by Kat Mizera
“I have physical therapy, but I can move the appointment. What do you need? Do you want me to drive out there?”
“I can’t, I mean… I get the results of the biopsy at one thirty. I don’t think I can do it alone and no one knows.”
“Not even Ashleigh?”
“No. Please, you can’t… I don’t want… Jamie, you can’t tell anyone. Not yet. Promise me.”
“I promise. Okay, listen, if I leave here about seven, it should get me into Los Angeles County after ten, which means I’ll miss the worst of the traffic but still have plenty of time to get to your house if I do hit some.”
“You’ll come? Really?”
“Don’t give it another thought. I’ll be there before lunch.”
“O-okay. Thank you.” She dabbed a tissue at her eyes. “How could he do this to me?” she whispered softly. “How could he leave me when I need him like I’ve never needed anyone before?”
“I don’t know, honey, but I can make some calls, find out…”
“No.” Her voice was harsh, angry, the tears drying up. “The last thing I want is his fucking pity—I’d rather die.”
“Don’t say things like that, hon. Why don’t you have a glass of wine or something, try to relax? I know it must be hard…”
“Nothing helps,” she admitted. “But I’ll pour another, maybe turn on the TV.”
“You want me to come up tonight?”
“Don’t be silly. Get some sleep and drive in tomorrow.”
“Do you want to tell me the details now or wait until I’m there?”
“Can we wait? I can’t even think anymore, I’m so drained.”
“All right, you try to relax and I’ll see you in about twelve hours.”
“Thank you, Jamie. And thank Viggo for letting me borrow you.”
“I don’t need his permission to help a friend.”
“Still.”
“Good night.”
She dozed on and off most of the night and finally got out of bed to watch the sun rise over the hills. She’d bought this house because of the big windows overlooking the city and the spacious rooms, but today it brought her very little joy. She’d lost the man she loved and now she might even lose her life. How had things gone so wrong so quickly?
She’d done more online research about uterine cancer than anyone had a right to, and depending on what the biopsy showed, her chances could be very good. If it was Stage I or II, a total hysterectomy and a few rounds of radiation would most likely take care of it. She’d never have children, but she wouldn’t die. Stage III or IV would be something else entirely. At Stage IV, her chances of survival were less than twenty-five percent, meaning three out of four women with Stage IV endometrial cancer die. And she could be one of them.
Tears stung her eyelids and she focused on making coffee. For the first time in a week, desperate to distract herself, she scoped out her social media accounts. Within thirty seconds, Vlad’s name jumped out at her and she narrowed her eyes.
Russian NHL star spotted at Moscow Marriott after leaving fiancée at the altar.
She scowled. Why the hell was he in Russia? Had he heard back from the detective he’d had searching for his mother? She scanned the article, but it didn’t offer any information other than he’d been seen leaving and entering the hotel a week ago.
Tomorrow would be two weeks since their non-wedding and she wondered if he’d gone to Russia to escape the scrutiny of their very public break-up. He was probably already on his way back, though, because training camp started Monday and he had to be there. They would have been coming home from their honeymoon tomorrow because of the beginning of training camp, and a wave of emotion washed over her. Damn, she missed him. She was still pissed off, but she yearned for his strong arms, to hear him tell her everything was going to be okay. For the hundredth time, she wondered how he could do this to her.
Jamie arrived just before eleven, and Rachel didn’t even hesitate to throw herself in his arms. She didn’t care he was her ex or that he was married to someone else now; she desperately needed someone to comfort her. As expected, Jamie engulfed her in a hug, holding her close and stroking her hair as she cried.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered, pushing her onto the couch and handing her a tissue. “Let’s get the results before you fall apart.”
“I’ve been falling apart all week, but I was at work so I kept busy. I got up at the crack of dawn and got an early start hitting the panic button of my life.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he said gently, reaching for her hand.
“I had symptoms all summer,” she admitted sadly. “But I was so busy with Vlad and planning the wedding, I ignored them. Who knows how long it’s been growing inside me.”
“You don’t have any information yet—stop it.” He got up and ambled towards her kitchen. “You have any food in the house? Have you eaten?”
“Yes and no.”
“I’m making lunch, and you will eat,” he called over his shoulder. “You know how I like to be dominant.”
She snorted, wiping her nose one last time and following him into the kitchen. “If you’re going to make me eat, can we talk about something other than me?”
“Of course.” He dug into her refrigerator and pulled out eggs, mushrooms, cheese, and green onions. “How about a mushroom-swiss-scallion omelet?”
“Sure.” She sank into a chair. “Tell me about you and Viggo.”
“It’s great.” He grinned, moving around her kitchen as if he’d never left. He put a frying pan on the stove as he spoke. “Did I tell you I’m going to be a dad?”
“What?” Her stomach clenched painfully.
“Emilie’s pregnant.” His back was to her, so he couldn’t see her face.
“And you know it’s yours?” Her voice was slightly shaky. Emilie was Jamie’s husband’s ex-wife and they still lived together.
“Yeah. She only had intercourse with me once we started trying…” His voice trailed off and he turned around. “Oh, hell, Rachel, I’m sorry.” He wiped his hands on a towel and walked over to kneel in front of her. “Jesus, hon, I wasn’t even thinking. Is that the kind of cancer it is? Cervical?”
“Endometrial. Which means it’s at least in my uterus, possibly in the cervix or beyond.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He got up and sat on the chair next to her. “I didn’t realize that’s what it was. Let’s change the subject, okay?”
“No. Tell me about the baby.” She met his gaze almost defiantly, desperately hanging on to what strength she had. “Your husband’s ex-wife offered to get pregnant for you?”
“Yeah.” He appeared to be vacillating about continuing the conversation but finally did. “The one hesitation I had with getting serious with him was having my own kids. Emilie offered, said it made her life easier, too, because she and Viggo already had Simone, and then if she and I had a baby together, the kids would be half-siblings and it would be our very unconventional but loving little mixed family. She’s due in March.”
“And involved with Chains.” Chains was a retired spy from the British MI6 agency who worked at the nightclub Emilie managed.
“It’s been great, but I’ll be honest—I can’t wait for them to move out. We never have any privacy. They don’t bother us, but if they’re out, we’ve got Simone. If they’re watching Simone, they’re home with us. We don’t have any alone time.”
“That sucks.”
He got up and went back to the stove. “And of course, having a live-in nanny is great, but she’s always home, too.”
“Did you two get away this summer?”
“We spent a few days in Niagara Falls after we got married, but other than that, no.”
“Are you happy?” she asked softly. “I can’t even imagine how much you’ve been through this year.”
“Daily annoyances aside, I’m really fucking happy,” he smiled. “He’s everything I never knew I wanted. He’s…well, I’m in love with him. That�
��s all I can say. It’s still a little weird, talking about being in love with a man, but I don’t think of him as a man—I think of him as the person I love. In my head, there’s no gender attached. Is that fucked up?”
She giggled, momentarily distracted from her problems. “Kinda.”
He chuckled, too. “But he’s been my rock, you know? Through the whole ordeal—the hospital, surgeries, rehab, physical therapy, the fucking scars on my back—he’s never wavered. I’ve been in therapy dealing with the anger, a little PTSD, all kinds of stuff and no matter how much of an asshole I am, he just asks what I need. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”
She nodded, blinking away happy tears. “I’m so glad you found that, Jamie. For real. When I heard the rumors you were bisexual, I was worried about you…that you wouldn’t deal with it, or walk away from Viggo. It’s good to hear you’ve worked through it.”
“Well…” He smirked at her. “In my head, I’m not married to a guy, so…maybe still working through it?”
She arched her brows. “In your head, does your husband have a dick?”
Jamie burst out laughing. “Yeah. That doesn’t go away no matter what dumb fantasy I’m having.”
“Then I think you’re good.”
They talked and laughed while he cooked, and she managed to eat half an omelet and a few bites of toast. When she pushed her plate away, she let out a sad sigh. “Sorry, I don’t have much appetite.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you go get ready and I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s fine. Do you remember how many times I loaded this dishwasher when we were dating?”
“More than I did,” she chortled, heading to her bedroom.
They got to the doctor’s office a little early and Rachel tapped her foot impatiently as they waited. By the time they were called back to see him, she was a nervous wreck.
“Ms. Kennedy.” The doctor held out his hand to Jamie. “I’m Reuben Sanai.”
“Nice to meet you. Jamie Teller.” Jamie shook the man’s hand and then took Rachel’s.
“Ms. Kennedy, I have good news and bad news.”
Rachel held her breath.
“We did find cancer, but it’s early. Stage I, barely. I think you’re still best served to have a total hysterectomy, including the ovaries, to remove any likelihood of recurrence, but your prognosis is excellent.”
Rachel didn’t move, didn’t speak, her face a mask as the doctor discussed surgery, recovery time and post-op treatment.
“Ms. Kennedy? Do you have questions?”
Rachel opened her mouth but closed it again. “I’m a little in shock,” she admitted.
“Take your time,” the doctor spoke gently.
“Is it possible to freeze some of her eggs so she can eventually hire a surrogate if she decides to have children?” Jamie asked when Rachel didn’t say anything.
Her head snapped up and she frowned. “Is that possible?”
“Yes, of course. I was going to bring that up after we talked about the surgery.” Dr. Sanai waited patiently for her to continue.
“I don’t want to talk about the surgery, I just want to get it over with.”
“We can schedule you immediately,” he said, nodding. “But you must have questions.”
“Will she need chemotherapy or radiation?” Jamie asked.
“I don’t believe so. It’s very early. She’s lucky those cells showed up in her pap smear. If they hadn’t, a year from now might have shown very different results. We’ll reassess after I’ve removed everything and tested surrounding tissue.”
Jamie asked all the questions, everything Rachel might have asked and then some. By the time they left, the surgery was scheduled in two weeks and she was going to see another doctor about harvesting her eggs. Her head was swimming but Jamie seemed on top of everything, gathering all the information and even taking notes on a pad he’d asked for. He slid an arm around her waist as they walked out to her car and gently took the keys from her.
“Let me drive,” he said quietly. “You’re shaking.”
“Okay.” She got in beside him and put her seat belt on. Then she closed her eyes and tried to shut out the world, the word “cancer” running through her head like a video set on repeat.
14
Six Months Ago
Jamie had been attacked at the end of January, just before the All-Star break, and while it had been hard on the whole team, it had been particularly hard on Vlad. He and Jamie were friends and Vlad had never been close to someone who’d been a victim of something as violent and ugly as a hate crime. Watching both Jamie and Viggo suffer through the aftermath made him think about a lot of things, both past and present.
He didn’t know anything about his birth parents, and no amount of searching had gotten him much information, but he wanted a different kind of future than the one he’d had as a child. He’d grown up without family, without stability, without affection—and even though he now had money that afforded him a certain degree of stability, he was still very much alone. He was solely responsible for that and had been working on it, but he sometimes wondered if something was wrong with him. He struggled to reach out to people, to have strong relationships, even with other men. Even with Toli, who shared his culture and language, it had taken three years and a lot of effort on Toli’s part for them to become as close as they were.
One thing that had helped was having Rachel in his life. Though they’d kept things between them casual after their first sexual encounter, it hadn’t taken him long to realize how important she was and that he wanted more with her. They’d had a pivotal moment when she’d recently asked him what his hesitation was in committing to her. She’d pointed out that a relationship wasn’t a prison sentence—if it didn’t work out, he was free to walk away at any time. Once she’d put it like that, they’d gotten closer.
He started opening up to her in ways he’d never imagined he would feel comfortable doing, especially with a woman. Almost all of his experience with women had been hookers and hockey groupies so it had taken him a while to allow himself to trust, to feel, to be himself. Rachel wasn’t like any of those women, though, and the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to be with her. She was so beautiful sometimes he had a hard time believing she was even interested in him, and the sweet woman she was on the inside sealed the deal.
Her big heart was never more evident than in how she handled his constant frustration with Jamie’s situation. He wanted to do something to help, but with Jamie’s attackers in custody in Canada and the trial not scheduled to begin until summer, he didn’t know if writing checks to LGBTQ charities was enough.
“You can’t take on the weight of the world,” Rachel said when he’d admitted how he felt. “You can only take care of you—and the people closest to you. We have to be the best people we can be and hope that we somehow spread more love than hate.”
He grunted. “Would be better to punch bad people.”
“I definitely feel that way sometimes, but the guys who did this to Jamie are just…inherently bad.”
“They call them skinheads—this is Nazis?”
“Yeah, people today who still think Hitler was right.”
“Right about killing Jews?” Vlad was confused.
“Right about making a purer race, the Aryan race—you know, blond hair and blue eyes. That kind of thing.”
He paused. “You have dark hair with blue eyes—this is bad? I am blond with hazel… We are not pure?”
“Oh, honey, we definitely aren’t pure, but that doesn’t make a difference, does it? If you and I were to have a baby—and I’m talking hypothetically, not actually getting pregnant…”
“I understand—my English is not that bad!”
“Anyway, if we were to have a baby—what do you think it would look like? Genetically speaking.”
He paused. “Maybe your hair—dark is very strong�
�� I don’t know the word.”
“Dominant.”
“This, yes. And my eyes are hazel, which would probably be dominant over blue?”
“Let’s say we have a little boy with dark hair and hazel eyes…. The blond and blue that you and I carry would still be in his DNA but no one would see it. To people like them, he wouldn’t be pure and they would want to eliminate him.”
Vlad couldn’t help the growl that escaped his throat. “This…this…” He let out a string of expletives in Russian. Though the child they were discussing didn’t exist and they weren’t talking about having one together at this point in their relationship, the idea that their hypothetical child would be somehow impure because of hair and eye color was ludicrous to him.
“Are you okay?” she asked after a moment.
He took a deep breath. “I have never seen anything like this in my life. In Russia, I grow up without family and my memories are almost all hockey. I discover girls and sex, yes, but I don’t go out or meet people other than players and coaches. I never saw this kind of hate. I hear some whispers in locker room, this guy is with that man but I am thinking only about hockey so I ignore. This was very stupid.”
“You were young and didn’t have anyone to teach you these things,” she said gently. “It doesn’t make you stupid—just naïve. Personally, I think you’ve turned out to be a great guy, especially since you essentially had to raise yourself.”
“Sometimes I’m afraid,” he whispered. “For the future…”
“Your future?”
“No…” He struggled to articulate what he wanted to say.
“Tell me the general subject matter and I’ll help you find the words,” she said gently, sensing his difficulty in expressing his most serious thoughts in his second language.
“Children,” he said slowly. “Mine.”
She paused. “You’re worried about what part? Having them? Loving them? Being a good father—”
“This!” he said quickly. “I never had a father. Or mother. I wonder if maybe I will be bad.”
“Are you a thief?” she asked slowly.