by Faye Byrd
“Don’t play stupid with me. How much will it take for you to drop this silly little plan of yours?” His eyes harden, and his tone matches them perfectly.
I prop my hands on my hips. “Silly little plan you say? This silly little plan could be what very well saves your grandson’s life.”
“Sounds as if it’s only teaching them the birds and the bees if you ask me, and way too early I might add,” he snipes back, standing to his full height.
Trystan and I may have made a mistake by not being sure where they were during our … interaction, but it’s one that won’t be repeated. “It’s a good thing that they’re our boys then, because frankly, it’s none of your business what we teach them.” I’m being ridiculous even pretending it was okay for them to overhear us, but this man has no place questioning me.
He chuckles and it’s a dark one. I’ve heard it before from a different man. “You are a spitfire, aren’t you? No wonder my son’s so enthralled.”
I roll my eyes. “Trystan is not enthralled. He’s a sensible man who knows what needs to be done … for Cameron.”
“Look, Easy,” he starts, “it’s a half-cocked plan at most. The likelihood that you and Trystan can form a match for Cameron is hardly better than a stranger. I think you’re both kidding yourselves. Now, I’ll ask again, how much?”
“How. Much. What?” Trystan demands, each word coming out crisp and clear. He’s standing behind his dad, arms crossed, body stiff.
Reed’s eyes widen, and he turns to Trystan. “Son, this is a private conversation between Easy and me, so if you could kindly remove yourself, it’d be greatly appreciated.”
Trystan steps closer, right up into Reed’s face. “There will be no private conversation with Easton, you got that? Anything you say to her you say to me. Now, I’ll ask one more time. How much what?”
I ease my way between them to try and diffuse the situation. “Trystan,” I say putting my hands on his chest, pushing him back a little. “It’s okay, we were just chatting. It’s not a big deal.”
His laser beam eyes leave his father and focus on me, softening just a touch. “Easton, don’t stick up for him. I know he’s up to something.”
I shake my head. “He’s just concerned with our decisions.”
His eyes focus back on his father. “We made it clear that if you have objections, don’t speak them. We’re serious about this, Dad, and if you can’t accept that, then maybe you don’t need to be here.”
Reed’s shoulders slump just a little. “Son, I’m just trying to look out for you. I don’t want you to find yourself trapped in another situation like you were before.”
“Easton and Cam aren’t a situation, Dad. They’re my life, along with Blake. That won’t be changing. I’m sorry if you see that as a bad thing, something that needs to be fixed. I assure you, it’s not,” Trystan explains to his father. His expression is softer, but his voice is every bit as serious.
It’s easy to see where his father’s coming from given Trystan’s past situation with his ex-wife. Families are complicated structures; sometimes butting in where they don’t belong. But they’re worth every single struggle we go through because, in the end, they’ll be there when you need them most.
Reed steps closer, and I move back so he can approach his son. He places his hand on Trystan’s shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze. “I’m sorry, son,” he tells him. “I was wrong to even approach her and even more wrong by trying to proposition her. I won’t do―”
“What!” Trystan barks, snatching from his hold.
Reed swallows before answering his son. “I offered her money to put a stop to this insane plan you two have going. I messed up and promise to stay out of it from now on. I don’t want to lose my son and my grandsons over my stupidity.”
Trystan’s hard eyes meet mine, and I look to the ground. “If anything like this ever happens again that’s exactly what will happen. I’ll consider this a lapse in judgment, but it’s the only one you’ll get. Mark my words, Dad.”
“It won’t, you have my word,” Reed replies, and I hear as much as see his feet begin the trek to the backyard.
“Easton,” Trystan says softly, lifting my chin.
I’m afraid of what I’ll find when I meet his eyes, but there’s no anger there, only concern. This is one of those times where I wish he’d show me the asshole I know he can be. I need to be reminded of that man, the one who can hurt you with his words, instead of this one who soothes me every time.
He steps closer, his hand burning a trail as he pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Why didn’t you tell me instead of taking up for him?”
“It’s no big deal, Trystan. I’m perfectly capable of handling things myself, with my family and yours.” I look at the ground again. “Maybe they have a point. Maybe we are making a mistake.”
He prods me to look at him again, to see his intense stare. “Do you really think that or are you afraid?”
“Afraid of what?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he’s referring to.
“This … Us.” He motions in the small space between our bodies.
I glance over his shoulder before steeling myself and meeting his dark eyes with determined ones of my own. “There is no us, Trystan. There’s a mother and a father trying to do what’s best for their children. That’s all it is. That’s all it can ever be.”
6 Dangerous Curve Ahead
Easy
In the few days since the barbeque, things have been normal during the day, but at night, there’s an added tension between Trystan and me that wasn’t present before. The sex between us is as raw and unemotional as it comes, yet somehow, it still reaches somewhere deep inside me. A place that is supposed to be uninhabitable, especially for Trystan Ashby.
But I’ve made my choice, and it’s up to me to stand firm. Every time one of my sons eat a fantastic meal made by their daddy or listen to him read a story, it proves to me that I’m making the right decision. Having us together, under one roof, is what’s best for them, and I won’t risk it—not even for the ultimate happily-ever-after.
“Katherine asked that we meet her in the cafeteria of MUMC before we head over to meet with David and Dr. Sen,” Trystan says from the passenger seat. He’s reading from his phone. “Is that okay?”
“Sure. Did she say why?” I ask, taking the exit that leads to the Metro University campus.
“What do you think?” he asks with an eye roll before he mumbles, “Cryptic bitch.”
“Trystan,” I admonish, but I don’t really care. It’s their way.
“Ah,” he hums, reading a new text. “She wants to discuss what’s next now that the press has been made aware of the mistake.” He sneers the last word, and I completely get it, but with each new day, it feels less and less like a bad thing. It was a life-shattering revelation, but with time comes perspective.
“Would you wish for anything to be different if you could?” I ask as I pull into a parking space.
When he registers my words, Trystan’s eyes move to mine, and they soften. “You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, bringing his hand over to palm my nape. “I’d never give up any of this.”
I put the car in park and stare out the windshield. “You still didn’t answer my question.”
His hand tenses, but then it softens and works at the muscles in my neck. “There’s only one thing I’m waffling on, but it has nothing to do with the boys and the switch.”
My eyes fall closed because before he even says it, I already know. “What’s that?”
“I think you know, and this simply isn’t the time or the place.” He reaches over and turns off the ignition. “Let’s go see what Katherine has to say.” He’s out of the car and around to my side, opening my own door before I can grab my purse.
When we reach the cafeteria, Katherine waves us to a small table in the back corner. “Easy, so nice to see you,” she says, sending me a warm smile. “Trystan.”
I bite back a ch
uckle as he replies in the exact same tone. “Katherine.” He pulls out my chair and takes the one beside me. “Hopefully, you can get to the point this time. We have an appointment to get to.”
“Okay,” Katherine says, setting her coffee cup on the table. “When I gave the press conference, I kept the details as vague as possible, but I need to warn you, the media will sniff you out eventually. They’ll hunt you like a dog looking for his bone.” She leans back in her seat and flicks her eyes between us. “I’d like to suggest that you agree to an interview with a reputable paper. You should ask for privacy after giving them as much information as you’re willing to provide.”
“But that would throw us right in the line of fire,” Trystan says, crossing his arms in a defensive manner.
“Not necessarily,” she responds, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Either way, they will find you. Too many people know. By taking preventative steps and pleading for privacy, you stand a better chance of keeping them at bay, or at the very least, getting the hubbub over with. Maybe by speaking up first, you’ll settle their curiosity, and the fallout won’t be as bad.”
Trystan’s chest rumbles, but I speak up before he can insult her again. “Do you really think it’s wise to draw attention to ourselves like that?”
Katherine sighs. “Easy, I’ve never handled a situation quite like this, but it’s big news, and the public will be interested.” She reaches over and offers a supportive squeeze to my arm. “I’m sorry that on top of everything else you have to worry about this, too, but you do.” Her gaze flicks to Trystan. “Please, just give it some thought.”
His eyes meet mine, and they’re questioning. I offer him a small smile before turning back to Katherine. “We’ll discuss it, and Trystan can text you our decision.”
She squeezes my arm once more before releasing me as we stand. “Thank you. I’m only sorry I can’t do more.”
Trystan snorts as he pushes our empty chairs back to the table. “You could find out how this happened in the first place.”
“Investigator Masters is vigilantly working to find a discrepancy, but there simply may not be one.” She sighs, her voice softening. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but this very well may have been just a mistake.”
Instead of replying in a forceful manner as I expect, Trystan emits his own sigh as his eyes land on me. “I think Easton and I have decided that mistake is the wrong word.”
Katherine’s brows furrow, but Trystan doesn’t give her time to question him. He simply offers me a small smile as he grabs my elbow and begins to lead me away. I glance back and give her an apologetic shrug before turning to follow where he leads. By the time we exit MUMC, our hands are clasped between us as we make the trek to MUP for our meeting with David and Kabir.
Our connection in this moment isn’t about pushing boundaries or unexplored feelings. It’s about two parents supporting each other as they prepare to sit and talk frankly about the mortality of one of their sons. It’s a team, coming together to face their deepest, darkest fears.
“Are you ready for this?” Trystan asks, tightening his hold on my hand.
“Ready?” I ask, already shaking my head. “I’ve been thinking of his transplant as this huge finish line off in the distance.” I look back at him and sigh. “But it’s not the finish line. It’s only the beginning of the real battle.”
All this time I’ve hoped and prayed for the match that will save our son, but now that I consider what comes after, I’m afraid. What if it doesn’t work? What if there are complications? How long will it take my baby to heal from this? How much pain will he suffer to be cured?
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t hear Trystan call my name. “Easton,” he says louder. I snap my eyes to his. “Stop it. Whatever we learn, we’re a family, and we’ll handle it together.”
I let out a breath. “You’re right.”
“What else is new?” he asks with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.
I can’t help but return his smirk with one of my own. “I’ll give you this one, but one day you’ll screw up, and I’ll be there to rub it in.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he says as we enter the elevator.
The ride passes by in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts as we prepare ourselves to hear the hard facts when it comes to our son. Trystan pauses in front of Dr. Sen’s door and takes a deep breath before rapping on it a couple of times.
David’s welcoming smile greets us as the door swings open. “Come in,” he says, moving aside. Kabir is seated behind his desk with a thick folder in front of him, and David directs us to two chairs before taking an extra chair on the side of the desk.
“Good to see you both,” Dr. Sen says, offering a nod as we take a seat.
I’m too nervous to speak, but Trystan holds out his hand for a shake. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us and answer our questions.” He glances to David. “Both of you.”
“Easy and I have spent a fair amount of time discussing Cameron’s cure―finding the match. Also, a good bit on how to manage until then, but we’ve never discussed the transplant itself,” Kabir replies, opening the folder before him. “I think it’s only appropriate that you hear the details of what your son is facing when we do find a match.”
“There’s also another matter Trystan and Easy would like to discuss today, Kabir,” David says, giving me an encouraging smile. “I believe you’re more qualified than me to give them accurate responses.”
Dr. Sen’s eyes move from David to me. “I would be happy to answer any questions you have.”
I should probably be embarrassed, but I’m not. Everyone else in my life knows what Trystan and I have done, why not the man who truly knows what kind of chance we stand at actually succeeding?
Lifting my chin, I take Trystan’s hand and hold it tightly. “Kabir, you knew I had planned to move forward with a second child before the switch came to light.” He nods, so I keep going. “With that no longer an option, Trystan and I decided to create a life since he’s Cam’s father. We understand that a half-sibling isn’t the same as a sibling but hoping for a match for Cameron is only part of our reasoning.”
Kabir listens intently, his expression unchanging. He props an elbow on his desk. “Could you expand on the rest of your reasoning? It isn’t necessary to answer your questions, but I am curious.”
“Trystan has agreed to be the father to all of my children. I admit the idea came about in a desperate moment, but my children having the same father was always my intention,” I explain, feeling confident in our choice. “I was already mentally prepared to have another child before Cam’s illness, and we’ve decided there’s no reason to put it off … especially if there’s even the slightest chance it can also help our son.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch a smile on David’s face, and my tense shoulders immediately loosen. “Perfect,” he mouths.
Kabir rocks back in his chair, and I hold his stare, waiting to hear just how out of reach our plan really is. “Let me be frank,” he starts in his familiar accented voice. “A half-sibling is considerably lower than a full sibling, but”—he holds up a finger—“the advances in lesser matches have improved greatly in the past few years, and your decision presents us with an unusual opportunity. Umbilical cord stem cells are less mature than bone marrow stem cells, so they’re less likely to attack the patient's body. A greater degree of mismatch between donor and recipient cells is tolerable as compared to bone marrow cells from a donor.”
“Umbilical?” Trystan asks. “As in from the unborn baby?”
“No, not unborn,” Kabir replies, sitting forward. “The cells are harvested at birth, and an amniocentesis can be performed to test the degree of match during the pregnancy.”
“So there’s a possibility our baby could be a close enough match?” I ask, my hope soaring.
“Easy,” David says, gaining my attention. “There is a possibility your baby could be a perfect mat
ch anyway, however slim it is, but with cord blood, that possibility rises to a much higher degree.”
Kabir clears his throat, causing my eyes to snap to him. “There is always the chance that the match won’t be close enough or the stem cells not viable. Please do not lose sight of that.”
“I won’t.” My voice breaks as tears fill my eyes. I was prepared to be called a fool, not told that our half-cocked plan could produce a real solution.
Trystan releases my hand and pulls me as close as he can with the chair arms between us. “Not so hair-brained after all, huh?” he says quietly, causing a giggle to burst from my lips. “Much better.”
He withdraws, and I gather myself together. “The hunt for another match will also continue.”
“Of course,” Kabir says with a definitive nod. “Do you have any more questions on this avenue, or are you ready to hear about the transplant procedure?”
Trystan glances to me and at my nod, he answers, “We’re ready to hear about the procedure.”
“Very well,” Kabir says, glancing at his file. “The transplant itself is a relatively simple process. Cameron will have a central line inserted upon admission, and the stem cells will be introduced through that vehicle. It is the effects of the chemotherapy administered before the procedure that will make him the sickest.”
“Chemotherapy?” I repeat, my voice shrill even to my own ears.
Trystan’s tenses beside me and leans forward. “Isn’t chemo for cancer patients?”
David gives a slight nod. “Most often, chemotherapy is used in cancer patients, but anyone having a bone marrow transplant must also undergo chemotherapy.”
“I didn’t …” I almost choke on my words. “I didn’t realize.”
David sighs, and his eyes soften. “This is why I wanted this meeting. I need you to be fully aware of what’s to come.”
“Would you like me to continue?” Kabir asks, waiting patiently for our answer.
I turn, my eyes seeking Trystan’s, and he automatically reaches for my cheek to cup it in his strong, warm palm. “We knew the transplant wasn’t going to be easy, but Cam …” His voice cracks, and he draws in a breath before trying again. “Cam needs this, whatever has to be done, he needs it to survive.”