The Halo Series Boxed Set

by Kimberly Knight

  We pulled up to the pizzeria and entered the building. Instantly, the unmistakable smell hit my nose. I could eat pizza every day.

  “Anchovies and broccoli?”

  “Eww,” Cheyenne gagged. “That’s disgusting.”

  I laughed and stepped forward in line. “A large pepperoni with extra cheese and a side of ranch. Two fountain drinks, too.”

  I paid, and then Cheyenne and I filled our cups and went to sit in a booth to wait for our pizza. “Enjoying your summer?” I asked.

  Chey took a sip of her soda. “Yeah, we’re learning how to play pool at the park.”

  I choked a little on my own drink. “Pool?”

  “Yeah. You know with the balls you hit with a stick.”

  Oh, I knew the game all right. “Uncle A and I used to play.”

  “Were you any good?”

  I shrugged as if it were nothing. “A little.”

  “When I get better, I’m going to beat Uncle A.”

  I smiled. Those two had such a rivalry.

  They brought our pizza, and we dug in, both of us enjoying the cheesy goodness when Cheyenne asked, “Is Brooke dying?”

  I paused, the pizza in front of my mouth. “What? Why would you ask that?”

  Cheyenne shrugged. “Because she’s been sick.”

  I set the pizza down on my plate. “No, Peanut, Brooke isn’t sick anymore. She’s just recovering from surgery.”

  “But she sleeps all the time like when I’m sick.”

  “That’s the point. When you’re sick, your body is trying to heal. It’s the same with Brooke. But she’s better now.”

  She stared at me for a beat as if she were processing my words.

  “Good. I don’t want her to die. I want to have a brother or sister.”

  A lump formed in my throat. I didn’t want my wife to die either—obviously. And knowing how bad my two girls wanted me to procreate again made me smile.

  “We’re working on it.”

  A few days passed and I was back to my old routine. Avery and I worked out in the morning and then went to work. By the time I got home to make dinner, Brooke would actually eat it. She was still in pain, but it seemed that the nerve medication she was taking was finally working. She complained about her shoulder a lot. She said it was nothing like before. I didn’t know exactly what she meant. I had my doubts that it was as bad as before because I knew deep down she was scared to go back on narcotics and didn’t want to go through withdrawals again so she’d be in denial.

  I went into the bedroom to tell Brooke dinner was almost ready. That was another thing. She still struggled to get undressed and to take a shower or wash her hair, but she always refused my help. I still thought it was a way of tricking herself into believing her recovery was over. It was far from over. Her scar still hadn’t healed. We’d removed the tape that was placed after surgery, but it was still red and looked angry. If that was how it was on the outside, I couldn’t imagine her insides.

  When I turned the corner, Brooke was standing in front of the mirror staring at herself. She was dressed in her pajamas, ready for the evening, but she didn’t turn when I entered.

  “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  She turned to me then, her face red, her gorgeous green eyes glassy.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you notice anything different about me?”

  I studied her face for a few seconds, not seeing anything other than the fact she had been crying. “What should I be looking at?”

  She pointed to her right eye. “Do you see it?”

  My eyebrows arched. “See what?”

  “See what?” she screeched. “How can you not see it?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, still trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. “I don’t see anything different.”

  She let out a sarcastic laugh. “I’m deformed, Easton!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She pointed to her eye again. “Don’t you see it? It’s drooping. I thought Dr. Simon said during surgery this might happen, not three months later!”

  I placed my hands on her shoulders so I could look her square in the face. After looking at her and I mean, really looking at her, I saw it. Her right eye had a slight droop, but it was so tiny that if I weren’t looking for it, I’d never notice. “I see it a little.”

  “It’s fucking annoying. It has been like this all day. At first, I thought I was just tired, but when I looked in the mirror just now, I saw it.”

  I took a deep breath. “Honestly, it’s not noticeable.”

  “Well, I see it!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said and pulled her to my chest. We stood like that for a few minutes as Brooke cried in my arms. “I don’t care if your eye shuts completely. I’ll still love you no matter what.”

  She groaned. “You better because I’ve been falling apart since I turned thirty.”

  I kissed the top of her head. “You’re not falling apart. You’re getting stronger. One day you’ll look back on all this and laugh in cancer’s face.”

  “Yeah, I totally will,” she said confidently.

  No one wakes up one day and says that they want to have cancer or have parts of their skeletal structure removed.

  But it happened.

  I’d read that desmoid tumors are so rare that in the United States that approximately only nine hundred people are diagnosed with them. I’d been diagnosed with two in two years. Did that make me a unicorn since I’d been in that group twice?

  I’d beat cancer twice.

  I was a fighter.

  I was a survivor.

  I was stronger.

  When you’re faced with something that has the potential to kill you, and you survive it, you’re a warrior that got stronger during battle. Or maybe all along you were strong enough, and you proved how resilient you really were.

  That was how I felt, and I didn’t think I would change what happened to me.

  Not only had I shown to myself and those around me that I was tough, it also changed all my relationships with my loved ones. Bailee and I were closer than ever, and I now saw her as the adult she was. She was even considering moving to New York. She and Gary were … complicated. Moving to New York would make her closer to more than just me.

  Nicole and I were still as close as we used to be, but now we both had different lives since we were each married and neither one of us needed the other to fill a void of some sort and party each weekend. We still texted each other every day and had weekly dinners at the Crawford’s.

  My relationship with my mother might not be similar to other mother/daughter relationships are, but she was calling me once or twice a week to check on me. I don’t know what had changed for her. Maybe she wanted to make up for the way she raised Bailee and me by being a grandmother who spoils her grandchildren. The verdict was still out, but things were definitely better.

  Cheyenne and I had a bond almost like I had with Bailee when I raised her. I knew I would never replace Dana, and I would never want to. I just knew that even though I still didn’t have a child of my own blood, Cheyenne was definitely my daughter.

  And Easton. He made me realize there were still good guys in the world. He may have thought he was a bad boy when he would get a girl on her knees and never call her, but I believed he was simply biding his time until he bumped into me on the cruise. Now, we were madly in love, and there was no way I could have ever survived without him. He loved me so much that not once did he complain he was tired of taking care of me. He just did it because that was the person he was. I didn’t make him a better man or father. It was in him all along.

  Even though I survived, I was still in a lot of pain. It might have been stupid to stop the oxy only two months after major surgery, but I just didn’t like the feeling of being dependent on a drug. The pain was different, though. Now it was a constant ache on the top of my shoulder blade. I was still sore, and it hurt to sneeze or cough, but it was…
tolerable. Turned out, I had a winged scapula and I might be in pain forever. I was told I’d always have the winged scapula because of the missing ribs. Also, places on my shoulder blade, on my side, under my right boob and on my forearm were numb. I could handle numb. It was the constant pain I couldn’t handle.

  I started to see Dr. Albert who Nicole worked for. Of course, he’d never heard of a desmoid tumor either. When he read my medical records and everything I’d been through, he sympathized. He said that I probably had such bad withdrawals because I’d been on Norco for so long. It was like that damn piece of cake after dieting for a year. You couldn’t stop at a sliver. You had to eat half the cake, and then you’d feel sick afterward.

  So instead of giving me Norco or anything of that nature, Dr. Albert gave me a high dosage of Ibuprofen. My shoulder blade area was still swollen from surgery, and the anti-inflammatory would help. He also recommended acupuncture in conjunction with physical therapy to help with my winged scapula. Neither were working yet, but I wasn’t giving up.

  I also had my six month CT scan. The results were the same as the first time; nothing but scar tissue. It made me want to laugh because I’d heard that before. The truth of the matter was it terrified me. For the rest of my life, I would need to get scans to check for more tumors. And what if I had to go through it all again?

  They say after you survive breast cancer and you’re clear for five years then it’s more than likely never coming back. But given that doctors don’t know why people get desmoid tumors or that the treatment is different for everyone, how can you really be at peace when you’re told there’s only scar tissue on your latest scan?

  I didn’t think I’d ever will be at peace. I’d always have that fear racing through my body that I might have to do it all over again.

  Since my days consisted of Court TV and binge watching Netflix, I started to research desmoid tumors more. I joined a group on Facebook where everyone is fighting the same battle. There are some who had a tumor, got it removed, and it never returned. There are some, like me, who have had the tumors regrow. And what surprised me was we weren’t all women. There were men too. Kids even. Hell, I read about a retired baseball pitcher who had to have his arm removed because of a desmoid.

  That could have been me!

  Everyone’s story was different. None of us were fighting the same way, but we were all hoping for a cure. But the story that struck me the most was a lady who lost her battle. The tumor grew on an organ and was inoperable. So the internet might say desmoids aren’t cancer, but Dr. Simon classified them as cancer and so do I.

  Someone in the group asked, “Why do you fight for a cure?” Some said for their wives, for their husbands, for their children. Some said for themselves because they’re tired of the unknown and the fighting. I said, “So I can start a family.”

  If I had to keep getting scans every six months and being on medications that could harm my fetus, how could I ever have children?

  And what also got me was every awareness has a colored ribbon. Desmoid tumor awareness has a teal ribbon. When I chose my wedding colors, I had no idea. But the reality was that everything came full circle in some way.

  “Hey, Brooke. How have you been?” Dominca asked as I sat in the corner at the bar. “Hangin’ in there,” I replied with a sigh. I was starting to get out more. I wasn’t working, but some nights when Easton had to cover the bar, I went in so I could feel almost normal again.

  “Think you’ll be coming back soon?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. It would only be for a few hours at a time, though.”

  She smiled. “I hope so. We miss you around here.”

  I smiled in return. “Thank you. That’s good to hear.”

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Just cranberry juice with a lime garnish. Hell, put it in a martini glass. I’ll pretend I’m drinking.”

  Dominca laughed. “You got it.” I watched as she poured the aurora colored juice in the martini glass. “I’m excited about the band tonight,” she said as she set the drink in front of me.

  “Me too,” I responded. Having a band play always brought in more business. Halo was starting to fill up and I knew a normal Thursday night would turn into the weekend.

  As I was sipping my mocktail, Easton came around the corner from upstairs. A smile spread across my face. Even though I’d seen him only hours before at home, the man still made my heart flutter when he walked into a room.

  Our gazes met, and he began walking toward the bar pass. Just as he slipped inside, someone stopped him, and I assumed ordered a drink because Easton nodded and reached for a glass. I watched him smiling, laughing and in his element. Memories of us fucking on the bar in front of me swirled in my head, and my smiled widened. That was a good night.

  “Excuse me.” I turned to see a chick leaning over the bar trying to get Dominca’s attention. The woman was the total opposite of me. Tall, blonde with ample breasts trying to spill out of the top of her dress. She was stunning.

  Dominca stepped toward her. “What can I getcha?”

  “That guy over there.” The blonde pointed to Easton. “Is his name Easton?”

  Dominca’s eyes flicked to me for a beat, and then she answered, “Yes.”

  The chick’s body sagged as if she was relieved. “Oh good. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself.”

  My head twitched because her words struck me as odd. She knew his name but didn’t want to make a fool of herself? I was about to ask her how she knew my husband except she thanked Dominca and walked toward Easton.

  “What’s that all about?” Dominca asked me, washing an empty glass.

  “I have no idea,” I replied, my stare glued on Easton.

  It felt as though I was watching a silent film of my fears. The chick stood at the bar pass, leaned over enough so she could reach Easton, and tapped his arm. Easton turned to her, and her smile grew. I couldn’t see Easton’s face, but before I knew it, he was lifting the wood pass, and they were in each other’s arms.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of it. My husband was hugging a woman in front of me. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but this chick was beautiful, and they clearly had some sort of history. I waited for Easton to motion toward me. I was his wife, and an introduction should be in order. Instead, they stood there and talked. Talked and laughed to be exact.

  My heart clenched in my chest as insecurities raced through me. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Was that really true? Surely Easton wouldn’t flirt in front of me. Right?

  Not wanting to watch the silent movie in front of my eyes, I stood from my stool and made my way to the pair. As I neared, Easton turned his head toward me. He was already smiling, and I expected it to fall when we made eye contact. It didn’t. Instead, he reached out his hand for me to take and I did. He pulled me to him, his arm around my shoulder.

  “Genevieve. This is my wife, Brooke.”

  Her mouth opened, but no words came out. It was as if she were confused.

  I stuck my hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Her gaze moved to Easton and then back to me. “It’s nice to meet you too.” Sarcasm laced her words.

  “How do you two know each other?” I asked.

  “We used to model together,” Easton responded.

  “Now, Easton,” Genevieve giggled, “we did more than just work together.”

  I sucked in a breath, trying hard not to show emotion to her statement. I knew Easton had been with plenty of women before me. That didn’t bother me. What got to me was that they did “more” when he was modeling which meant she was one of the women Easton cheated on Dana with.

  “Gen,” Easton scolded. “That was a long time ago.”

  “It was,” she agreed. “But we had a good time, didn’t we?”

  The last time there was almost a fight in this bar, Nicole almost got slapped across the face by some bitch, but Easton had stopped the chick’s arm mid-swing because he was prepared for it. As Genevieve spoke,
I wondered if he sensed I wanted to bitch slap her so fast her boobs would definitely pop out of her top, because the force would be so strong she’d fall on her ass.

  “I see you’re still a cunt,” Easton stated.

  My eyes widened as did Genevieve’s.

  “Excuse me?” she snapped.

  Easton stepped forward, getting in her face, and pointed his finger at her. “How dare you try to rub my past in my wife’s face!”

  “It’s not like you took marriage seriously before.”

  I wanted to speak up, remind Easton we were in his bar in front of his customers, except I couldn’t. This woman was evil and probably because she always had men fawning over her.

  I didn’t think Easton could get any closer to the woman, but he did. “I may not have been a saint when I was younger, but this woman right here is my world. She has so much more going for her than lying on her back, legs spread open like you. Now, if you don’t get the fuck out of my bar, I will have Gary throw you out on your ass in front of all these people.” He waved his arm around to the bystanders.

  “Easton, I was just stating facts,” she argued.

  Without another word, Easton reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He pressed buttons and then held it up to his ear. “Need you at the bar, now!” He slid his phone back in his pocket after pressing the end button. “You have ten seconds to start walking, or you’ll be carried out of here.”

  I heard commotion behind me, and I turned to see Gary making his way to us.

  “Come on, Easton. I’m sor—”

  Easton held up his hand for her to stop talking. “Get. The. Fuck. Out,” he clipped.

  “Let’s go,” Gary said and reached for Genevieve’s arm.

  “Easton!” she pleaded.

  “Lady, the boss wants you out, so don’t make me throw you over my shoulder,” Gary warned.

  Easton reached down and laced our fingers. He tugged me to follow him, and we left without another word. Once we were up in the office, Easton closed the door behind us and said, “I’m sorry.”

  I smiled and stepped toward him as moved to lean against the desk. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”