The Stubborn Love Series: Books 1-5 Contemporary Romance Series

by Wendy Owens

  “I don’t want you to get angry with me.”

  “What on Earth could I ever get angry with you about?” I ask, now nervous.

  “I’m serious. I want you to hear me out,” Henry urges.

  I sit upright, shifting my weight back to the arm of the chair. “You’re starting to scare me.”

  “I don’t mean to scare you, but we need to talk.”

  “So talk,” I reply pointedly.

  Henry sighs; he looks to the fire as if he were searching the colors for the right words.

  “What’s going on?” I demand.

  His gaze shifts back to mine, as he takes my hand into his. “Paige, I love you more than anything in this world. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

  “I love you, too,” I add hesitantly. “Is this a bad thing?”

  “No, I know you love me, and that’s why this is so important for me to say,” he begins again. “I want you to know that I’m going to fight this the best I can, and I promise, I won’t quit until I have nothing left in me.”

  “You’re going to beat this, Henry. We’re going to beat this.”

  “Please, just let me get through this. I love you, and I am so happy that I get to wake up every morning for the rest of my life to your beautiful smile and terrible cooking. I want nothing more than to sit next to you when we’re old and gray, in our rocking chairs, and watch the waves crash against the shore. But no matter how hard I fight, there’s still a strong chance I’m not going to make it through this.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  He sighs and squeezes my hand tighter. “One of the few things that makes me really sad is the thought of you being alone if I don’t make it.”

  “Stop it! You’re going to be fine.”

  “Paige, please, this is important to me. If something does happen to me, and I don’t make it, I want you to promise me something.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this,” I insist, then start to stand up, trying to pull away.

  Henry tightens his grip, pulling me into him. “You need to let me say this. I can’t bear the thought of you never allowing yourself to love again. If something happens to me, I want you to be open to being happy again. Promise me.”

  “I can’t,” I say, shaking my head.

  Henry huffs, and I can see he’s tired.

  “We haven’t even been married for a week, and you’re talking about me finding someone else. You do realize how messed up that is, don’t you?”

  “This entire situation is messed up. Should I wait until I’m sicker, until this conversation might be too hard for me to have? I know you, and I know how you’ll be if things don’t work out. You’ll retreat into yourself, never opening up to anyone ever again.”

  “What happened to a positive attitude? You said the doctors told you that is important. It’s like you’ve already given up,” I argue.

  “No, I haven’t, and if you’ll just promise me that you’ll move on when I’m gone, then I won’t have to think about it anymore, and I can refocus all my thoughts on more positive things.”

  “I don’t want anyone else, that’s why I married you.”

  “I get that, but you might not have that option, and the idea of you spending the rest of your life alone out of some sick loyalty to me, or because you’re scared of getting hurt again, makes my heart literally ache.” His voice is starting to crack, and I can see how much the conversation is taking a toll on him.

  I look down at my hands, fidgeting with my fingers and twisting my wedding ring in circles. I don’t want him to worry about me. I want him to put all of his energy into getting well. I glance up; his eyes are already watching me. I take a deep breath, and with a slight nod, I say, “I promise.”

  Henry pushes himself out of the chair, wrapping his arms around me, and my head presses against his chest. “Then let’s call Dr. Abbott and see if I can get my treatments moved.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I STARE AT the words in the letter, struggling with pinpointing exactly how they make me feel. We were so excited to hear that Henry seems to be getting better. The two of you are always in my thoughts. As soon as Henry’s feeling up to it, Colin and I would love to have you two come down for a visit. Colin keeps joking about the forever-long honeymoon you two seem to be on, but I swear, I haven’t said anything about Henry’s condition, though I hope you will soon.

  I’ve now been Mrs. Henry Wallace for over two months. In that time I’ve taken my husband to more chemo appointments than I care to count and watched as his body shift into one I barely recognize. He has become lethargic, sleeping most of our days away. He’s always nauseous and has wasted away even more over time, his body appearing bruised, as if it is being used as a punching bag. And if all of these things aren’t bad enough, he also gets to deal with the loss of his hair. I’ve been by him through all of these things, careful to never come unraveled or project any of my concern onto him. But it does seem he is now finally showing improvement, and we have the opportunity to come out of our seclusion. It infuriates me that one thought continues to plague me—Christian.

  I want to see Emmie and Colin more than anything, to spend time with Olivia, but going to Texas means I’ll have to see him. I can’t figure out if my concern is that he will reveal my indiscretions to Henry, or if it’s simply the lingering guilt still haunts me. No matter the cause, the cloud is hanging over me, and even if we might be able to visit my Emmie eventually, I cannot think about that right now.

  “Is that a letter?” I hear Henry’s voice over my shoulder.

  Quickly folding up the page and sliding it between the couch cushions, I turn and smile at him. “Oh yeah, it’s just Emmie. Lots of Olivia stories, you know how she is. How are you feeling?”

  “Actually,” he says, pausing for a moment. “I feel great.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I mean it’s hard to believe we’re heading into the city already to see Dr. Abbott.”

  I stand and walk over, slipping my arm around his slender body, his bulky sweater slightly masking the change in his appearance. “I have a really good feeling about this,” I announce.

  “Me too,” he adds and then pulls me in close, placing a tender kiss on my forehead.

  “I can’t believe he wouldn’t give you some hint as to how the brain scan came out,” I complain, picking up the last suitcase at our feet, and carrying it to the front door.

  “He’s a doctor, that’s how they’re supposed to act. I think they just want to be able to explain all the big words in person.” I laugh at his comment, then slip the keys off the entry table and into my hand.

  “How about I drive?” Henry offers.

  I look at him with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, I don’t think so. You might be feeling much better, but you still can’t sit in a car for more than ten minutes without falling asleep.”

  “Yes I can … I can last at least fifteen minutes,” he insists.

  “Exactly, now get your cute little ass in the car so we’re not late. We have a two hour drive ahead of us.”

  “You know, I find this bossy side of you very sexy,” Henry remarks playfully, leaning over to give me a kiss as he walks by.

  I take a deep breath, preparing to leave the life we’ve made here in the Hamptons and take in whatever news the doctors have for us. I know there is a very good chance in a matter of days Henry could be heading in for surgery, and while it’s terrifying, I also know it’s the best news we could possibly receive.

  I watch Henry as he walks down to the car. Everything has seemed to change over the past couple months. His face is now so slender most people can tell something is wrong with him. He walks with an arched back, as though he’s trying to curl into himself as he moves.

  Sometimes I tiptoe down the beach jut to get a good cry out, determined to never let Henry see me come unhinged. A good purge every week has seemed to do the trick. But here we are, about to find out the news that could be the salvation for both
of us. I lock the front door then stop on the steps, taking in a deep breath and smelling salt in the air. It’s time, no more waiting.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  HENRY SCOOPS MY hand up into his, causing me to stop picking at my cuticles. It is a habit I’ve picked up in recent months from all of the long waits in doctors’ offices. “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Don’t be nervous, everything’s going to be fine,” he reassures me. Henry always leaves me wondering where he gets his strength. Let someone cut me off in a parking lot, and I have no issues finding the courage to put the fear of God into them, but something like facing your own mortality, and I know I would be a complete basket case.

  “I’m not nervous,” I insist. “I just don’t understand why they make you wait in a waiting room, only to bring you into the doctor’s office and make you wait some more. I mean, isn’t that the entire point of the waiting room.”

  “It hasn’t been that long.”

  “You’re too nice. It’s not like we’re waiting for our takeout order. We’re waiting to find out about a fu—” The word trails off my lips as I hear the door open behind us.

  “Henry, Paige, welcome. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Dr. Abbott says as he crosses the room, pausing to shake our hands.

  “No, of course not,” I quickly say, causing a low volume snicker out of Henry. With a gentle elbow to his side, he huffs then falls silent.

  “Great, so let’s see here,” the doctor, an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair, and thin-rimmed glasses, says as he examines the file in front of him. “So, how have you been feeling?”

  “Great—” Henry begins before I quickly interrupt with my nervous ramblings.

  “He’s been better than great Dr. Abbott., I mean, there was a while there that he was really struggling, and I wasn’t sure. He wasn’t eating, and he barely ever got out of bed. But in the past week or two he has been back to his old self. We even went on a walk a couple days this week.”

  “Yeah, what she said,” Henry jokes.

  I feel my face grow hot. “I’m sorry, I’m just excited. I know it’s going to be good news.”

  Dr. Abbott says nothing. He doesn’t look up, as Henry and I joke back and forth. He simply keeps studying the file in front of him, his face scrunched into an almost-frown.

  “So when can I go in for the surgery?” Henry asks, sensing my uneasiness.

  Dr. Abbott flips to another page, huffing as he reads the notes. Hesitating a moment more, he finally says, “Actually, it doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to do the surgery, Henry.” When the doctor says his name, I shudder. There is more in the way he says his name than in his entire statement.

  “I don’t understand,” I interject, realizing Henry is going to remain silent.

  “We knew this was a possibility when we decided to move ahead with the treatment,” Dr. Abbott continues. I look over at Henry who is nodding his head yes. It feels like I’m in the Twilight Zone, everyone around me knowing what is going on except me.

  “I’m sorry, what exactly was a possibility?” I question in a stern tone.

  Dr. Abbott looks at me with a sympathetic stare, and shifting in his chair so he can more comfortably look me directly in my eyes, says, “The tumor hasn’t reacted to the treatment; in fact, it has increased slightly in mass. There’s nothing else we can do.”

  “Wait,” I blurt out. “What do you mean? How can that be?”

  “We were all aware this was a likely outcome with this aggressive of a cancer at this late stage. Honestly, we were very fortunate we didn’t have any incidents of infection during the treatment,” Dr. Abbott informs me as if the terminal prognosis of my husband is something I should simply accept and make the best of.

  “I’m not understanding. Are you saying we should just be happy an infection didn’t kill him?”

  “No, I just meant—”

  “Please stop!” I say with a raised voice. “Is there any way we can we try the surgery?”

  “I’m sorry, it would kill him.”

  “Is there a chance? I mean, hell, according to you the cancer is going to kill him for sure. If he has a chance with the surgery we should do it. Right?”

  “Paige,” Henry’s voice is calm, and I feel his hand come to rest on my leg. “It’s going to be okay.”

  My head snaps back as I stare at him in disbelief. “This is not okay. I’m not going to be all right with my husband dying.”

  “There’s nothing they can do,” he says, which makes me suddenly feel sick to my stomach.

  “Now, we do have several grief counseling services available to you,” the doctor begins. I stand and, without a word, I turn and walk out of the office, deciding I’m not going to sit here and discuss all the amazing things they have available to help me cope and deal with the death of my husband.

  I’M NOT SURE how long I stand in the hallway, random nurses asking me if I’m okay or if they can get me something. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, ‘No, leave me the hell alone unless you can create miracles.’

  When Henry comes out we don’t speak. I’m not sure he knows what to say to me. He’s the one who has just been delivered the news that he’s going to die; yet he has to worry about me coming unglued. It’s not until we make it all the way back to the apartment that I decide I’m calm enough to apologize for walking out.

  The apartment is bright and airy, all of the curtains have been opened and everything cleaned to perfection for our return. I approach the window, just in time to watch a few snowflakes fall through the air.

  “It’s starting to snow,” I say, dreading the talk I know we’re about to have.

  “Are we going to talk about what happened?” Henry asks, no interest in the weather.

  I turn to face him; he’s standing at the back of the couch, watching me. “I’m sorry,” I say in an almost whisper.

  “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want to know you’re going to be okay.” His words make my eyes fill with tears.

  “How can I say I’m going to be okay after hearing you’re going to die?” I look at him, knowing before I ask the question there is no possible answer.

  “I know it’s not what we wanted to hear, but—”

  “I don’t want to lose you.” My voice cracks as I interrupt. He immediately closes the gap between us, wrapping his arms around me. I crumple into him.

  “I’m so sorry you have to go through this.” He sighs, his chin pressing against the top of my head.

  I laugh, trying to wipe away the snotty mixture that’s now running out my nose. “You’re the one who is sick, and you’re apologizing. I don’t get you sometimes.”

  “I know this isn’t how you imagined wedded bliss.”

  “I feel like our lives are just starting. It’s not fair.”

  “No, it’s not,” he confirms. “But it’s what we’ve got.” I follow as Henry leads me over to the couch. He sits down and then guides me into his embrace, pressing my head against his chest.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask, hoping he has a solution to a problem of which, in my heart, I know there is none.

  He sits quiet for a moment and then clearly announces, “We’re going to stay just like this, as long as we can.”

  “On the couch?” I groan, pulling my sleeve up to my red nose and nestling my head deeper into Henry’s chest. I hear a deep rattle inside him as he laughs at my remark.

  “Well, for now,” he explains. “But, I mean more living in the moment. We keep each other living for the moment. It’s all we can do.”

  My breath grows shallow. I close my eyes, taking in his smell, soaking in every sense the moment has to offer.

  Chapter Thirty

  Three Months Later ...

  I WALK DOWN the dim hall, careful to be as silent as possible, so as not to disturb Henry. Pressing gently on our bedroom door there is a slight creak as it opens. I peer inside. His head is completely under the blankets, and I can hear him gentl
y whimpering in his sleep. I want to go in and hold him, but I know this will only make it worse for him.

  Suddenly, my cell phone begins vibrating in my side pocket. I pull the door closed and back away carefully and quietly. As I make my way into the living room, I glance at the face of my phone. It’s Emmie. I haven’t answered her last two calls, and I know she must be getting worried.

  Reluctantly, I swipe my finger across the phone and lift it up to my ear, then flop down onto the couch. “Hello?”

  “Paige?” I can already hear the concern in her voice.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” I ask, as if nothing is wrong.

  “What?” Emmie grumbles. “Oh, we’re fine, but I’ve been trying to call you for over a week now, and you’re not picking up. Is everything all right there?”

  I sigh, pressing my head back against the throw pillow behind me. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “How’s Henry?” she asks; I’m sure she can sense my mood already.

  I hesitate then answer, “He’s sleeping.”

  “Is he still feeling good?” she prods.

  “I don’t know. I guess he’s fine.”

  “Paige, what’s going on?”

  I exhale deeply. “I don’t really want to just unload on you whenever you call.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. That’s what friends are for. My job is to be here for you while you’re going through this,” Emmie insists.

  “I guess.”

  “No, no guessing. That’s how it is. Now tell me, what’s going on?”

  “I think I’m just frustrated,” I say heavily.

  “About what?”

  “When the chemo was over, it was like Henry woke up out of this daze. The medication Doctor Abbott gave him to manage his symptoms was incredible,” I explain.

  “Yeah,” Emmie interjects. “You mentioned last time we spoke how great he’s been eating.”

  “It’s not just his appetite coming back. Every night he wanted to go out to a different restaurant or meet up with friends. If our friends were busy, he’d make new friends. It was nothing like the homebody I was used to,” I continue.