by Layla Reyne
Sloan grabbed a paper cup off the nearby tray table and brought the straw in it to his lips. “Slow,” she cautioned.
She needn’t have. The pain in his throat limited him to only a few sips. It was enough to wet his lips and tongue and make his voice work, albeit hoarsely. “What are you doing here?”
“Where else would I be?”
“Long Island.”
She returned the cup to the table and grasped his hand once more. “I was there, two days ago.”
His fingers clenched around hers. “Two days ago?”
“You’ve been out almost thirty-six hours,” came a different voice, drawing Miller’s attention to the doorway. Dressed in scrubs, a stethoscope hanging around his neck, a badge attached to his shirt pocket, Clancy looked at home. He was a doctor, in the flesh, doing the thing he loved, exactly where he was supposed to be doing it, even if his messy brown hair, pale skin, and slumped shoulders also looked like he’d been awake all thirty-six of the hours Miller had been out.
“It’s Thursday?” he asked.
“Midday.”
Shit. He turned his head to Sloan, too fast, and winced again. His body ached, all his muscles protesting, even the ones he didn’t think he was using. “Southport?” he hissed, as the wave of pain crested.
“I called your mom,” she said. “Told her you’d be delayed a few days.”
“What else—”
“That’s all I told them.” She stood and brushed down her slacks and sweater. The deep wrinkles in the fabric hinted at how long she’d been sitting in that chair, as did the silent communication passing between her and Clancy, like they’d grown close enough to develop their own signals. “I’ll give you two some time,” she said. She stepped to his bedside and laid a hand on his chest, atop the plaid hospital gown someone had found for him. “Listen to what he has to say,” she whispered, and the look in her eyes wasn’t far removed from the look she’d given him that night decades ago at the park. Desperation, sadness, and no small amount of anger. “Please, Miller, if you ever loved me, or the rest of your family, listen.” Bending, she pressed her lips to his forehead. “I love you.”
Righting herself, she grabbed her purse from beside the chair and crossed to the door. She stopped next to Clancy, rose on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “Make him listen.”
Miller chuckled. At least she was an equal opportunity drill sergeant. He waited for Clancy to close the door behind her before he spoke. “I guess I should be thanking you.”
Clancy fell back against the door. “Or cursing me. Near as we can tell, the citrus from our dinner was probably what caused the unhappy gut. Sloan said you had a bout of gastroenteritis a few weeks ago?”
Miller nodded.
“If you hadn’t fully recovered, chances were high for a relapse, given your weakened immune system and all the travel and dining out we were doing. Lots of germ exposure. You had a fever, indicating infection, and the citrus accelerated the flare-up in your GI tract, causing the cramps and vomiting.”
An upset stomach. Fuck, he’d thought it’d been the end, for the second time in two weeks. Because, in truth, he had no idea what the end was supposed to look like. He’d tuned out most of those conversations after his diagnosis, as they’d all ultimately led to talk of treatment.
“I woke up with my stomach in knots, and then when I started throwing up...” He gestured at his throat. “It hurts.”
“You tore things up good. I saw the blood and called in an airlift.” Clancy pushed off the door and stopped at the end of the bed, hands braced on the rail there. “They’ve medicated the tissue for pain and infection, but it’s only a temporary fix. With the location of the tumor—”
“I can still taste, though. I can taste whatever medicine they gave me.”
“If you don’t get treatment soon, you won’t be tasting anything, much less breathing.”
Miller turned his face away, as much as the pain allowed, and cast his gaze out the window.
Air whooshed out of Clancy, then after several heavy steps, out of the cushion of the bedside chair as Clancy took a seat. “You’re at UCLA’s Cancer Center,” he said. “If there’s anyone who can save you, it’s the team here.”
“Can they save my sense of taste too?”
“Maybe, but Miller, right now, this is about saving your life. One battle at a time.” Clancy gently grasped his chin and slowly rotated his face back around. “And I meant what I said the other night. I will be with you every step of the way.”
That same conviction Miller had tasted in Clancy’s kiss now burned in his eyes. But fuck, to never taste that again, to never get another taste of Clancy... “If I lose—”
Clancy’s hold tightened. “You will still be Sloan and Greg’s best friend. The cannoli’s godfather. Son to your parents, brother to your sisters, uncle to your niblings. You will still be you, Miller Sykes.” He released his chin and pushed back the curls tickling Miller’s forehead. “You’ll still be a good man who has a family that loves him and wants him to live. The man I want to live because I’m falling in love with him too.”
“I can’t ask...”
“You didn’t; we’re offering. So much of who you are, what you do, is considering and sacrificing for other people. What you did for Sloan, what you do, every year, for the Eli O’s alums, what you do every night for diners. So consider that we want you to live, consider that you are our number one priority right now, and consider that we don’t want you to sacrifice yourself.” He rested a hand on Miller’s cheek, and Miller nuzzled into it, hiding from the stunning man and his beautiful words, Clancy’s convictions challenging his own. “But you have to be the one to decide,” Clancy said. “How badly do you want to live? Because this will be the fight of your life. But I promise you, Miller, I will do everything in my power to make it worth it. And whether we have one year or fifty together, I also promise to make sure you have peace at the end.”
Could he fight that war, not knowing if he could win it? Did he have enough fight left in him? Could he bet on the fifty over the one? With Clancy on his side, the odds were definitely better, but were they good enough? Was the promise of even one year with Clancy and a peaceful end enough? Could there be peace knowing he’d left Clancy and his other loved ones behind? He closed his eyes against the tumbling dilemmas. “I need time to think.”
“That’s better than a no.” Clancy brushed his lips over Miller’s cheek. “The oncologist will be in shortly to go over your options. Sloan has your medical power of attorney so she needs to be the one with you. Then when I get back, I’m happy to talk through any of it with you.”
He stood and Miller caught his hand, clutching it as tight as his weakened muscles could, desperate to keep him close. “Where are you going?”
“To tell my father I can’t join his practice. That my future is here.”
“Fuck, Clancy, don’t give up your future for me. I might not even have one.”
Clancy smiled. “I meant my future as an oncologist, be it at this hospital or one wherever you are.”
More of their conversation in the gazebo came flooding back. “Are you sure?” The last thing Miller wanted was for Clancy to make a huge, life-changing decision, just because of him, especially when he was so very far from a sure bet.
Clancy’s smile was so confident, so bright, Miller had to close his eyes. “When you were in surgery I called Julie’s family and talked to them, about where I’d been, where I was going, and the benefit. I’m more sure than I’ve ever been, Miller. Thank you for helping me see that.” His lips brushed Miller’s, a gentle touch like their kiss in New York. The taste of coffee, Clancy, and what could be. “I hope you fight to see that future with me.”
In his mind’s eye, Miller saw a familiar open kitchen, a big stone hearth, and Clancy standing in front of huge plate glass windows, cup of coffee in hand, the s
un shining on Nantucket Sound behind him. For the first time, Miller let himself savor the possibility.
* * *
Clancy pushed open the frosted glass doors of his father’s medical office, expecting to find a bustling waiting area inside. Instead, it was empty, suspiciously so for a Thursday afternoon. Behind the reception desk, Andrea gave him a beaming smile. “Clancy, good to see you.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Your father cancelled his afternoon appointments, and the other doctors are at a conference today and tomorrow.” She stood, grabbed her purse from under the desk, and came out from behind the counter. “Go on back,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “They’re waiting for you in his office.”
She was gone, door locked behind her, before Clancy could ask who “they” were. More than a little confused, he crossed the waiting room and opened the door to the patient rooms and doctors’ offices. On the way to his father’s office, he paused in front of the office that would’ve been his, running his fingers over the brass nameplate. Taking the office down the hall from his dad’s had always been expected, and a not small part of Clancy mourned the passing of that expectation. He would have enjoyed practicing with his father, but a bigger part of him knew, deep in his gut, that this wasn’t where he belonged, as much as that other part of him wanted to. He hoped his father would forgive him. After all his parents had done for him, the last thing he wanted was to disappoint any of them.
Laughter down the hallway, from behind the cracked door of his father’s office, drew Clancy’s attention. Rather familiar laughter, in fact. Closing the distance, he pushed open the door and found his father behind his desk, as expected. The two other people on the sofa were not.
“Mom? Robert?” Clancy said, staring in disbelief at his other two parents. “I thought you were halfway around the world on vacation.”
Miranda scooted out from under Robert’s arm. “Sloan called. She said you needed us here, so we flew right back.”
Because he had needed them, so very much. Because Sloan, someone he hoped to call family in the future, had recognized it, had probably felt the same herself, and had acted to meet that need, for him. And none of them had hesitated. The past thirty-six hours—hell, the past week and a half—finally caught up to Clancy and he couldn’t hold back the gut-wrenching sob that broke loose.
His mother was there to catch him. “Oh, darling.” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.
When his legs began to give way, Robert dashed to his other side, and together, they maneuvered him to the couch. The tears continued to flow, everything he’d bottled up for the sake of being strong for Sloan and Miller gushing out. Fear, anger, frustration, hope, love. God, the love that had snuck up on him so fast, yet so powerful, and if that love didn’t have an outlet, if he lost Miller, which was a very real possibility, he wasn’t sure his heart would survive it.
“I’m sorry,” his mom said. “When I encouraged you to go for it with him, I didn’t know he was sick. I’d never wish this pain on either of you.”
“Couldn’t be helped.” Clancy sniffled back tears, trying to get his emotions under control. “Sloan told you?”
“She called from a hospital line. I recognized the number.”
His dad appeared before him, holding out a glass of whiskey. “And you showed up here looking wrung out, in scrubs, and wearing an oncology department badge.” He straightened his index finger from around the glass and pointed at the visiting doctor badge on Clancy’s lapel.
Clancy looked down and flicked his badge. He’d gone from Task A to Task B, with an intermission for crying. Changing clothes was a detail that hadn’t once crossed his mind. Besides, the scrubs were a comfortable, everyday occurrence until a month ago. It felt right being back in them.
He took the glass from his father and waved it under his nose, letting the sting clear out his sinuses and burn away his tears. He took a healthy swallow, then rested his elbows on his knees, glass between his palms. “Throat cancer. I’d been piecing it together, and Sloan confirmed it in New York. It was a tour of last suppers, as much for him as for me. All of his favorite places and meals.” Clancy threw back the rest of the whiskey, handed the tumbler to his dad, and rubbed the heels of his hands against his tired, stinging eyes.
“Is there a treatment?” Robert asked.
“Yes, though given the cancer’s advanced stage, the survival rate isn’t high. I got him under my former attending’s care, and we developed a treatment plan.” He described it in high-level detail, his father nodding along. “She’s going over it now with Miller and Sloan. There’s a chance to save him, but there’s a catch.”
“He may lose his sense of taste,” his father correctly surmised.
Robert whistled low. “Tough blow for a chef of his caliber.”
Clancy sank back into the couch. “That, and a mile-wide sacrificial streak, were why he’d decided not to get treatment.”
“Did you convince him otherwise?” his mother said.
“I hope so. I’m falling in love with him.” He dropped his head back on the cushion top, laughing at the ceiling, the sound bordering on hysterical. “After only ten days. How is that possible? Maybe I’m delusional at this point.”
Miranda hauled him upright by the arm and gave him a very Miranda face. “Now, listen here, Clancy Rhodes. I’ve loved two men in my life.” She waved a finger at his dad and Robert. “I knew, both times, after only one date. One. And I knew, as soon as I saw you and Miller together in Chicago, that you were it for each other. He’s head over heels for you too.”
His dad laid a hand on his knee. “Just be there for him.”
“I can’t do that and be here,” Clancy said, no longer able to avoid the primary reason he’d come here this afternoon.
Alan’s smile was crooked, half knowing, half resigned. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“What?” he gasped.
“You walked in here in your scrubs, strung out and aching for the man you love, but there was also a spark in your eyes that’s never there when you talk about plastic surgery. It grew even brighter when you talked about his treatment.”
Clancy hung his head, trying to hide that spark that lit just at the mention, not wanting to be disrespectful. “I want to practice oncology,” he admitted.
“It won’t be an easy road,” Alan said. “You’re seeing that up close and personal, at thirty. Thirty more years ahead of you in this career. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He lifted his head and met his father’s eyes again. “But I don’t want to leave the practice in a lurch.”
“It’s fine, son. We’ll manage.”
Except that Clancy could see panic in his father’s eyes. But he could also see a way around it, as clear as day now where before it’d been tangled up in everything else going on. “Hear me out.” Clancy scooted forward to the edge of the cushion and readjusted his glasses. “I can give you six months, maybe twelve. I’m going to have to apply for oncology residencies, and I want to do the benefit still. I’m already in contact with the organizers and potential guests. Let me help you bridge the gap, let me work with you for a little while. I’d like that chance. And if Miller seeks treatment here—”
“When he gets treatment here,” Miranda interjected.
“When he gets treatment here,” Clancy started again, going with her hope, “then I can be here for you both, at least temporarily.”
“That would help, tremendously,” Alan said, letting out a relieved breath. “And I’d like the chance to work with you too, if only for a little while.”
Clancy reached for his hand. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”
“Disappoint me?” Alan squeezed his hand. “Impossible, Clancy. Sure, I’m disappointed I won’t get to work with you for very long, but you have not disappointed me. Everything you’ve achieved, the man y
ou’ve become, the fact you want to tackle one of medicine’s greatest challenges, even as it’s ripping out your heart... You are the farthest thing from a disappointment.” His father tugged him into an embrace. “I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
“We all are,” Robert said, as he and his mom joined the family hug.
Clancy sagged in their arms, getting his first taste of relief in days. One battle won. The toughest was still to come.
Chapter Eleven
Clancy parked in the sandy lot and double-checked the location on his GPS against the address in Miller’s text. This was definitely the place. The big lots were surely filled to capacity in season, but on New Year’s Day, downtown Southport was a virtual ghost town, just his rental and a couple other cars in the lot. A handful of people, locals probably, had been milling around the town square and the pier up the street, but all the dock-side restaurants appeared closed.
Except one.
Smoke puffed from a rooftop vent of the small green building with the huge Provision Company sign out front. The door beneath it was open, a view clear through the screen to the dock out back, and on the patio to the left, through the clear vinyl screens, Clancy spied a group of people gathered around a table.
He unfolded from the car, inhaling the salty sea breeze tinged with grill smoke. His stomach gave a grumble of interest, until his brain reminded him why he was here and his appetite withered. He beeped the car locks and half a dozen heads turned his way. Clancy only had eyes for the one with the chestnut beard and blue eyes.
It’d been four days since he’d last seen Miller. Four long days since he’d awoken on the couch in his father’s office to a voicemail from Sloan, informing him she was taking Miller back to the Bay Area. There’d been a text from Miller that minimally cushioned the blow.
Give me time, it’d said, along with the date, time, and address for this place.
