The Cruel and Beautiful Series
Cruel and Beautiful
A Mess Of A Man
One Wrong Choice
Published By Wicked Truth Publishing, LLC
Copyright © 2019 A.M. Hargrove and Terri E. Laine
All rights reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
Covers by Sara Eirew
Photos by Shutterstock, Scott Hoover, and Sara Eirew
Contents
Foreword
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Acknowledgments
Prologue — Present
Part One
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
SIX
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Part Two
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Terri E. Laine
A.M. Hargrove
Also By Terri E. Laine
Also By A.M. Hargrove
This book is based on a true story.
Prologue
Past
A raspy voice wakes me up. That’s not quite true because I don’t really sleep anymore. My body hovers in that place that’s not exactly sleep and not exactly awareness. After the last year, I’m not sure if I’ll ever get a solid night’s sleep again.
“Cate?”
“Yeah? What is it?” I’m instantly on high alert.
“I think it’s time. I want to go to the hospital.”
The words I’ve dreaded for weeks punch me in the gut. But I refuse to let him see it. “Yeah, okay. Let me get dressed.”
“Cate? I think you need to call 911. I’m pretty sure I can’t get up to walk.” He inhales and it’s then I hear the faint rattle deep in his chest. Oh, god, how will I ever get through this?
“Drew?” I lean over him and press my cheek against his. What used to be firm flesh is now nothing but skin wrapped around bone. My hands latch onto to his shoulders and it’s much the same. All the mass has vanished, stolen by the disease that ravages his beautiful body and soul.
“It’s going to be fine, Cate, I promise. Things will be good. Just call 911.” He struggles to clear his throat.
Always the positive one. I want to yell and scream, stomp my feet and smash things. But I do none of that. I look into his cloudy blue eyes that were once so clear and stunning and only nod. I pick up the bedside phone and make the call, asking the voice on the other end to tell the paramedics not to use the sirens or flashers and explain why. When they arrive at our house, I lead them to Drew, and then follow the ambulance to the hospital. On the way, I make the dreaded family calls.
Hollow. That’s what I am as I watch them wheel Drew in on the gurney. Everything has been ripped out of me—my guts, my heart, my soul. I bite my knuckle as I stand there. He knows what’s happening. He’s a doctor. He’s charted everything out and explained it all to me, though I’ve refused to believe half of it. Why did he have to be right? My mind only wants to accept certain things. And this isn’t one of them.
When we finally get to a room, he sleeps. The deep purple smudges beneath his eyes are a stark contrast to his pale skin. It reminds me of a time when he used to be so tanned. And his hair, which is downy fuzz grown back from the last and final round of failed chemo, is so different now from the thick mass of messy waves that were always sun streaked, even in winter. In this state, little more than a skeleton, he’s still my perfect Drew. And I ask myself again, for the thousandth time, how am I going to deal with this?
Later in the day, when Drew wakes up, he beckons me to his bedside.
“Cate, you know when I first saw you at that party, I knew you were my one. My it girl. And then you put up such damn resistance to me, I didn’t think I’d ever get you out on a date. But I did.”
I suck on my lower lip, trying not to outright sob as I remember.
The left corner of his upper lip curls, his little trademark that I love so much. It plows into me like a damn tank and I want to crawl into the bed next to him and cling to him forever.
“I knew if I could get you out on a date, I could win you over. Thank god I did. You’ve been my life, Cate, my reason for being. I’m only sorry it all turned out like this. This,” and he mo
tions with his hand up and down his body, “wasn’t part of my plan for you. I wanted the whole deal—marriage, and we got that, but I wanted kids, an SUV, a big house, and grandkids, too. I’m so sorry I fucked it all up, babe. But listen, I love you more than my life. And hear me out now. I want you to go home.”
I nod and suck back my tears. “Okay. I’m going to go home and shower, because I’m kind of rank. I love you too, Drew. More than I can say.”
“Cate, stop. That’s not what I meant. I want you to promise me something, okay? Swear to me right now.” His voice is firm, much stronger than it has been in days.
“Okay. What is it?”
“I want you to leave this room now and go home, but I don’t want you to come back after you shower. I want you to say your goodbyes to me right here, right now.”
“What!? What are you saying?” My heart stutters in my throat.
“I’m saying what you think I’m saying. I love you so much more than having you sit here by my side for the next few days. I don’t want that. You swore to me, Cate.”
“Drew, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Now, go. Turn around, walk through that door, and don’t ever look back. All my stuff is boxed exactly like I asked you to, and you know what to do with it. My parents and yours will be here, along with Ben. But you, you don’t need to be here. I don’t want you to be here. I want you to remember me as I was, when I was healthy, during our best times. Now, look at that door and take your first steps into your new life, Cate. And promise me you’ll live. Just live, Cate. Do it for me.”
One
Present
Two years and four months later
The bitter cold slips through my wool coat as if it’s mesh, causing me to hug myself tighter. As I make my way across the street, the countdown on the crosswalk sign nearly ends, and I quicken my steps. The way my luck goes these days, I won’t make it across in time. Instead, I’m likely to get run over by a tiny Smart car, of all things, because DC cabbies are just as crazy as the ones in New York. And somehow I’ll survive, only without the use of any of my limbs. .
Just as my feet land on the curb, a cab roars by, sending a slushy wave of ice and snow against the back of my legs and the bottom half of my coat. I shiver as the cold seeps into my very bones.
“Great,” I mutter, dusting myself off while sidestepping the ice patches that litter the sidewalks after yesterday’s winter storm. Of all the luck. Washington, DC is supposed to be the exception to northern winters, or so I’ve been told. It’s just far enough south to squeak past the worst of the northern winter weather. Much like Charleston, historically, old man winter doesn’t dump buckets of snow in the area—or at least until I decided to make this place my home.
Yesterday’s snow nearly beat the record of earliest recorded snowfall on October 5, 1892. We’ve missed that by a grand seven days. Great for me—not. I’m not a fan of the white stuff, which is why I chose DC over the Big Apple. My needs were simple and my requirements few when I made the decision to leave South Carolina about a year ago, two of which were to be in a big city and preferably north. What I didn’t bank on is living in a place where cold is the norm more months out of the year than not. Guess the joke’s on me.
Jarred from my inner thoughts, I take the wrong step and end up slipping and sliding with wide arching, wind-milling arms. The comical movements do nothing to stop the momentum and I lose my footing. A hand snakes out from nowhere and takes hold of my arm while another steadies my hip. I have to glance way up to see my savior, who is somewhere in the stratosphere above me.
Immediately, the dull gray of the day disappears and I find myself swimming in an ocean of tropical blue. Disbelief clouds my gaze because instantly I recognize the person who saved me. It’s as if fate decided to play Russian roulette with my life and I’ve finally pulled the trigger with a voracious bang.
“Hi,” I stammer.
The man with the aqua eyes and a face I can study forever stares at me a second longer than awkward. A wide-eyed gaze confirms he is just as surprised to see me.
When he speaks, his voice is as deep as the shit I stand in. There is too much history between us. Yet, for a second, the sexy glint in his eyes glamours away all my reticent thoughts of the past.
“Hi. I...ah... never expected to see you here.” That’s the understatement of the century. “On the streets of DC of all places, and me playing rescuer.” His southern drawl glides off his tongue like warm honey.
Jostled some more by passersby, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he silently steers me out of the line of foot traffic over to the side of a building next to an ATM machine.
Although we are both almost covered head to foot in winter gear, we are close enough that I feel the heat rolling off of him. Thoughts of the past flitter across my brain like the odd saying that someone walked over my grave, and I shiver.
His gloved hand rubs down my arm as if he notices.
“Are you living here now?”
I nod stupidly because he has to be the last person I’d ever thought I would see again, especially since I’ve been mostly running away from him.
“Yes. You?” I ask, truly curious if he’s visiting or not.
A cloud of frost escapes his mouth when he sighs and runs a gloved hand through hair that appears highlighted by the sun despite the season. “I’m not sure.”
My brows rise as I give him a conspicuous look before responding with a half laugh. “That’s odd. Either you are or you’re not.” My tone, although playful, doesn’t stop my gut from twisting into complicated knots.
He shrugs. “I’m testing the waters. Now that I’ve finished my fellowship—”
“You’ve finished?” I blurt, surprised by his admission.
His smile is warm but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. And I feel foolish for even asking. Of course he finished. He was close to completion when I ran.
“Don’t,” he whispers, moving in closer.
Even on the crowded street his quiet word rings in my ears. The way he looks at me, it’s as if he’s reading my soul. All of a sudden, I feel the anguish he must see on my face. He holds my gaze a second longer. Then he straightens and continues as if no time apart has passed between us.
“I’m temporarily working with one of the top guys in oncology. A doctor in his practice is out on maternity leave. I’m filling in, but it has the potential to lead to a full-time position. It could be an opportunity of a lifetime. However, I need to figure out if I like the area enough to make a permanent move. You know my heart’s in Charleston. The rest is up to fate.”
That word again. Has fate placed him in my path? What are the odds that I’d slip and he’d be the one to catch me, miles and miles away from our hometown?
There are many reasons why I shouldn’t be curious. The biggest of which is that I’d left Charleston after he gave me many reasons to stay.
“I should head back to work. I’m already late,” I mutter with averted eyes.
His hand halts my escape, making it impossible to move around him. Earnest eyes search mine before he decides what he wants to say.
“We should have lunch or dinner? Something to do with a meal. I know your favorite is Italian. Word has it there is a good restaurant not too far from here.”
“I don’t know,” I admit honestly. My captured eyes break from his in favor of the ground, searching for an escape hatch. As beautiful as the man is, so much pain surrounds any possible relationship between us. I hurt him when I left and I hurt myself as well.
A finger lifts my chin as he forces me to stare into his gorgeous eyes.
“We don’t have to talk about the past—Charleston, the hospital, any of it. It can be as if we’re meeting for the first time. We can make a brand new start.”
My heart gallops like a thoroughbred on a wild boar hunt.
“Drew—”
He shakes his head again. “No, let’s try something new.”
He takes a small step back before profferin
g his hand.
“Hi, I’m Andy.”
“Andy?” I’m sure my eyebrows shoot into my hairline.
He leans in and whispers, “Calling me anything else would remind you of the past.”
I bite my bottom lip because the name does stir ugly emotions in my stomach. They are the kind that turns my face red with fat tears spilling down my cheeks. I’ve run from those emotions and the man before me.
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