A Forever Kind of Love

by Shiloh Walker

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” She gave him a practiced, completely false smile.

  “Bullshit.” He dropped the bag on the table centered under a mirror and folded his arms over his chest, studying her face. “Don’t hand me the line you hand people in your store, people at church, whoever. I know you too well. How are you, really?”

  She lifted a golden brow at him. “Chase, you don’t really me that well. Not anymore.”

  “Don’t I?” He reached out and tucked her hair behind one ear. “When was the last time you watched Old Yeller?”

  She scowled at him.

  “Still reading the Valdemar books? How many copies you gone through now?”

  She tucked her hands into her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Things like that aren’t exactly knowing me.”

  “Hmm. How about this? You’re pissed off. You’ve been riding on nerves and caffeine for a while, but today, you’re pissed off and you just want to hit something.”

  Something flashed in her eyes, but she remained silent.

  “What set you off?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice was low and flat.

  “Nothing? You sure about that, princess?”

  There it was again…a flash of fire, hot and angry.

  “Come on, surely there’s something. Your panties are in a twist over something.” He slanted a look toward the bedroom she shared with Roger. Jealousy twisted his gut, but he kept his voice easy and light as he said, “It’s got to be rough, where you’re at right now. No way to burn off that anger, that stress, that…”

  He saw it coming, but he didn’t bother to move.

  His head snapped back from the force of her blow and even as the pain bloomed, he grinned at her. She stared at him, shock written all over her face. “Feel better?”

  Zoe gaped at him. “You…what…”

  Edging past her, he went to the mirror and peered at his mouth. He tasted blood. “Damn, you’ve got a good right hook there, Zoe.”

  She was quiet for a second and then, softly, she said, “You did that on purpose. Pissed me off.”

  Chase shrugged. She was studying him in the mirror. Meeting her gaze, he said, “You were already pissed. I can’t say I blame you. I’d be pissed too. Holding it in non-stop isn’t helping. So, do you feel better?”

  A reluctant smile curled her lips and she shook her head. “You’re an idiot.” Then she looked down. When she winced, he turned around and looked down at her hand.

  Her knuckles were discolored and swelling. “Let’s go put some ice on it.”

  She shook her head. “Can’t. Don’t have time. I need to see if I can get Roger’s sister to come over for a while. I’ve got to go to Brooklawn. It’s…well, there’s some problems with my mom.” She grimaced. “I guess that’s part of why I’m pissed off, as you put it. Too many things hitting at once. I’ve got to get payroll done for the store, I’ve got a shipment lost and I need to track it down. This mess with Mom. Too much crap going on, but Roger…well, he’s not feeling too well and I don’t want him alone and…”

  “I’ll stay with him.” The words popped out before he even realized it.

  Zoe opened her mouth. Closed it. Then she smiled and shook her head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t. I offered. Look, it’s Thursday—I take Thursdays off at the store, so I’m not needed there. I can hang around here with Roger for a while. You go. Take care of your mom.” He reached out, lifted her hand, studied her knuckles. “Put some ice on this.”

  Her skin felt so soft under his, soft. Warm. Fragile.

  Swallowing the knot in his throat, he let go of her hand and looked up, forced a smile. “Go take care of your mom…and then, Zoe? Why don’t you go take care of yourself for a while? Go shopping. Go see a movie. Do something.”

  Take care of myself…

  Man, the thought of going shopping, seeing a movie, even taking half an hour for a manicure was tempting, so damn tempting. But it was selfish. Too selfish. Right now, Roger needed her here. He’d understand if she left to check on Mom, but she had no business running out to go primp, do a shopping spree…

  “I’ll just take care of Mom.” She glanced at Chase’s face and smiled, shrugged. “That’s all I need to do, anyway.”

  He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her cheek. “You need to take a little while for yourself, every now and then. You need it. You can’t help him if you collapse.”

  That light touch left her heart racing. It was an absent gesture, one she doubted he was even aware of, but it did bad, bad things to her mental state. Swallowing, she stepped back, putting herself out of her reach. “I’m fine, Chase. I promise. Let me just go talk to Roger.”

  They still looked right together.

  Tiredly, Roger moved back to the bed before they took notice of him. He lay on the bed and thought about how right his wife looked with another man. He’d much rather think about that, even though it broke his heart.

  It was easier thinking about that than what was coming. Easier to think about Chase and Zoe than the fact that he was wasting away inside. Easier to think about them than the nausea, the weakness…the fact that he was going to be dead in a matter of weeks, months at the most.

  The nausea, for the most part, had passed—for today. The weakness, it got worse every day and he knew it wouldn’t pass. The pain too, but right now the pain wasn’t so bad.

  He didn’t want to think about the pain, though. Or the nausea. He definitely didn’t want to think about those moments—those moments. Times when he didn’t really feel like himself. Times when his mind didn’t feel like his own—when his thoughts took a dark and vicious turn and he barely remembered anything after the first few seconds.

  Part of him thought he should say something to Zoe, because it scared the shit out of him, but what could he say? Hey, baby…I think I might be going a little psychotic too? What the hell did it matter anyway? He was going to be dead in a few more weeks. It didn’t seem like it lasted long, and as long as he didn’t hurt her…and he never would—never…

  His gut clenched even thinking about that. No. He wasn’t thinking about that. Definitely not that.

  It was easier to think about something else than the fucking cancer killing him bit by bit, or the chemo that was almost as bad.

  Even thinking about how right Chase and Zoe looked together.

  After all of these years.

  They’d all looked so perfect together. Even in high school, when both of them had been crazy about the cute cheerleader. But Chase had been the one brave enough to make a move. Chase, not Roger.

  And they’d fit.

  A perfect match.

  Roger had figured he’d never have a chance with her.

  Then Chase had left, and Roger had his chance.

  Zoe—her borderline psychotic mother, such a cold, mean bitch, and the mess that happened after high school.

  So many fractured pieces… Such a fucking mess.

  Crazy Grace, Chase disappearing.

  Roger had stepped in and picked up the pieces.

  He hadn’t expected Zoe to love him.

  But somewhere along the way, she had started to.

  She did love him.

  Even after Chase came back to town. And man, there had been nights when Roger had lain awake, convinced she’d leave him. Convinced of it, especially after he’d seen the way Chase had watched her—the way the guy’s eyes had lingered on her the first time he’d seen her. Chase still had it for her, Roger knew. Still loved her.

  But she’d stayed. With him. Because she loved him.

  Looking at the two of them, now, they still looked like they should fit.

  Maybe it was a good thing though.

  Chase still had feelings for her. And when this was all over…

  Yeah.

  It wasn’t a bad thing.

  Zoe appeared in the doorway and just like the first time he’d seen her, the si
ght of her made his heart skip a beat, then another. Smiling at her, he said, “Hey, gorgeous.”

  She smiled back and came to sit on the bed next to him. Chase hovered in the doorway and Roger pretended surprise. “Hey, man, what are you doing here?”

  “Wanted to bring some books over to you all, seeing as how you’re still pretending to be sick,” Chase said, giving him a half smile.

  “Yeah, it’s been a cakewalk. I get the best fucking drugs, my wife hovering over me.” He grinned back, a little relieved that they could still mess with each other. They were both in love with the same woman. But Chase didn’t hate him. It was easier, Roger realized, going to his grave with that knowledge. He’d hate it if Chase despised him. “Hey, did you say books? Shit, I get books too?”

  Chase’s grin widened. “Yeah. I brought books. There’s even an ARC in there—an author sent it to the store—not my thing, but you can read it, tell me if it’s any good. If it is, I’ll order some in when the book comes out.”

  Zoe stroked a hand down his arm. “Baby, I got a call from Brooklawn. There are some problems with Mom and I’ve got to go out there. Chase said he’d hang around for a while. Is that okay?”

  “Shit.” Roger scrubbed a hand over his face. “Chase, you don’t need to do that. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Hell, who said I’m babysitting your ass? I just don’t have anything else better to do. If I hang around my house, somebody is going to try and call me into the store and it’s the one day a week I take off,” Chase said, his voice wry. “You’re doing me a favor, really. Letting me hide in a house where there is a nice big flat screen, food… Hey, is there beer in the fridge?”

  Her plan, really, was to go home.

  But plans often went awry, and Zoe knew if she went home right now, she’d end up doing something worse than popping Chase in the face—even if he had egged her into it.

  She blushed even thinking of it. She felt terrible, and felt even worse, because just doing it had done something to relieve that vicious knot of tension inside her.

  She stormed out of the rehab center, stinging from the last barrage of insults from her mother. Once she climbed into her car, she threw her purse onto the floorboard. For a second, she wanted to cry. Desperately wanted to cry.

  It didn’t matter that her mother didn’t even know her.

  It didn’t matter that her mother didn’t even know what she was saying, not really.

  All it did was bring back memories of times when her mother had known her. Her mother hadn’t ever loved her—her parents had split up when she was two and her mother blamed Zoe. Her father had dutifully sent child support and she’d always been well provided for, but her mother had passionately, desperately loved her father, and Zoe was the reason they’d split up.

  In her mother’s eyes, at least. Whether that was really the case or not, nobody would ever know, but Zoe bore that burden for most of her life. Even now, when Grace didn’t seem to know anybody, Zoe suspected somewhere inside, there was a part of her that still knew her daughter.

  Most of the people who cared for Mom were treated with apathy, unless they did something the older woman just outright hated. Like bathing, the event that led to today’s unpleasantries.

  Zoe, though, Zoe wasn’t treated with apathy.

  She hated Zoe…though she didn’t remember her.

  Zoe couldn’t come through the door without being subjected to vile, horrid insults, and often, physical assaults. She had dodged so many bedpans, food trays, books and other objects, she could probably qualify for a professional dodgeball team.

  She couldn’t go home. Not right now.

  The wounds were so raw and Roger would see them.

  Worse, Chase would.

  She couldn’t stand for him to see them.

  As much as she hated to share the burdens with Roger, he was still her husband and she knew he’d want to know. Chase, though…she couldn’t let him see, couldn’t let him know.

  Her mother left her feeling too raw, and there were secrets there. Secrets he couldn’t know. Secrets he had no right to know.

  She’d go to the gym.

  Maybe she didn’t feel right going shopping, to a movie, getting a manicure, but she could go to the gym, sweat off some of this frustration, maybe sit in the sauna for a bit. That would help.

  She hoped.

  Roger was asleep when she got home.

  She was glad.

  She was too on edge and she needed to settle. He didn’t need her burdens on top of what he was feeling.

  He’d fallen asleep on the recliner end of the couch, the foot elevated, a blanket thrown over him. She smiled because she knew Roger—he wouldn’t have gotten himself a blanket.

  Chase was sprawled at the other end. The TV was on, the sound low. He had a book in his hand and when she came inside, he looked up at her. Studying the workout clothes, he said, “You weren’t wearing that when you left.”

  “Decided to go by the gym.”

  She kept her voice quiet, although she knew Roger wouldn’t wake. He probably wouldn’t wake until eight or nine tomorrow. Her heart broke a little as she stared at him. He wasn’t even gone and she was already missing him so much.

  Sinking down next to him, she brushed his hair back from his face. He’d been worried he’d lose his hair, that dense, dark brown, but it hadn’t happened. Resting a hand on his cheek, she closed her eyes and took comfort in the fact that he was still here.

  Still with her. For now.

  Feeling the weight of somebody’s stare, she looked up and saw Chase standing near the door. She hadn’t even heard him get up.

  Licking her lips, she stood and moved to stand closer. “Thank you,” she said softly. She grimaced and lifted her right hand, displaying her bruised knuckles. “For everything.”

  “You love him a lot.”

  She blinked. Okay, that had come out of nowhere.

  “Yes. I do.” She hadn’t exactly expected to—when he’d proposed to her, she’d grabbed onto it like a life preserver. She hadn’t planned on falling in love with Roger, but it had happened. Somehow. Slowly. Along the way.

  He’d always been there. Strong, silent, a steady presence in her life. He had always been there…and she had counted on him always being there. She couldn’t have been any more wrong.

  With a shuttered look in his eyes, Chase looked past her shoulder to stare at Roger. “I’m sorry you two are going through this.”

  “Thank you.” What else could she say?

  He looked like there was more he wanted to add, but in the end, he just nodded and grabbed his keys from the table and left in silence.

  She locked the door and went to the bedroom, changed out of her sweaty gym clothes. A scalding hot shower washed the sweat and grime from her body, the fog from her brain. After brushing her teeth, she grabbed a pillow from the bed.

  She wouldn’t have many nights left with her husband.

  She wanted to enjoy every last one that she could.

  Chapter Four

  “How is everything going?”

  Zoe looked up at the doctor, tried to smile.

  The nurses were drawing blood, doing their volley of tests and Zoe was waiting in the room while Roger pretended to be a human pin cushion. Wryly, she said, “How do you think everything is going?”

  Dr. Sanders grimaced. “Not well.” Then he tipped his glasses down, studying her with probing blue eyes. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about? Any…problems of your own?”

  “Like what?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

  “Just wondering how things are going. In general. A brain tumor can cause…well, unusual behavioral changes,” he said quietly, still watching her face closely. “Mood swings, impulsive outbursts. Irrational anger. Has there been anything like that?”

  Zoe surged to her feet and started to pace the small room. “Why shouldn’t he be angry?” she snapped. “He’s thirty-four years old and he’s dying. I’m fucking pissed off—
he should be too.”

  “I’m not talking about anger at the situation,” he said kindly.

  “Then what are you talking about?” She stopped pacing and turned to stare at him. “What are you getting at?”

  “I just wanted to know if you had any concerns,” he said again. “And…I want you to be aware, his issues with his anger will become worse, I’m afraid.”

  A chill raced down her spine at the look in the doctor’s eyes. As her knees went strangely weak, she sank into her chair. “What…what do you mean?”

  Tiredly, he cleaned his glasses. “Zoe, bear in mind, Roger has given me permission to discuss his case with you, and that’s what I’m trying to do. Earlier, when I did my exam, he had a few moments…”

  The doctor’s words trailed off.

  Zoe stared at him. Licking her lips, she whispered, “He was angry, wasn’t he? Like he wasn’t even himself.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Sanders inclined his head. “It’s happened before.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “It’s happened here as well. Other than today, it’s only happened once. Just be aware, it may get worse. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need me, okay?”

  “How—” She bit her lip, looked away. Lately, it happened two or three times a day, and when it was over, he was so tired after, he slept for an hour or more. It was like those brief moments drained him completely. “You say you think it will get worse. What do you mean?”

  “I wish I knew,” he said quietly. “But I can’t say.”

  A week later, Zoe slept next to Roger, a faint smile on her lips.

  He’d had a good day—not even one of those black, ugly moments that darkened so much of their time.

  Just a lovely, wonderful day. So wonderful, when she’d laid down next to him, he’d ran his hands along her body, delighting her. They hadn’t had sex in more than a month.

  Man, she missed it. Sex with her husband was something she’d come to crave. She loved the feel of him, the weight of his body, the heat of his cock, the strength of his body.

  When he kissed her, she almost cried from the pleasure of it. Giddy, when he lifted up, she pushed on his shoulders until he rolled over and then she wiggled down in the bed until she could take him in her mouth. He groaned and fisted his hands in her hair, muttering her name in a ragged, broken voice.