by K. Bromberg
The forced cheer in her voice causes the hair on my arms to stand on end. “That depends on what you’re going to tell me.” My voice is a mere whisper over the line.
“Well, I’d like you to come in and have a chat with me.”
The saliva leaves my mouth, and my heart thunders in my ears. I’d like to think the sound prevents me from hearing properly, but I know better than that. I know that good news is given over the phone when test results are all clear, and meetings are scheduled when the results are bad. And regardless of how pleasant Dr. Blakely’s tone is, I can hear it in her voice, can hear the same quality to it as when she spoke to Lexi about her prognosis before shipping her off to the reconstruction specialist and the oncologist.
“Can’t you just tell me over the phone?” I ask, hoping against hope.
“I think it would be best if you came in so we could talk.”
And I know. Right now I know, but I’m still reaching.
“I can come in whenever it fits your schedule,” I tell her, thinking if she puts if off a week or two, I just might be wrong, that the results are nothing to worry about. I’m playing mind games with myself, I know, but I don’t care.
“How about tomorrow afternoon? I have some colleagues stopping by in the morning to meet with me in regard to your file, and so I’d like to speak with you after, if that’s okay? Say three o’clock?”
And the mind games are useless now. Tomorrow screams urgent. Tomorrow tells me cancer.
Tomorrow says Fuck you, Haddie.
I force a swallow down my throat, working to find the words I need to respond. “Okay.” I’m surprised she hears me, my voice is barely audible. I drop the phone and sit there, staring at the sky.
I have cancer. She may not have said the word, but she didn’t have to.
My glass slips from my hand and falls to the ground. I watch the lemonade spill onto the grass and then slowly seep into the earth. Disappear. Gone forever.
Ring around a rosie.
I wonder if it’s cold down there—beneath the surface of the dirt—when they bury your body.
A pocket full of posies.
I fixate on the thought. Wonder if Lexi is cold.
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
I close my eyes, unwilling to accept and not wanting to believe that fate has come knocking on my door. So I shut down, welcome the numbness, the disengagement I know is happening from my complete lack of tears and my inability to play the mind games needed to help me deal with the phone call.
I’ll cope tomorrow. Right now I just want to shut the world out.
Time passes. I hear car doors slam as neighbors come home from work. I hear mothers calling their kids inside for dinner. The night fades and eats up any sign of light until it’s completely smothered. Street lights flicker to life.
And yet I sit here. Not wanting to move. Not caring if I ever do because that means tomorrow is closer, and I don’t want tomorrow to come.
My phone rings and alerts me to texts but it sits on the table where I dropped it, and I don’t have enough energy to pick it up, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.
I’m so cold, despite the warm night air. My soul is chilled, and my thoughts are frozen, obsessed with replaying the doctor’s words over and over in my head.
“Hey.” The voice from behind me startles me, despite my having known somehow he would find me. I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting the onslaught of emotion to come, to overwhelm, to break me down, and yet nothing does. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Feelings, emotions, reactions are so dull, so nonexistent, I should be scared, but I’m not. I wait for the butterflies, for the ache in my heart and the tingle between my thighs at the voice that riles them up, but they’re not there.
Because I feel nothing.
“Your car was in the driveway. I kept calling your cell, and you didn’t answer, but I heard it ringing back here, so I came in through the gate,” he explains, his voice becoming louder as he nears me.
I look straight ahead and murmur incoherently at him as his footsteps continue to grow closer. Once his body is beside mine, it takes everything I have to scrape together some semblance of a smile and force my head to angle up to meet his. “Hey.”
He sees it immediately. I know he can see the emotions warring within me, but he recovers quickly, eyebrows drawn together as he studies me. “Everything okay?” he asks as he lowers himself to the chaise, his hip pushing my legs over so he has room.
Am I okay? Ha. I want to laugh at the question. “Hmm,” I say in response.
He reaches out and cups the side of my face, his thumb rubbing over my cheek in that way that usually makes me melt, but I remain unresponsive in every way. “Everything okay with Maddie?” I nod my head, knowing he’s searching for a reason for my silence. “Did the doctor call? Any news?”
I can hear the concern tingeing the edges of the question, and it’s truth-or-dare time for me: lie to protect him or tell him the truth and test the promises he made at the farm. I teeter on that fine edge of my moral compass, but then my split-second decision is one I think I made the moment I received the call.
“No, not yet. She called to tell me something’s held up at the lab, but in relooking at my scans, she’s not too worried.” The lies roll off my tongue just as easily as the relief they cause makes his posture sag.
I’m going to hell. I just lied to Becks. I’m going to hell, and I deserve it. Every damn lick of fire against my flesh, I deserve.
Then the panic hits me. I shift to place my hands under my thighs so that he can’t see them tremor with the adrenaline coursing through my system. My mind spins in an eddy of fucked-up thoughts, and as each one whips out of the whirlpool and hits my conscience, I feel worse with each passing second.
I should confess, make things right. I know I should, but the words don’t come off my tongue because images of Lexi and Danny and Maddie hop on the eddy, collide with every truth I should reveal, and knock them down.
“Haddie?” I’m brought back to the present when Becks says my name again, and I try to focus on him through the tears that don’t even well, but that burn like hell. Hmpf, like hell—that’s rather fitting and deserving.
“I …” I don’t know where to go with this conversation, which path to take to gain some distance so I can process everything without the pressure of what it will do to everyone else. I think of the heavy knowledge so apparent in Lexi’s lively eyes. Her awareness of what she was leaving behind for us to deal with.
I have three options now: Hurt him so badly that I push him away and gain some distance, fess up to the lie and ask for some space, or beg him to make me feel to see if it’s even possible or if I’m already dead inside.
I stare at him, his blue eyes radiating concern as he grants me patience to figure out the words I need to say. And I’m not ready to talk yet.
I reach out without thought and pull his mouth to mine, desperation emanating off me, causing it to crash into him and take hold. If I’m going to Hell, I might as well get a piece of Heaven first. And fuck yes, this makes me the most selfish woman on the face of the earth, but I can’t make a decision yet, can’t voice my feelings yet, so I give into the greed and take.
Within seconds of our mouths clashing together, between a shocked gasp from Becks and his rush to take what I’m offering, I already have my hands on his zipper and am pulling his thickening cock from his trousers.
“Had—what—wait—are—”
“Shh. No talking, just fucking, okay? It’s day three.” I retrieve the excuse, hoping he’ll just go with it and not question me any further.
I feel the hesitancy in his lips, his mind trying to scramble and catch up to how he’s already hard and ready in my hand. Our mouths remain savage on each other’s, teeth scrape, tug, and I suck on his tongue, earning me a strangled groan that lets me know he’s ready for what I’m striving for: complete mental obliteration.
I shift my positioning and slide off the chaise, leaning o
ver not to break the connection. His hands meet mine as we both work at the buttons on my shorts, shoving them with my panties down to the ground so that I can step out of them. Now free of his undressing job, his hand finds its way back between my thighs, parting my folds, testing my readiness, but I dance backward from the V of his thighs before he can find his purchase.
I don’t deserve this consideration from him, don’t deserve anything from him since I’m giving him nothing in return. I turn abruptly around so that I straddle his legs where he sits on the edge of the lounger, my back to his front. I can’t bring myself to watch him as I do this—use him—and he sure as hell doesn’t need to see the tears that threaten to fill my eyes with each passing second.
I reach down between my legs, and Becks sucks in a breath as I grip his erection in my hand and position it at my entrance. I rub the crest back and forth a couple times over my seam to wet it and then, without giving him a moment to ready himself, slam my hips down hard and fast, sheathing him in one slick movement.
His groan fills the night air around us, our bodies shrouded from the view of neighbors by the night sky and overhanging tree branches. I don’t even give him a moment to sink into the sensation before I am on the move. I’m not fully ready for him, so my muscles stretch and skin burns at the friction as my body catches up to my running thoughts and urges.
But that makes me feel. It means I’m not completely numb. As fucked-up as it is, I welcome the pain as a punishment for the lie and for what I ultimately know I’m going to do.
I slide up and down Becks’s cock at a fervent pace, never giving him a moment to think or a chance to resist. I need to control this right now, him right now, because I can’t control anything else, and that fear is eating me alive right alongside the guilt. So I own him, own the moment, all the while hating myself.
I bring him to his orgasm at a rapid speed, the friction and vigor helping him light the fuse for his detonation. He comes with such violence, I can hear it in his cry, feel it in the muscles of his thighs locking tight and how his fingers dig into my hips.
“Holy shit,” he says when he’s finally caught his breath. He wraps his arms around me and presses his forehead against the line of my spine as he comes down from his orgasmic haze. “What in the hell was that?” His tone is one of shocked satisfaction, and I bite my lower lip to hold back the sob that catches in my throat.
“I think you should go now.” The evenness to my tone scares me. I feel his body jolt from my words. His chest, which was heaving against my back, stills, and the evidence from our union starts to seep out of me.
“What?”
I give him credit for remaining calm but almost wish he’d be angry because that’s easier to hold on to, to feed off of.
“You mind telling me what the fuck this is all about?”
I rise from his lap and collect my shorts and panties from the ground where they sit beside my empty lemonade glass. I use my underwear to clean myself up and then toss them to him to use without meeting his eyes. I notice them land on the chaise beside him without him so much as reaching for them.
“Suit yourself,” I mutter as I pull my shorts up, my motions on autopilot once again. “You can see yourself out,” I say as I start walking toward the house.
Within a flash, I’m being spun around to face the wrath of Becks. He tries to talk, but every word gets overlapped by the one before it as confusion wins the war over his emotions. “I’m lost here,” he finally gets out, his expression matching his words. “Do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on here? I’m a patient man, but hell if you’re not testing that right now with whatever game you’re playing.”
Our eyes remain locked, except the darkness around us allows me to keep the secrets hidden so that he can’t see the truths I’m protecting. “No game, Becks.” I shake my head and clear my throat to try to gain some conviction in my tone to reinforce the mistruth. “I think we’re moving way too fast, and I don’t really need this added stress in my life right now.”
“Come again?” His voice rises as he takes a step closer, jaw tensing and head shaking. “Did you not just ride me? That sure as hell isn’t the action of a woman trying to distance herself.”
“Think of it as a parting gift.” I instantly regret the flippant comment when I see him wince in reaction. The escalator to hell is only getting faster right now as I pile lie upon lie, hurt upon hurt.
“A parting gift?” He emits a sliver of a laugh laced with derision. “I’m trying really hard right now to make sense of this, how we went from orgasm to mindfuck, and I’m drawing a blank.” I clench my fists to combat the hurt in his eyes piercing my heart. “Did I do something wrong? Is there something you’re not telling me? Did Dante finally wear you down? What?”
And with that comment, Becks unknowingly opens the gates of Hell for me to walk through. I grab on and run with it, own it as if it were the truth. Anything to push him away right now, give me time to think. It’s so much easier to hurt him this way than it would be with all of the crap that cancer brings with it.
He asked me for a day at the farm. One day just to let him show me how good we could be together. I gave him that day and then some. But now I can’t give him anymore with all of this hanging over my head. God, yes, it has been so good, but he doesn’t deserve to deal with this disease. Hell, I don’t deserve to. It’s just so much easier to cut ties now than to drag him behind me with ropes of obligation binding us together.
“Yes.” My voice breaks with the single word. I clear my throat. “Yes, Dante and I had a heart-to-heart earlier today. We’re going to work things out. You know he’s more my type than you are, so it shouldn’t surprise you that I choose him.”
The expression on Becks’s face reflects a man who’s gone nine rounds in the ring as my words punch him. I can see him try to process what I’ve just said, see him try to acknowledge it, but the acceptance never comes.
Our eyes don’t waver from each other’s as he steps forward and raises both hands to frame my face so that I’m unable to look away. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, Montgomery. I have no fucking clue. You want space? Fine, I’ll give you space, but don’t for one second think I’m buying the fact that you choose that douche bag over me.” He exhales a broken breath as he figures out the rest of what he wants to say. My heart thunders in my ears, and my own breath is just as uneven as his but for the opposite reason. “I’m going to leave right now. I’m going to walk out that door and give you some time to figure out whatever the shit is in your head, but I don’t want it mistaken for a single second that I’m walking away from you.” He squeezes his eyes shut momentarily before opening them back up and the clarity in them has me feeling like he’s seeing into my soul. “I don’t walk away from the people I love without a fight, and damn it to hell, Haddie Montgomery, you’d better prepare for that fight because I’m in love with you.”
My mouth drops open from his unexpected confession, and I can’t even try to wrap my head around it because Becks’s lips are on mine, clearly driven by the emotion of his statement. It’s a short but holy-mother-of-hell kiss that leaves me breathless when he drags his mouth from mine.
And when we separate, he doesn’t meet my eyes. He steps back and turns on his heel without another word, and walks into the house, slamming the front door behind him, the sound so loud, I hear it where I remain rooted in disbelieving shock.
The chills come, my body trembles with the truth just laid at my feet, and my heart tears in two from hurting him and letting him walk away without making a concerted effort to fight for him.
I know I have a bigger fight ahead of me. A fight I don’t want to drag someone else through.
Holy fuck.
He loves me. The damn wildflower was right after all.
I’m not sure how long I sit out in the cocooning darkness and silence of the night, using the still to quiet the self-inflicted riot of emotions in my head before I shove myself up and move inside. I go
through the motions of washing my glass, straightening up. I’m bending over, putting a bowl away in the lower cabinets when Dante’s voice startles me.
“Fuck me, Haddie. You can’t tempt a man like this and expect him to walk away without a taste. Or a fight.”
I scramble to stand up and shut the cabinet, my mind registering Dante’s words but thinking that Becks could be saying them just as easily to me. I flash my eyes up to find him leaning against the wall, his shirt off, a beer in one hand, and irritated disgust evident in his expression. The comebacks are firing through my brain, but I hold them back, trying to keep from fueling the temper I know he has when he drinks.
And a drunk Dante is an unpredictable Dante. This I know from experience, so I remain silent.
“So nice of you to finally come inside after your little fuck in the backyard,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his slurred words. “It seems to me you’re really walking on the wild side these days, babe.”
“Dante.” I nod my head, my voice even, and stand to full height when I finally speak to him.
“Dante,” he mimics me with a laugh that’s anything but warm. “Really, babe? Gonna be all frigid with me when an hour ago you were being fucked in the backyard by that guy?” He walks toward me in an unsteady swagger, judgment in his eyes. “What happened to the wild child I used to know? The ‘throw caution to the wind, willing to screw anytime and anywhere’ girl I dated? The one I matched dare for dare?” He stops, takes a sip, and chuckles. “You’re too good to settle, Haddie. A three-minute fuck in the backyard with that asshole tells me you are most definitely settling.”
“Fuck you.” The words are out of my mouth without a thought. How dare he come at me, telling me I’m settling when all I can think about is Becks: what I just did to him, how I hurt him, and the confession he left me with?
… you’d better prepare for that fight because I’m in love with you …
The pain is sharp and lingering, and then it registers that Dante was here when Becks and I were outside.
I was so wrapped up in everything that I never even thought about him coming home. All I could think about was pushing it all away, losing myself, and not once did I think about Dante. Being home. Having a spectator.