Game Changer

by Melissa Cutler

  “Right,” Brandon said. “You’re hired.”

  Harper swung her wide-eyed gaze from Will to Brandon, so Brandon gave her his best shit-eating grin.

  “You can start on Monday at five, Will,” Harper said, her gaze still trained on Brandon.

  Brandon slapped Will’s shoulder, then picked up the remaining camera sign for the restroom hallway and tucked it under his arm. “Got that drill, Liam? Let’s take this party inside.”

  ***

  Harper watched Brandon and Liam hang another ugly sign, this one at the end of the hallway containing the restrooms and an employee entrance, still clinging to her disbelief that he was actually going to pull off his side of the bet.

  “Harper?”

  She spun at the sound of her voice and found Kayla smiling at her.

  “I just stopped by to let you know that I checked in with my grandma and told her what was going on.”

  “How’d she take it?”

  Kayla’s eyes went wide and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Better than grandpa. We called a truce for tonight and decided to talk more in the morning, when they’re better rested.”

  Harper ushered her out of the hallway and toward the bar. “Sounds like I owe you that beer now.” She flagged Susan over, who took Kayla’s order.

  “Are you staying here tonight or with your grandparents?” Harper asked.

  “I’m going to stay with them, at least for tonight, I think. But thank you for your offer to bunk here.”

  “It still stands. You’ve got six weeks until boot camp. That’s a long time, and I could still use a temporary roommate to help me out.”

  “Yeah, about those health issues you mentioned,” Presley said, materializing behind Harper and Kayla. With her were Allison, Olivia, and Marlena.

  Harper’s stomach dropped. “Kayla, stay here and enjoy your beer. I need to have a word with my friends, if you’ll excuse me.”

  When they’d moved out of earshot from Kayla, Presley said, “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight unless you tell me what’s going on with this mysterious health issue you’ve alluded to, so it’s time for you to come clean.”

  Harper searched her friends’ faces. She didn’t want to come clean. She wanted to keep on ignoring the unpleasantness as long as possible.

  Marlena found Harper’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s go up to your apartment, where we can talk in private.”

  Harper nodded. Presley was right. It was time to share her secret.

  Inside her apartment, her friends gathered around her kitchen table, but Harper was too jittery to sit. “Can I get you guys tea? Wine?”

  Presley fanned her fingers out on the table. “Just spill it. You’ve got my hands shaking, I’m so worried.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry.” Harper dropped into the empty chair and folded her hands on the table, keeping her focus on her fingers so she wouldn’t have to look at her friends’ worried expressions. “I have a mutated BRCA1 gene. I was diagnosed with it about five years ago. And before you get on me for not telling you, just know I had my reason.” And that reason was that she wanted to ignore it.

  The table was quiet, then Allison asked gently, “What’s BRCA1?”

  “It’s been in the news a lot recently. A lot of people pronounce it like bracca. Some articles I’ve seen about it call it the breast cancer gene, which is only partially true. It’s a genetic marker for a lot of different cancers.”

  Presley gasped. “Oh my God. I’ve heard of that. That’s what Angelina Jolie has.”

  “Yes. I mean, I think, though I’m not up-and-up on her particulars.”

  Marlena covered Harper’s hands with one of hers. “Your mom died of breast cancer, right?”

  “Yes. And my aunt. And my grandmother. And their mutated gene was passed to me.”

  Chairs scooted closer. More hands touched Harper, on her arms and shoulders, though she kept her gaze on the table, knowing she’d lose it if she looked at her friends directly. “You found out about the gene five years ago?”

  “Yes. My doctors had been after me for a few years to get tested. Not just because of my family history but because when I was twenty-four, pre-cancerous cells were found in one of my ovaries, so I had surgery to remove my ovaries and my fallopian tubes, then chemo as a precaution.”

  “I had no idea you’d gone through something like that,” Presley said. “Sometimes I could strangle you, because you’re such a private person.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s hard enough to live with, much less talk about. Most of the time, I just want to forget about it and live my life. Back when I had the ovarian surgery, genetic testing research hadn’t exploded yet. But when the BRCA1 mutation link to cancer was discovered and genetic testing became a thing, my doctors got after me to get tested. I put it off because I was scared. I knew what they’d find.”

  “Angelina Jolie had a double mastectomy. Did you have one, too? Are your boobs fake, because I’ve always thought they might be fake,” Olivia said.

  Despite everything, Harper found herself smiling. “No. They’re real. I haven’t had a mastectomy.” Her smile fell. “Yet,” she added quietly.

  “You’ve known for five years that you have this ticking time bomb inside of you and you told no one? How did you live with such a secret?” Presley said. Her tone wasn’t blaming, but full of sorrow. Harper chanced a look at her to find her eyes filled with tears.

  “It wasn’t a total secret. The day I found out I had the gene mutation, I barely made it out of my oncologist’s office and into the medical building lobby before I had a total breakdown. Brandon, of all people, walked in and found me. Turns out one of his doctors has an office in that building, too. He and I had just gone on a first date the weekend before and it hadn’t gone well.”

  “If memory serves, you told me he was trying to get in your pants from the moment he picked you up for dinner,” Presley said.

  “Exactly. It was less a date and more like he was feeding me to make sure I had enough energy for a night of screwing.”

  Marlena gave a quiet bark of laughter. “So romantic.”

  “And he hasn’t changed a bit,” Presley added.

  “You didn’t give in to him, did you?” Allison said. Allison had only come to town the year before. Now, she was Harper’s neighbor, operating and living in the boat rental business across the green commons from Locks. She’d entered into Harper and Brandon’s perpetual drama right about the time it’d come to a head with that stupid kissing bet during the previous year’s hockey season.

  “No way. Even still, we’d had a pretty good time and I was still attracted to him, so we’d set up another date. But after I found out about the gene mutation, I didn’t want to waste any more time with meaningless flings with guys who couldn’t commit. And I told him as much. The rest is history.”

  “You said you had a health scare this week. Is it cancer?” Presley said.

  “Maybe.” She went silent, fighting the wash of despair that threatened to bring tears to her eyes. She felt the eyes of her friends on her, as well as the weight that had descended. “My oncologist found a shadow on one of my breasts during my last mammogram. It’s not even big enough to do a biopsy on, but it’s there.”

  As she spoke, her friends never let go of her hands and her arms and her shoulders. They lifted her up, though tears flowed among them all. There was no weighted silence when Harper was done. Just love and support that made Harper realize what a disservice she’d done to herself in keeping her issues a secret from the people who meant the most to her.

  “What’s going to happen next, if they can’t do a biopsy?” Marlena asked.

  “I’ve got a few choices, but none of them are good. I could wait and see. I could get a lumpectomy. Or . . .” She drew in a deep breath. “A double mastectomy would reduce my risk of ge
tting cancer by nearly fifty percent, give or take, whether the shadow is cancerous or not.”

  Olivia took her hand. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but that’s a no brainer in my book.”

  Harper knew her argument against a mastectomy would sound idiotic and vain to her friends, but she couldn’t get it out of her head how her mother’s mastectomy had disfigured her and sent her into a spiraling depression and, in the end, the cancer had come back anyway.

  “I’m with Olivia,” Presley said. “So you’ll have fake boobs. Big deal. And, hey, maybe it would help to think of it this way. A lot of women would kill to have fake boobs paid for by their health insurance.”

  “Reconstruction isn’t an option for me. Not really. The doctors say it would probably be possible eventually, but difficult and painful. I don’t have enough skin and fat in my chest to have balloons put in at the same time as the mastectomy in order to stretch my skin and make room for implants, so getting new boobs would require multiple surgeries and skin grafts. The safest, least painful route is to go flat.”

  “Damn,” Presley said, pulling her sideways into a hug.

  Harper rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

  “Dead is worse than being flat. Cancer is worse than being flat,” Presley said, her voice muffled by Harper’s hair.

  “I know.” Sniffing, Harper nuzzled her face into Presley’s arm.

  “If you got the mastectomy, would you still have to do chemo?” Allison asked.

  “Maybe. It depends on what they find. They’d biopsy the tissue after they removed it.”

  Presley gathered Harper’s hands in hers. “We’re here for you, all of us. No matter what. Don’t you dare keep us in the dark like that again.”

  Her friends held her close and made her feel so loved and lucky.

  “And Brandon with this stupid bet. He’s not giving it up.”

  “What bet?” Marlena asked.

  Presley groaned. “Don’t tell me you and Brandon made another bet. The last one nearly broke your heart.”

  “He wants me to fly down to Miami for two nights of hedonism with him, and I agreed to if he could solve my crime problems at the bar.”

  Olivia whistled.

  “I didn’t think he’d actually be able to do it,” Harper said. “But he is. It’s unbelievable.”

  “That’s what he and the rest of the Bomb Squad team are doing downstairs right now. I thought they looked preoccupied,” Marlena said.

  “Either way, I can’t go to Miami with Brandon, even if there already weren’t a lot of great reasons not to. I need to stay in Destiny Falls and deal with this.”

  Presley tapped a perfectly manicured finger on her chin. “Or, you go to Miami, spend a few days doing nothing but screwing and having fun—like you deserve more than anyone I know—and then you deal with this on Tuesday, after you get back. One last fling with a sexpert like Brandon, and a younger guy, no less, might be a very good thing for your mental health.”

  Harper’s phone chimed with the ringtone she used for Locks’ employees. She walked to the counter where she’d set her purse and found her phone.

  Susan, her bartender, had texted her. SOS fight brewing down here.

  ***

  Brandon had been itching for this fight all week. His daily workouts had done nothing to quell his frustration at Harper, his anxiety over her doctor’s appointment, and his anticipation over relocating to Miami and starting Meet the Groom.

  He, Theo, Will, Gabe, and Liam barred Locks’ front door from the four punk-ass motorcyclists.

  “You’re not welcome here.”

  “Fuck you. We go where we want,” the ringleader said. He was a scrawny kid, no more than twenty-three or twenty-four, and sporting dilated eyes and sallow skin. Drugs, rather than size or skill, were what made these guys dangerous.

  Through the windows, Brandon could see the bar patrons’ careful focus on them. Wouldn’t be long before someone called the cops.

  “I think it’s time we take this to the alley,” Liam said.

  Harper jogged into view in the window and pinned him with a ruthless stare. She shook her head. “Don’t,” she mouthed.

  Brandon smiled at her. “Alley sounds about right. You first, gentlemen. Start walking.”

  “If you insist,” the ringleader said, but instead of walking, he hunched forward, and the next thing Brandon knew, a knife was coming at him. Before he could react beyond lurching backward, a fist connected with the punk’s cheek. Will.

  “Damn, I love punching people,” Will said as the punk staggered to the wall.

  Liam, Theo, and Gabe already had the other three kids pinned to the ground. Drugs might have made these idiots stronger and braver, but they hadn’t made them any smarter. Harper, Kayla, and a handful of people gathered on the sidewalk, but Brandon was too busy to pay much mind to them.

  With a growl, the punk still standing came at Brandon again, but this time he was ready. Harnessing his power and weight and tapping into his years in kickboxing, he swung his leg up and kicked the kid’s knife-holding hand with his Invictus foot as hard as he could.

  The kid shrieked in pain and dropped the knife.

  “That’s a hard foot, isn’t it? Titanium, among other things.” Brandon scooped up the fallen knife. Grabbing the scruff of the kid’s neck, he pulled him up and slammed him against the brick wall.

  He held the kid’s own knife at his throat. “Time to listen, asshole. Can you hear me in there?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Brandon clocked him across the nose with his elbow. “You’re right, Will. That did feel good.”

  Will folded his arms across his chest. “Told ya.”

  Ringleader punk calmed down fast. Breathing hard, he licked at the blood streaming from his nose to his mouth.

  “Theo, Liam, Gabe, bring the other guys over here. I’d like to have a look at those patches they’re wearing,” Brandon said.

  When all four punks were lined up in a row against the wall, Brandon ripped the patch from one of their leather cuts and held it out to Theo. “Hey, Theo. Question. Do these look like real motorcycle club patches?”

  “Nah, they’re not. Never heard of the Night Crawlers. I think I’d remember a club named after a type of worm. The Grave Riders club controls this area.”

  Brandon grinned and shoved the patch in Punk Ass Number One’s face. “Did the Grave Riders give you permission to ride in their territory?”

  The idiot sneered at Brandon. “Permission? Why would we need permission?”

  Brandon stepped back, all benevolent smiles now. He leaned an elbow on Theo’s shoulder. “I don’t think these guys understand the rules of motorcycle clubs and what happens to punk-ass kids who don’t respect those rules.”

  Theo sniffed, looking downright lethal in his leather jacket, red bandana, and sunglasses. “Doesn’t seem like it. Maybe they should change their names to Death Wish.”

  “You’ve got some friends in the Grave Riders, right?” Brandon asked. They hadn’t practiced this part, but Brandon had to hope Theo would play along.

  “You bet. A cousin of mine, actually.”

  Theo didn’t have any cousins, to the best of Brandon’s knowledge, and definitely no American cousins. “That’s what I thought. You mind getting in touch with your cousin and have him alert the rest of the Riders that we’ve detained some trespassers we found in their territory?”

  Theo whipped out his phone, right on cue. “My pleasure. I’m sure they’ll send some delegates out to enlighten these idiots about how trespassers and posers are dealt with.”

  One of the four punks made a strangling sound and shook his head.

  Brandon mugged a smile at the ringleader. “Sound like fun? It does to me. I was already seeing red tonight about something else and I think I’d rathe
r enjoy watching a good ass kicking.”

  Theo cleared his throat. “Oh, they wouldn’t kick these idiots’ asses. They’d kill them,” he said in a perfect deadpan.

  Brandon shook his head. “Hmm. That’s no fun.”

  “Or you could let us go,” the ringleader said.

  “No, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Brandon snapped his fingers. “How about this, just to make it fun. Theo calls his cousin, but instead of detaining you, we see if those tricked-out poser bikes of yours can outride the Grave Riders to the edge of their territory at the Indiana border.”

  Another one of the punks whimpered. “No, please.”

  “Theo, give your cousin a call,” Liam said.

  “Already am.”

  Brandon tipped his head toward the punks’ bikes. “Well, go on. Let’s see what those bikes are made of.”

  Brandon, Theo, and the guys gave the punks plenty of room to hightail it back to their bikes. A roar of engines turning over rattled Brandon’s teeth. He pocketed the knife and watched with everyone else as the four punks rode away.

  The crowd on the sidewalks cheered, even as police sirens sounded in the distance.

  “I guess we’d better scram,” Liam said.

  “Go on ahead,” Brandon said. “I’m right behind you. Just one thing I’ve got to take care of first.”

  Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Brandon marched up to Harper, who’d moved to the sidewalk in front of the door. He grabbed a handful of her shirt and pulled her to him, kissing her hard and openmouthed, getting his tongue involved—his favorite way to lock lips with her. She pressed her hands to his chest and jerked her face away. Fine. He’d have plenty of time to kiss her in Miami.

  “To summarize,” he said. “We installed a surveillance camera in the lot, put up signs, and I got you a weekday bouncer. Then we got rid of those punk-ass biker wannabes. In other words, I solved your crime problems, just like I said I would.” He reached into his back pocket, then handed her an envelope. “Next Friday morning at nine thirty, the airport shuttle is scheduled to pick you up. Your flight leaves at noon. The ticket’s in there.”