I let out a heavy sigh and slump forward, pressing my forehead to the steering wheel.
Sure Dad’s an asshole, there’s no doubt about that, but where does that leave me now? How am I supposed to help Mom when he won’t even budge? When all he’s concerned about is proving a point.
My fingers are leeched to the wheel. I’m holding on for dear life, like if I let go this fucked up world will suck me up like a vacuum. I raise my head and stare across the way at the hospital entrance, unsure of what move I should make next. I haven’t stepped a foot inside since that day Doctor Chambers called me. It’s not even because I hate the idea of being in those hallways again. I want to be. To be there for the woman who, for at least the first part of my life, loved me and protected me from anything bad. I want to hold her hand, to tell her everything’s going to be okay. That I’ll fix things. But I’m not so sure I can. So what am I supposed to say?
Ten minutes later, I stand directly outside the door to Mom’s hospital room. I can barely bring myself to look at her. She wasn’t the strongest woman I knew growing up. When it came to Dad, she was pretty much a pushover. But never in my life have I seen her this weak, this helpless. Her skin looks paper-thin, her face so gaunt she appears fifty years older than she is. The worst part of it all is that I can’t see her brown eyes. As a kid, I loved my mother’s eyes—they were always bright, flickering with some secret she rarely let the rest of us in on. And they were kind, made me feel safe. My throat is thick and painful as I swallow back the realization that I may never see them again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Coco
I grip my bag in my hand so tightly I register every bump and groove of the crocheted pattern. I’ve never been great with hospitals. They don’t scare me or anything, I just have this strange aversion. A pit in my stomach when I’m near one. Like something’s bound to go wrong. Being inside one feels like what I imagine suffocating does.
I should have made Dash come in with me. But I didn’t want him to get suspicious, ask questions. Because not knowing why I’m here is something I’d rather worry about on my own. What I should have done is driven here on my own, but with the way my nerves were going haywire, I figured it be better to turn this ominous trip into a lunch date.
I take a deep breath. Everything’s fine. It’s just routine. Then he’ll pick me up, we’ll go to lunch and it’ll all be fine.
When Doctor Schumacher asked me to meet her at Pullman Regional, I tried not to panic. I did my best to fake indifference when she mentioned she had something important to discuss. She tried to put my mind at ease, explaining she had a full day and would be unable to meet me at her office, but she wasn’t very successful. I stand in the middle of the examination room now, unable to even bring myself to sit. Because getting comfortable isn’t going to happen anytime soon. I want to know why I’m here. I need to know. And I’m terrified it has something to do with my mother.
After my appointment last week, I decided to do some research. I knew Dad wouldn’t be much help, so I called Cole. And for the first time ever we talked about Mom and what happened to her all those years ago. According to my brother, she died of neuroendocrine carcinoma, a rare form of cervical cancer. She’d had it for a while and, even though it seemed to be getting better at one point, things rapidly went down hill. She came home complaining of stomach pains and in a week she was dead. I was only about two or three but still I remember the decorations for Cole’s birthday party still hanging from the rafters, the ice cream cake melting on the counter, Dad not speaking. Cole crying. It’s like a flash of a movie that plays in my head whenever I try to recall anything about her. It’s a depression that sticks with you even though you don’t remember the details. So I opt not to. I choose to remember her only as the woman smiling brightly in the picture on my night stand with just me. Holding me in her lap and staring into my eyes.
“Coco.” Doctor Schumacher’s soft voice brings me back to reality and I look up from the tightly woven pewter carpet. “Are you okay?”
I nod, then shake my head.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” She gestures toward one of the metal and vinyl chairs near the examination table and I reluctantly perch on the end of the one closest to me.
“I wanted to talk to you about your test results.”
“Is it bad?” I hear myself say. But it doesn’t sound like me, more like a whisper and a quiver of a little girl’s voice.
“That depends on how you look at it.” She leans against the examination table, bracing her hands behind her and crossing her ankles. “How long have you been seeing this boyfriend of yours?”
“Uh…a while now. Since May 1993. We dated casually for about a year before that and then…why?” I frown.
“And you’ve only ever been with him…intimately?”
I nod.
“Do you use protection?”
“Not anymore. I—we used to, but not anymore. I’m on the pill.”
“Have either of you ever been tested for any sexually transmitted diseases?”
I shake my head, my mouth too dry to speak.
“Well it appears you have one, an STD that is. It’s called chlamydia. Have you heard of it?”
I feel myself nodding, but I’m suddenly so flushed and jittery I have no idea how I’ve managed to stay in this chair.
“It’s a very easy infection to pass on, mostly because it carries quite mild symptoms. Chances are, he doesn’t even know he has it. You say you’ve been together six years, have you been exclusive for that long? Are you his only sexual partner?”
I nod again. But the second I do, a heart wrenching memory comes to pass. One of humiliation, anger and deep sadness. I haven’t always been the only one. “A long time ago,” I start. “About three years, there was this girl. A groupie—he’s a musician and…but it was so long ago.”
“And you’re sure he’s faithful now?”
I thought I was sure. “Yes.”
“You’ll have to share your test results with him and be sure he comes in to get tested. And if you’ve been exclusive partners as long as you say you have, it means you may have had this infection for quite some time. I think it may be a good idea to run some additional tests.”
“What kind of tests?”
Doctor Schumacher smiles one of her sympathetic smiles and says, “Like I told you the other day, your mother had quite a time conceiving. It could be circumstance, it could be hereditary. But I think it’s a good idea, in your case, not to leave any stones unturned.”
“What kind of test?” I ask again.
“Something called a Hysterosalpingogram or an HSG Test. It’s designed to probe for reproductive scarring—in the uterus and fallopian tubes. It’s nothing to be alarmed about but, considering your situation, I think it’s a good idea. An infection like chlamydia, left uncured, can lead to pelvic inflammatory disease and can effect your fertility.”
“But I’m not sick. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“The symptoms can be anywhere from severe to mild. Just like with chlamydia if you’re not feeling anything it doesn’t mean nothing’s there. Silent PID is just as harmful, if not more so.”
I’m perched so far on the edge of the seat, I’m sure I’m about to fall off. All of this because of a pregnancy scare? I was right to be terrified of this visit. Right to not want to come in at all.
She continues talking but I’m so stunned I’ve tuned her out, it isn’t until I’m walking down the empty hospital hallway, clutching my prescription for antibiotics and an appointment reminder for a seriously invasive X-ray that I start to come to my senses.
Dash gave me an STD. My boyfriend of six years gave me something I couldn’t have gotten any other way. What does that mean? Where does that leave us?
I don’t make it out of the building and into the parking lot like I intend to. Instead, I find myself sitting alone in another empty hallway staring off into space, my heart beating wildly and my stomach doing intervals.
CHAPTER SIX
Luke
I stand in front of the elevator doors, my muscles tight. My head aches and my entire body is cold. Especially my hand, the temperature from hers lingering on every nerve. Mom still hasn’t opened her eyes, still hasn’t moved. Every day I return to her room she’s in the same damn spot—flat on her back, paler than ever, her skin like ice, as if she’s already…
I shake my head, holding onto my breath as though it’s my last.
I won’t let her die. Not like that.
I can’t get Dad’s face out of my head. His jeering, raspy voice. The hatred in his eyes. And I can’t help but wonder how you can love someone—really love them—enough to marry them, to make a life with them and, just like that, turn around and hate them with as much intensity.
I could never hate Shannon. I was only ever truly angry with her once—when she hid my son from me, made the people in our lives think he was someone else’s. But even then I didn’t hate her. I was just hurt. Insulted maybe. It takes so much to completely turn your heart against another person—to juice nothing but venom out of every good feeling you’ve ever had toward them based on a single action.
I should know. I hated both my parents for most of my life. But never once enough to sit back and watch them truly suffer—not the way Mom is now. They’ve already been punished. Did their time. Paid for their sins behind bars, being forced to think about everything they’ve ever done, while everyone else went on with their lives.
I know the feeling well. Living out my days in a jail cell, with other criminals, some far worse than me, I waited impatiently for that one day a week when my brother would come. His presence always reminded me that even though I’d made stupid mistakes, I was still loved. I still had something to live for.
Something to live for. It may take another lifetime, but I can learn to forgive her for her mistakes. We can make things right. But I’ll have to start by saving her.
The door chimes and I step inside, head down. It’s a way I’ve learned to live over the past few years. When people recognize me—which to be truthful doesn’t happen often thanks to my bearded chin and buzzed off hair—they either have one of two reactions: annoyance or disappointment. Either that or I’m snubbed altogether.
So I’ve learned to live life with my head down, spend my days in my house living off the income from the club I inherited from my brother.
When I first got out, I wanted to start fresh. To make up for my sins. To clean up my mess of a life. But that’s the thing about making very public blunders in a small city like Lewiston—people never forget. Especially when stupid mistakes become a part of your family legacy. With a name like Black, I couldn’t even get an interview, let alone a job. And having given my entire Trust Fund to my kids, I had no choice but to accept my brothers offer—part owner of a night club I rarely set foot in.
With one glance at the key pad, I register the glowing M button and lean my head up against the back wall of the elevator. After today’s visit, I’m in serious need of a drink.
Doctor Chambers pretty much told me I was out of time, that by the end of next week my mother likely won’t be breathing on her own. She’s had an inoperable brain tumor for years. I don’t know how he managed to keep her alive all this time, or why he even cared enough to. All I know is that if a fucking angel doesn’t fall into my lap in the next few days, my quest to save the woman who gave me life is over for good.
A hand rests on my shoulder and I shake it off. I straighten and turn, ready to defend myself, but instantly relax once I see the girl standing next to me. Her hands are held out in front of her, her brow wrinkled as she shrinks back.
I lower my fist, quickly flipping the switch from defensive to sympathetic.
“Coco.” I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t…see you there. I—”
“Do you always attack random people in elevators?” she asks, with a hint of a smile.
“Uh.” I shake my head. “No, it’s just…you caught me off guard is all.” And practically every physical confrontation I’ve had over the past few years has resulted in a bloody nose or a black eye. “I didn’t see you.”
“Sorry for scaring you. I said ‘hi’ when you walked in, but it’s like you were in another world.” She smiles a little wider, then leans forward, climbing to her tiptoes as she wraps her arms around my neck. “I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you?”
“Fine.” I stiffly pat her back. “I’m good. And you?”
“I’m good.” She sniffs, nodding a little too vigorously to be convincing. The rims of her eyes and the tip of her nose are a slowly fading red.
My muscles instantly tighten and I take a small step back. “What are you doing here?” This is why I hate fucking hospitals. Sickness, sadness, death.
“Oh, um, it’s nothing. Doctor’s appointment.”
“Oh, cool,” I reply, mostly to myself.
“You?”
I clear my throat. “Same.”
She licks her lips and folds her arms against her chest, hunching over a little.
“It’s been a while,” I say. “Didn’t think you were even still in Lewiston.”
“I was in New York for a few months. I go back and forth for work. And when I’m in town I’m usually at Dash’s.”
“Dash Martin?” I raise an eyebrow and she nods, ducking her head.
“I—I’ve been around the house a few times though. If I recall, you’re the one playing the disappearing act. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
The elevator slows and I let out a soft sigh. “Mostly keep to myself these days.”
“You look good. Different, but good. More grown up, I guess.”
My gaze travels from her face down the length of her body. I’m not the only one. This definitely isn’t the Cocanda Rose I remember. She’s filled out a little—no more chicken legs and flat chest. She’s got a nice C cup going on and her bronze legs are taut and shapely. Even her hair is a different color brown with a few lighter streaks, the kinky curls nowhere in sight. Her face still looks the same though, just a little less round and more defined. She’s grown into herself. Definitely no longer the girl next door. Which makes sense, she’s got to be at least twenty-five by now. And it shows.
“You too,” I say, forcing myself to focus on her face again. I stand to the side as she walks out in front of me and I do my best to keep my gaze level but, for just a moment, it strays downward, locking briefly on a tight ass I’m not all that surprised she’s inherited after all these years. I clear my throat as I step into a slow stride next to her. “So Dash. You two are…what?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, avoiding my gaze. “Dating. Well, it’s a little more serious than dating. We’ve been together for a few years now.” She chances a glance in my direction and I’m sure the stupefaction shows on my face, because she looks away quickly again. “Anyway, what have you been up to?”
“Not much,” I say.
She nods. “Cole and Maya say they don’t see much of you. Thought maybe you made it off to Seattle with Ross.”
“Nope.”
“It’s the beard,” she says.
“Huh?”
“The beard.” She gestures to my face. “That’s why you look so different. Older, I guess. I kind of like it.”
I chuckle. “Well, thanks. Low maintenance. Works for me too.”
Standing at the hospital entrance, I dig my hands into my back pocket in search of my keys. Coco lingers behind me, craning her neck as she looks out over the small line of cars. She frowns then glances at her watch.
“You all right to get home?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah. Dash should be here…soon, I guess.”
As if on cue, a flashy red Lincoln Navigator pulls up to the curb. “Babe, let’s go!” A voice calls out the tinted automatic window as it rolls down. “Gonna drop you off at home. Gotta meet the guys about a show.”
I bow my head, doi
ng my best to go unnoticed but without much success.
“Luke Black? Seriously?” Dash jumps out of the still running vehicle. “He finally makes an appearance,” he practically shouts, slapping me on the back.
I nod, then turn to Coco. “I’ll see you around, neighbor.”
“Why don’t you come with us? We’re planning a show. Me, Ryan, this dude from Moscow. It’ll be like getting the old band back together. Minus Ross of course, but I’m sure he’d forgive us.”
“Don’t really play anymore,” I mumble.
“Bullshit.” Dash nudges me. “That’s bullshit. Your mama pushed you out with that goddamn guitar in your hands and you’re telling me you don’t play anymore.” He drapes his arm around Coco’s shoulders, pulling her to him. “You believe that, babe? Luke Black minus a guitar just doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”
Coco peers up at him, her pretty face contorting. “I thought we were going for lunch? Isn’t that why you drove me out here in the first place?”
“I drove you out here ‘cause you had a doctor’s appointment. Something came up. We can always reschedule. Tomorrow night?” He kisses her on the lips and she practically melts beneath him.
“What about tonight?” she asks, her voice all soft, tone drawn out. “At your place. I’ll cook.”
He kisses her again and this time it lasts just a beat too long. I don’t know why it draws me in. It’s like some cosmic punishment, watching other happy couples. My stomach is in knots as I angle myself back toward the parking lot.
“I’ll catch you later,” I say to no one in particular.
“Alright, dude.” Dash says, finally pulling away and licking his lips. “But don’t be a stranger. I was beginning to wonder if you were even still around.” He smacks Coco’s ass lightly as she climbs into the SUV and when she wiggles her fingers at me, I nod a goodbye in response.
Black Rose (Lewiston Blues Series/Black Family Saga Book 3) Page 3