Unforgettable (Always Book 2)

by Lexxie Couper

  “Brendon flew in this morning,” Amanda said, stepping away from him. She looked uncomfortable, but was that because she didn’t want him touching her, or because she didn’t want him touching her while I was there?

  Fuck. What should I do?

  Robby affected a sympathetic expression. I saw straight through it. “You must be tired. And then to get here and discover . . . well, everything.”

  “It’s been a shock,” I answered calmly. Inside was a different matter.

  Robby grunted a response as he nodded and scratched a spot under his right eye. I’m pretty certain he did it only so I could see the Rolex on his wrist. Or maybe my agitated state was messing with me?

  “I take it you haven’t received the results yet?” he went on. “I was the first to be tested, after Mandy and her family, of course. I’m almost a match, close enough Dr. Waters will use my stem cells if a complete match cannot be found by the end of the week.”

  I didn’t flinch. Even as the room turned into a roaring void, I didn’t flinch. But I felt sick. Physically sick. Like someone had pierced my stomach with a sharp stick and was churning it about. I wasn’t a match. But this . . . this . . . dick was almost one? I couldn’t save my son, and this guy, with his Rolex, slicked hair and SDSU T-shirt may very well be able to?

  Pulse thumping in my ears, my eyes, I turned to Amanda.

  I could see she was flustered. Stressed. She was pinching at her thumbnail again. A frown creased her forehead. “As soon as Parker canceled out me, Chase, and Mom and Dad as suitable donors, the search for a match began. Friends offered to be tested the moment they found out what Tanner had.”

  “And Bobby was one of those friends? Is almost a match?”

  “Robby.” Robby corrected. I didn’t look at him. But I could hear the smugness in his voice, hidden in the considerate patience of his interjection.

  Amanda nodded, gnawing on her bottom lip. If she had any idea of how I was feeling, she didn’t show it. “Almost. The problem with almost is Tanner’s body can reject the transplant, and that can cause GVHD – graft-versus-host disease. A bone marrow transplant with non-matching stem cells, no matter how close to a match, is very very risky, and only a last resort.”

  The room crushed down on me. My skin itched all over. “I thought the last resort was calling the father.”

  Pain etched Amanda’s face. Her eyes welled with tears. “Bren,” she whispered, “please don’t.”

  At her side, Robby loomed large. “Hey hey hey, Mandy girl,” he crooned, smoothing his hand up and down her back again. “It’s okay, I’m here now. I’m here.”

  Fuck, I wanted to smash his face in. I wanted to break his perfect nose, crack his chiseled jaw.

  “You weren’t the last resort, Bren,” Amanda stepped toward me, pressing her palms to my chest. My gut knotted at the contact. My stupid male body reacted. My brain, however, rebelled. Rebelled against what my stupid, gullible heart wanted.

  “No?” I closed my fingers around her wrists and removed her hands from my chest. “You just waited until time had almost run out before calling me, though, didn’t you? I could be wrong, but that seems to me to be the very definition of last resort. I’m sorry I fucked up and failed you, babe.”

  And with that, I dropped her wrists and strode through the living room to the bathroom. My gym bag and backpack were still in there – the only things I had brought to the US apart from a woefully inadequate defense against everything Amanda could do to me.

  “Brendon,” she called after me. She grabbed my arm as I snatched up my bag. “Brendon stop. I need to explain. I need you to understand.”

  “I understand it very clearly, Amanda,” I shot back. “I’ll get out of your road now. I’ve come up lacking so there’s no need for me to be here, is there?”

  I didn’t wait for her to respond. At that point, nothing she said would have helped. I’d failed her. I’d failed our son. And Robby with his Rolex was there to do what I couldn’t.

  Go Robby. Yay.

  Robby, the hero that he was, was standing in the living room when I stormed back in, my shirt and shoes in his hands. “You might need these,” he suggested.

  Sucking a slow breath, I took them from him and got into his personal space. I held his gaze and smiled, or maybe sneered. I really couldn’t be sure. “Thanks, mate.”

  He flinched. Not a lot, but a flinch all the same – a slight turn of the head, a small shuffle of feet.

  “Bren,” Amanda grabbed at my arm again. “Please, this isn’t—”

  “What I think?” I shot her a look over my shoulder. “Nothing has been since I arrived, Amanda. And I’m done with it.”

  Without another word, I left. I didn’t slam the door. I didn’t turn to see if Amanda was coming after me. For the second time that day, I left Amanda’s apartment in an emotional state that scared me. For the second time that day, I’d stormed from her home half naked.

  For the second time that day, I’d wished to fucking God, I’d never met her.

  And straight away, before the regret finished tainting my anger, I knew that wasn’t the case. Because of Tanner.

  I had to go see my son. Now. I had to see Parker Waters. I had to find out what happened next. I had to find out what I could do.

  Stopping on the steps outside the apartment building, I dropped my bag at my feet, tugged on my shoes and pulled my shirt over my head – no university letters on this one, just a cartoon dog farting a music note.

  “Brendon.”

  My gut clenched at Amanda’s shout behind me. I turned and watched her hurry toward me through the foyer.

  “Brendon, you need to let me explain.” She caught my hand and held it tight. “Please, at least give me that?”

  “Because I can’t give you want you really want from me?”

  Fresh pain filled her face. “I wanted to call you the second Parker confirmed none of my family was a match. The second. I had my phone in my hand, your number on its screen.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  She looked away, her forehead creased in a disgusted frown. “Because Dad said he wouldn’t pay for Tanner’s medical expenses if I did.”

  I let out a frustrated breath, bunching my fists as I shook my head. “He hates me that much, eh? He’d rather risk the chance of his grandson getting better than let me back into your life?”

  “He thinks he’s trying to do what’s best for me.”

  “And obviously I’m not.”

  She turned back to me. Tears swam in her eyes and clung to her eyelashes. What I would have given to cup her face in my hands and kiss them away. “I should have told him off,” she said, the words a husky rasp. “Should have told him to mind his own business, but the health care system over here is . . . well, it’s not the Australian system. And I couldn’t afford to do it on my own.”

  A hot pain sheared through my heart. “If you’d called me, you wouldn’t have been on your own. I would have been here with you. I would have liked the chance to be there from the beginning. I would have helped you in every way I could.”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “Bren . . . I’m sorry . . .”

  I gazed at her, devoured every line on her face, every freckle, every mark. Committed it to memory. And then I did cup her jaw in my palm. And I did bend down and kiss away the hot tears on her eyelashes.

  “Bren,” she murmured, leaning into me, her hands on my chest, over my heart.

  “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Mandy,” I whispered against her eyes. “Be happy.”

  I turned and walked down the path. Away from her.

  “Brendon . . .” she called.

  I didn’t look back. And she didn’t come after me.

  It was, I think, for the better.

  Eleven

  Life Isn’t A Fantasy

  For the third time, I flagged down a taxi without any problem.

  Settling into the back, I gave the driver the address for New Dawn Children’s Hospital and
then pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contact list. I don’t know why. My head felt fuzzy, disconnected in some way. Watching the list of names move up the screen somehow helped calm me.

  When my brain snagged on Caden’s name, I tapped the Message icon, let out a slow breath, and began typing.

  Hey, Cade. The test came back and I’m not a match. I’m going to see if there’s any way Mum and Dad can be tested in Australia. And Ben, although as far as I know he’s in Nepal. Don’t mention it to them yet. Just thought I’d let someone from my family know what’s going on and you drew the short straw. Sorry about that, dude.

  I hit Send. The digital whoosh filled the taxi, letting me know I’d successfully shared my misery with another person. How much I’d changed in a few short hours. The me that had left Australia would never have done such a thing.

  I went to shove my phone back in my pocket but stopped. I found myself scrolling through my contacts again, swiping my thumb up and down the screen with a blind, blank motion. I ached. Not just in my heart, but everywhere. I pictured Charles Sinclair in front of me. Pictured telling the bastard to mind his own fucking business. Pictured demanding he tell me why I wasn’t good enough for his daughter.

  I pictured Robby’s Rolex. His smug smirk as he handed me my shoes and my shirt with its musical-note farting dog on its front.

  I thought of the pain in Amanda’s face as she confessed what her father had done, what he’d promised. I remembered the rapture when she came in the shower, on her sofa . . .

  And then I watched my contact list with all its Australian numbers scroll up and down the screen. Numbers that included my Australian bank manager, my Australian real estate agent who was hard at work finding me a building for the first ever Push It P/T studio. Numbers that included my university boss, my professors . . . Heather’s number. Twenty-five years of life represented in those numbers. A life lived in Australia. A future planned there . . .

  Did Charles Sinclair’s hate for me stem from the fact I wasn’t of an intellectual level he deemed appropriate for his daughter? Or because I lived on the other side of the world? Or both? Or neither? Would he ever change his mind?

  I closed my eyes. I bet if I’d been a match for Tanner he would have. The thought made me grimace. I was being my own worst enemy and I couldn’t seem to stop it. I bet if my bone marrow had saved his grandson I’d be the best fucking guy in the world. He’d welcome me with open arms and—

  My phone burst into life in my hand, jerking me out of the pathetic, pointless trance.

  “Shit,” I muttered, my pulse thumping fast in my ears. Blinking my eyes back into focus, I looked at the screen and let out a wobbly laugh.

  Maci Rowling was calling me.

  I accepted the call with a jab of my thumb and raised my phone to my ear. “Heya, Plenty Ohio,” I said, using my customary greeting for her.

  “Heya, Uni Fitness Manager,” she answered back with hers, a warm smile in her voice.

  “Heather give you my number?”

  “Yes she did. Which leads me to confess I’m not very happy with you. She tells me you’re in the States and you haven’t called me. What gives with that?”

  I chuckled again, a shaky, weak sound. I was doing a piss-poor job of keeping my misery to myself. “Yeah, I’m here. In San Diego.”

  “San Diego? What could you possibly be doing in San Diego?” She laughed. “The beaches in Australia are infinitely better than the ones in San Diego, and for the life of me I can’t think of any other reason to go there than to surf.”

  Swiping at my mouth, I squeezed my eyes shut. What could I possibly be doing in San Diego? Failing everything.

  “So?” she prodded with another laugh. “Spill. Tell me all about it. Why you’re here and how long you’re staying. Leave nothing out. I want to know how gloriously happy you are. Raph’s bet me five bucks you’re brokenhearted already and I so don’t want to lose to him.”

  “I think you owe him five bucks, Plenty,” I answered, opening my eyes to watch the unfamiliar streets pass by.

  “Oh crap, Osmond,” she protested, concern coming through the connection. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

  “Sorry ’bout that.” I gave her another weak chuckle. “Remember the night we met and I told you about the girl I followed to America? The one that didn’t follow me back?”

  “I do remember you mentioning her,” she said. “And Heather told me quite a bit about her a few minutes ago on the phone. Amanda Somethingorother. Heather isn’t particularly impressed with her, I should add in the interest of full disclosure. And I’m afraid she’s tainted me against her already. What’s she done? Do I need to fly to the West Coast and smack her about for you? I could do it. My latest meds kick ass and I’ve been doing some serious tai chi. I can even open a jar all by myself at the moment.”

  I could tell she was trying to cheer me up. I even managed a moment of happiness to hear she was coping better with her Parkinson’s disease. A moment drowned by my own dismay all too quickly.

  “Brendon?”

  I blinked at my name. “As it turns out,” I said, my mouth dry and my throat tight, “I’ve got a son. He’s eighteen months old and has something called Philadelphia chromosome-positive leukemia, which is really rare and really aggressive, and I just discovered a little while ago I’m not a bone marrow match, which was pretty much the reason Amanda called me to come, and I’ve . . . I’ve failed them . . .” I fisted my hand in the hair at the back of my head and pressed the phone to my forehead.

  God, it hurt. It hurt so much. I was sitting in a taxi, and it hurt, and . . . and . . .

  The sound of Maci calling my name – faint and almost impossible to hear – dragged me back. Just. The air in my lungs didn’t want to be there. There seemed to be a chunk of concrete crushing my chest. Or maybe it had replaced my heart?

  Opening my eyes, I raked my hand through my hair, shook my head and then returned the phone to my ear. “Sorry. I’m here. I’m okay.”

  Biggest lie I’ve told in my life ever.

  “Bullshit,” Maci responded. “Where are you? Exactly? We can be there in a few hours. Raph?” Her voice grew softer, distant. “Raph, we need to get to San Diego ASAP. Can you buy the tickets online straight away?”

  I heard Raphael say something in the background, but couldn’t make out the exact words. My head was roaring too much. My heart was hammering too damn loudly.

  “I’ll tell you when I get off,” Maci was saying to Raph. “Okay, I’m back. Where are you? Where are you staying?”

  I looked at my gym bag and backpack. All my earthly possessions in the US. Jesus. Jesus, it hurt. It hurt so much . . .

  “Tanner is at New Dawn Children’s Hospital,” I answered. “I’m staying . . . I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

  Had I just said that? Fuck, I was a mess.

  “As soon as we touch down I’ll call you, okay?”

  I shook my head. The fact Maci wouldn’t be able to see the action wasn’t registering with me at the moment. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, Brendon,” she said. “We do. And you know why.”

  Surprisingly, a smile pulled at my lips. I did know why. I’d rescued Maci twice while she was in Australia from situations no twenty-two year old should ever have to handle. I didn’t expect her to return the favor in kind, but I couldn’t lie, I needed someone there. For me. Muscles and good health can only get you so far. They’re a sound foundation, but they’re not enough to get you through when everything you know is crumbling around you. I’m a tough guy, but I’m not that tough.

  “Thanks, Plenty,” I damn near whispered.

  “We’ll see you soon, okay?”

  I nodded – stupid again, given she still couldn’t see me – and then I hung up. I drew in a deep breath, steadying myself, as the taxi pulled to a halt outside the hospital’s main entry. Climbing out of the back seat, I noticed for the first time the deep stretching shadows of dusk around me. I�
��d touched down in LA at eight that morning, and now it was almost night. I felt like I’d lived an eternity in the hours that had passed.

  Once again, I suspect I messed up the tipping when paying the driver, this time to his advantage. He beamed at me when I told him to keep the change. “Si, si. Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

  At this rate, I was going to be out of US currency before I even found a place to stay for the night. I’d have to find somewhere cheap. Maybe a backpacker’s hostel. I sure could pass for a backpacker right now. I didn’t need to look into a mirror to know I must look like a wasted wreck. I needed a shave. I needed to clean my teeth. My hair needed something more than my fingers to comb it.

  The entry doors slid open and I entered the hospital, a sign catching my eye as I crossed the foyer.

  Visiting hours 11am-4pm.

  Checking my watch, I realized I was out of the prescribed time. But I was a parent of a patient. Surely that meant . . .

  I crossed to the reception desk and offered the woman behind the counter a smile. “G’day, I know it’s out of hours, but I’m Brendon Osmond, Tanner Sinclair’s father, and I’m hoping I can go see him? He’s in the Oncology ward. I need to talk to Dr. Parker Waters as well while I’m here.”

  The woman regarded me for a moment, and again, I wondered what I must look like. Moving her attention to the computer in front of her, she clicked and typed away before she stopped and studied the screen. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking back up at me. “But you’re not listed as a PIC. I can’t let you in.”

  I frowned. “A what?”

  “Partners in Care,” she answered. Sympathy laced her voice. And patience. A part of me wondered how many times she’d needed to deliver the explanation before. “Those nominated by the patient’s legal guardian to have unrestricted access to the patient, twenty-four hours a day. Unfortunately, I can’t let you in.”

  I shook my head. “I’m his father. I only just got into the country today. I was here earlier.” I gripped the edge of the counter, my gym bag and backpack heavier than the world on my shoulder.