to chuck it back at Will, but remained hunched over, the glove in his hand, frozen. Clearing his throat, he straightened and looked Will in the eye. “I’m leaving.”
A shot of anguish ripped through him. It shouldn’t be this tough to move on, but these were the men who pulled him up when he was at his lowest. They taught him how to skate, that skating was even possible for amputees. He’d been prepping the guys in subtle ways for weeks, dropping hints about the opportunities he had, not only in Miami, but in New York City, Los Angeles, and Paris. He loved living in Destiny Falls and playing for Bomb Squad, but he wasn’t about to squander his second chance at life for the comfort of the familiar.
Will’s brows raised like Brandon was nuts. “We all are. Duke hates it when we’re late on the ice before a game.”
Brandon huffed and shook his head. So much for the power of his big announcement. “No, I meant, I’ve been putting it off for too long, telling you guys, but it’s time for you to know. I’m leaving Destiny Falls. I’m moving to Miami next week.”
Game Changer Page 4