by Lexy Timms
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USA TODAY BESTSELLING Author, Lexy Timms, finishes her tale about a young man and the sensitive artist who changed his life. Bryan McBride thinks he has it all. His brother’s reputation has been cleared, and he’s rekindled his passionate relationship with painter Hailey. His only real struggle is deciding the best way to continuing honoring his brother’s sacrifice by helping the homeless. A deadly brain tumor threatens Hailey’s life, but she’s afraid the truth will destroy Bryan. Despite her pain, she doesn’t want to bring him months of emotional turmoil by having him worry about her. She thinks it’ll be best if he doesn’t know until the last moment. But it’s hard to conceal from your own lover that you’re dying. Now caught in a race against her own traitorous body, Hailey struggles to create a positive legacy for her beloved, even if it means she has to hurt and push him away. Fans of Nicholas Sparks will love this sweet-with-heat love story EVERY TIME.
Chapter 1
Bryan
“M r. McBride, are you serious?”
“Very. The houses you’re building now will be subsidized
housing for all of you, plus a few others,” I explained. “You mean you’ve built us a home?” Daniel Lockey, the man who’d taken on several kids simply because they had no one, stared at me in amazement. “No. You built yourselves a home.” I grinned. “And it’s well deserved. You guys have worked hard and earned your paychecks. The first four months of payments are subsidized by us, which will give you guys time to set yourselves up at other jobs.” I’d come out to check up on a few jobsites, and ended up with gigantic hugs from the homeless men on one of our biggest projects. I got up this morning and saw a text message from Drew stating he wouldn’t be coming in today, so I had to hop out of bed and get going with the construction sites. Things had been on the up and up for Drew and his tattoo shop, and we were on the last leg of liquidating the rest of his holdings in the company. “Thank you so much, Mr. McBride,” Daniel said. “You’re welcome,” I said, laughing happily. “You’re all welcome.” I checked a few things off on the site before I drove over to another one. I had seven sites I had to evaluate and project time frames for before checking out three other jobsites that were interested in working with us. I had a great deal of paperwork to fill out and then get everything uploaded into the system. This was a good time to think about ways to make this system more automatic, so it would be easier on all of us. “Bryan! What brings you around?” “Hey, Duke. Work, of course. What brings you around?” My lead foreman I’d promoted a few weeks ago slapped my back as I approached him on one of the sites. “Oh, you know. My bossman said I had to roll out of bed today and work. You know, the usual,” he said. “Sounds like a dick,” I said, grinning. “You should tell him off.” “You’re a fucking asshole for making me work, McBride,” he said. “Tough shit. I pay you enough money to roll out of bed at seven.” “Makin’ rounds? I thought Drew had our site today,” he said. “Got a message from Drew this morning saying he wasn’t coming in.” “That’s been happening a lot lately,” he said. “What gives?” “Well, Drew’s in the process of winding things down, especially since most of his assets with the company have been liquidated. He’s got his shop open and stocked with stuff, so it’s only a matter of time before I take over everything.” “How you gonna do with all that?” he asked. “I’m trying it out today. So far, I’ve already skipped a meal, needed more coffee, and contemplated making all of our systems electronic so I don’t have to go through all this paperwork bullshit so often.” “You’re just now doing all this stuff? Shit, you got it easy. Try getting up at five in the morning.” The grin on his face made me chuckle while we slowly started to walk the site. “So, talk me through this. How’s everything going?” I asked. “The ground was easy to level, and we’re about to start laying down all the plumbing. Those rainstorms that poured through last week really put us behind, so we’re trying to play catch up. But the ground wasn’t too saturated, so I’ve got guys already laying foundation on the plumbing we got done before the storms.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Think you’ll experience any pushback on the delivery date?”
“Not if I can keep them maybe an extra hour for a few days,” he said.
“Let me know if you need to, and we’ll get overtime payments in check. I don’t want these guys out here without the proper pay in their pockets.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Can I ask you something?” I asked.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“How do you like living in San Diego?”
“Why? You thinkin’ about moving, too?” he asked.
“No, but I am considering branching out into new territory. Just wondering how you enjoy the area.”
“Ah. Gotcha,” he said, nodding. “Well, San Diego is a nice city. Even in the dead of winter, it isn’t brutally cold. The mornings might be in the low forties, but it warms up into the sixties and is perfect weather for working the way we do. Some guys are still out here in short sleeved shirts and not sweating their asses off. Plus, if we wanna get drunk during lunch, we’re always walking distance from the bars.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” I said. “You think you’re a funny man.”
“I get my kicks where I can get ‘em,” he said.
“Anything else you enjoy about the city?” I asked.
“Many parts of the city need the type of work you do. Subsidized housing that isn’t bullshit. Those tiny homes you built a couple months ago are a huge hit around here. I know you got some properties interested in our business. You should consider doing another tiny home project.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I said, grinning.
In truth, I was looking to uproot Duke. He was the most reliable man I had, and if I wanted to expand into other cities that wanted our help and our expertise, I wanted to send someone I knew could handle it, someone I could trust, especially since Drew had made the decision to officially pull away. Duke was the only person I could think of I would send, but I didn’t want to uproot him from a place he loved if it meant new business. His family was important to him, and it was one of the reasons why I’d hired him in the first place. “Well, there’s some additional funding coming in for one of the lots we’re looking to develop. Another ‘cheap houses’ project,” I said. “You thinking another mobile home project?” Duke asked. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. That project alone was the most lucrative one we’ve done yet. It’s in an area that could really use a revitalization. You up for overseeing it?” “You just tell me where to go, and I’ll be there,” he said. “Perfect. It wouldn’t be for another couple of months. We’ve got seven developments we’re wrapping up, so we don’t have the manpower to disperse right now. I’m trying to schedule out through the middle of next year so we can focus on some other things.” “Well, I’m here whenever ya need me.” “Perfect.” I saw some cameras at the corner of the property. Reporters were taking pictures and people were yelling for me to come over. I sighed and shook my head while Duke simply laughed, and we walked away from them all while I continued to survey the site we were developing. “Seems that column got you a bit of attention,” Duke said. “No fucking joke. I was grabbing a beer with Drew a few days ago, and someone just walked up and started bombarding me with questions while they were recording me. I still had my damn bottle in my mouth.” “Still on the whole ‘plight of the homeless man’ angle?” he asked. “Plight? Who the hell are you?” “Hey, I know big words. I just don’t give a shit about using them.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And yes, they’re still on it. Independent blogs from college kids in the city and other smaller town newspapers wanting quotes and shit like
that. This was why I didn’t want to boast about what I was doing. I knew it would bring in this flood of attention that would only detract from the work we have to do,” I said. “But it served a good cause. I heard your brother’s art gallery went well. I hated I couldn’t make it. Daughter and wife were both sick.” “You’re good, and it was a hit, so there’s that. They feeling better?” “Finally,” he said. “Flu season takes my wife down every time.” “I’ve seen an uptick in the people volunteering in homeless shelters,” I said. “Probably because of the attention your article got,” he said. “I’ve noticed it, too.” “I didn’t know you went into the homeless shelters.” “My family and I volunteer one weekend a month. We hit up the women’s shelter as well to help. You know my wife used one of those when getting away from her first husband.” “Wait a second. Darlene was married before you?” I asked. “Yep. To an absolute asshole. Beat her to pieces and put her in the hospital twice before she fled in the middle of the night. She’s got a passion for helping the shelter that helped her, so the first weekend of every month, we help out.” “I didn’t know any of that. How’s she doing now with it all?” I asked. “Twenty-two years married and she’s still smart as a whip. Strongest woman I know, though she drives me nuts.” “But you love her all the same, admit it.” “I do. She gave me the most beautiful daughter in the world. I owe her my life for that.” The sparkle in Duke’s eyes while he talked about his family made me think about Hailey. She’d been a bit distant lately, and it was beginning to worry me. She’d taken up my offer to move in, but she was dragging her feet on getting everything moved out. She said it was because she didn’t have the money to cut her lease three months early, but I kept telling her I could pay the penalty charges. And no matter what I told her, she wouldn’t take the help. “Still having issues with Hailey?” Duke asked. “Not really issues. She’s just not as excited about moving in as I thought she would be.” “Give her time. She’s been independent for most of her life. She’s probably trying to adjust before she moves in so she doesn’t stress you
out.” “But she knows I’d help her with that,” I said. “Independent is the keyword in that sentence.” “You’re a sarcastic little fucker, aren’t you?” I asked, smirking. “Get used to it. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me now that Drew’s finding his own way.” Just then, my phone rang. I smiled when I saw it was Hailey and immediately picked up the phone. I waved to Duke and took off for my truck, dodging the people who wanted quotes and photos and videos of me as Islid into my truck. I cranked it up and got the hell out of there while my smile hurt my cheeks. “Hello, beautiful,” I said. “To what do I owe this phone call?” “I’m so sorry, Bryan, but I have to cancel our dinner plans tonight.” “Again? Hailey, what’s going on?” I asked. “It’s just stuff with the gallery. This media attention is really dragging things along and slowing me up. I’ve got paintings I have to finish if I don’t want to have bare walls.” “Are you not painting at your apartment?” I asked. “Bryan, I’m really sorry, but I just can’t. Could we reschedule for tomorrow night?” “Sure, that’s not a problem. Will you at least come over tonight?” “I don’t know how late I’ll be, but I’ll slip in after I close up here.”
“Wonderful. I’ll keep the bed warm for you,” I said. “Okay. Love you.” “Love you, too.” I had to say, I was disappointed. This wasn’t the first time in the past couple weeks Hailey had bailed on plans. She’d canceled on me multiple times and sometimes without even rescheduling. I kept trying to ask her if I could help or if there was anything I could do to lighten up her schedule a bit, but she wasn’t having any of it. I couldn’t help but think she was being a bit evasive. I wanted to ask her if it was the whole moving in thing. I knew it had been spur of the moment and a bit rushed on our part, and I wanted to let her know she didn’t have to if she didn’t want to. I knew the media attention would naturally keep her busier, like it’d been intervening in my business as well, but I couldn’t shake the feeling she was hiding something from me. The very idea made my stomach turn as I pulled up to the last site I had to check out for the day. The last time we were in this position, it wasn’t what I thought it was. I’d jumped to conclusions and had grown to hate her before I came to my senses and talked to her. So, there was precedence that this wasn’t what I thought it was. On the other hand, I felt we were at a place where I shouldn’t have to pullshit like this from her. She should know she could come to me with anything, no matter how small it was. All I knew was what my gut was telling me, and my gut was screaming something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just dinners. She was keeping herself more covered up. The weather was getting chillier and the wind was getting brisk, but every time I saw her, she was wearing another layer. I kept asking if she felt well, if she was getting sick or coming down with something. But all she would do was shrug me off and tell me she was feeling fine. I knew something wasn’t fine.
When I was around her, she seemed to be somewhere else. During the few lunches we did share together, she was only half-listening. She blamed it on being tired and rundown from the gallery and the attention she was getting, so I suggested hiring someone to help her out with the place. She had the disposable income now to hire someone, which meant she could take days off at a time to rest and maybe even spend some time with me in bed or cuddled up on the couch. At first, she seemed intrigued by the idea and even told me she was interviewing people. But whenever I did manage to come by the gallery to surprise her with a kiss and a cup of coffee, there was never anyone there to help her. I didn’t press her about it because it was her business, but I could’ve sworn the bags underneath her eyes were a bit heavier than before. I had to admit, every time I was at her gallery, there was someone there asking her questions. They would talk with her and jot things down, getting her information and taking her picture. She was being hounded as much as I was, and I knew how draining that could be. I wasn’t talking with anyone, and I was getting tired of them coming around, so I could only imagine the exhaustion she was experiencing by actually engaging these reporters and small-time bloggers. Even when I piled everything together and coupled it with the fact that she kept canceling plans, my gut kept firing off at me in the middle of the night. I’d roll over, and she wouldn’t be there. One time, I even caught her crying on the toilet seat. Part of me wanted to go in there and hold her before demanding what was wrong, but I knew if I did there was a chance she might not move in with me. There had to be a reason she wasn’t confiding in me. Maybe it had something to do with Anna or her parents, but she had me incredibly worried regardless of what it was. And now that she’d canceled the dinner for the second time, I could no longer standidly by while this all took place. I had to get her to talk to me no matter what it took.
Chapter 2
Hailey
I was sitting in front of my oncologist while I rubbed my arm. It was still sore from the injection I’d received, and I could already feel the nausea coming on. I sat wavering in my chair while my doctor looked at me, waiting for my attention to come back to him so I could focus on what he was saying. It had been two weeks since I’d gotten the diagnosis from him in that hospital room, and every day had been a new struggle to roll out of bed. I was painfully aware of my body and how it was feeling. I was painfully aware of my headaches and the reason for them. I was in tune with every ache and every hunger pang, and I questioned every cramp and every twitch my muscles made. I was already exhausted by analyzing myself, and now I was sitting here in my oncologist’s office with stomach bile rising up my throat. “Miss Ryan. You with me?” he asked. “Yes, Doctor Osmunt,” I said. “I’m here.” “Feeling sick?” he asked. “A bit.” “Well, that’s good news. It means the treatment’s having an effect on you. These shots we’re giving you are isolated chemotherapy treatments. They’re to help kill the cells that are responsible for transporting the cancer from your kidney to your brain.” “Gotcha,” I said breathlessly. “Your main source of treatment, however, will be immunotherapybased protocols. Th
ose will focus on enhancing your body’s natural defenses rather than just flooding your body with chemotherapy.”
“Sounds good,” I said as I swallowed hard. “All chemotherapy does is kill cells, but it doesn’t target a specific cell. It simply ravages the body until everything that’s supposed to be gone is gone. But your cancer is so far progressed that your immune system will completely break down before the chemotherapy destroys everything. A simple common cold at that point could kill you.” “Wonderful,” I said mindlessly. “Miss Ryan, would you like to lie down?” he asked. “Probably for a little bit.” I felt him help me out of his office and into a darkened room. I laid down and allowed the nausea to waft throughout my system while the isolated chemotherapy went to work. I turned onto my side as a blanket drifted over my body, and soon, I was seeing images of Bryan’s face. The way he smiled while he cupped my cheek. The way his lips swelled against mine whenever he kissed me. The way his body rolled into my hips every time we made love. I hadn’t felt his naked body against mine in almost two weeks. I hadn’t seen his glorious smile or felt his lips against my neck. I hadn’t taken a shower with him and watched the water drip along his rippling abs. I hadn’t felt his strong arms around my body pulling me close in the mornings while his husky morning voice begged me not to go to work. I hadn’t even heard him say “I love you” in my ear in the past two weeks, and my body was craving the attention I knew only he could give me. I missed him desperately, but I couldn’t tell him what was going on. Not just yet. The last thing he needed with everything going on with Drew and his parents was for me to pour my medical difficulties onto him. He was head-deep in work he was now responsible for because Drew had officially left the company, and I knew his parents showing up at John’s gallery showcase was still weighing on his mind. He’d tried calling them a couple of times even though I advised him not to, and when they didn’t pick up, I saw tears in his eyes. He was in so much pain, and he was so stressed with work that I couldn’t bear to sit this on his already-hunched shoulders. My eyes fluttered open as the dark room came into view, and the nausea was gone. The headache I’d had early was done shaking my vision, and a part of me actually felt good. I sat up in the hospital bed, allowing the blanket to fall from my body while I surveyed the room around me. What time was it? How long had I been here? Was there anyone in the room with me? Holy hell, I was supposed to reopen the gallery after my lunch break. I wasn’t supposed to be at my appointment this long. What if Bryan had come by the gallery? What if he was trying to call me right now? I searched for my purse but couldn’t find it. Then, the door to the room opened and Doctor Osmunt stepped in. “Relax, Miss Ryan. You’ve only been asleep for half an hour.” “Doctor Osmunt,” I said breathlessly. “What's going on? Why do I feel better already?” “It’s only an isolated chemotherapy injection. The effects last maybe twenty minutes. Once we start doing them regularly, they’ll persist for longer periods of time, but these first few won’t affect you for long.” “Gotcha. All right. That’s good. That means I can go back to work. So, what are these, um, protocols you were talking about.” “Your memory’s good,” he said, smiling. “Should it not be?” I asked. “Let’s just say the fact that you still have your short-term and longterm memory is something I’m still marveling over,” he said. That statement gave me a bit of hope that maybe my body was more resilient than I was giving it credit for. If I had a resilient body, then I still had a chance of fighting this off, which meant I might not have to get my estate in order quite yet. The last thing I needed to schedule on top of work and canceled dinner dates and doctor’s appointments were sessions with a lawyer. Doing things like that took more time away from Bryan, and it was only a matter of time before he sat me down and didn’t let me leave until I told him what was going on. “Immunotherapy-based protocols are things we do to enhance your body’s own defense systems. The idea is we change your diet, administer man-made immune system components to give you a boost, and even inject immune-boosting bone marrow straight into your bones to help your body fight this off. The theory is that once the cancer gets to a certain point, we can operate and treat as necessary.” “The theory,” I said. “Yes. For some, it works. For others, it merely keeps them comfortable.” “You’re not beating around the bush with this, are you?” I asked. “Do you want me to?” And if I was being honest, I really didn’t want him to. I wanted to know how bad it was, and I wanted to know what I was up against. I wanted the truth, the bold truth, and nothing less than the absolute truth. I wanted to know what my chances were and the kinds of percentages I was facing. I didn’t want anything sugar-coated, nor did I want anyone to tell me these treatments wouldn’t be painful. I’d watched the videos online, and I’d read the articles of personal experiences. This was going to be a long road filled with needles and injections and nausea and hair loss and all sorts of things that brought tears to my eyes at night while I cried myself to sleep. “No, I don’t,” I said. “Good, because I’m not good at beating around the bush. Like I said, it’s a miracle you weren’t having any other symptoms besides your migraines. Usually, with a tumor like this, patients experience vision problems outside of the pounding headaches, concentration problems, and memory issues. I take that as a very good sign. Your body is good at adapting to what is inflicted on it, which means your immune system is strong. That bodes well for your treatments.” “That’s great news,” I said. “If you want any chance of survival, we have to stick with the chemo shots, however. Once we can shrink these tumors, if we can, surgery will be necessary and incredibly risky. Brain tumors are treated as open-skull surgeries, and it takes months to recuperate from those. The one on your kidney will be easier to get, but we still want it smaller before we go after it.” “Why?” I asked. “Massive tumors mean massive claws. Just because we get the tumor on the surface doesn’t mean we’ve gotten to the roots. If we cut it off at the surface, you’ve got a very high chance of growing separate tumors where those roots have hooked into your kidney. The more we shrink it, the more those roots shrivel and die, and then we can go in and get it all in one fell swoop.” “Why can’t you just remove my kidney?” I asked. “Can’t you take one of those out?” “Yes, but then there’s the risk of your other kidney developing cancerous tumors. Cancer cells, once they start growing on a specific organ, are programmed to the cells of that organ. Since you have two kidneys, you’re more likely to grow tumors on both of those kidneys. Again, a marvel that you haven’t. But disturbing it with surgery right now could trigger a cascading effect, and we might not be able to get it under control. Right now, we’ve got a clear path with two massive tumors that, by all accounts and tests, aren’t growing any larger currently.” “So, how long until the surgery stage?” I asked. “I mean if things work.” “A couple of months. We’ll know by then if things are working. Immunotherapy is very effective if the body takes to it, and the chemotherapy shots will help with the cells traveling through your bloodstream. The shots will have to happen two to three times a week, so we’ll need to schedule a regular time on the books for you to get in here where the nurses can administer it.” “I can do that before I leave,” I said. “My lunch breaks, like right now, are usually best.” “Good. We can make sure to have a room prepared for you next time to lay down in. Just remember that the effects will last a bit longer each time, so if you need to switch your shots to the evening hours after you’re done with work, we understand. Just let us know.” “Thanks, doctor.” “Might I make one last suggestion?” he asked. “Sure. Anything,” I said. “Patients who are going through something this life-altering usually have someone coming in with them. I’m assuming since you’re alone, it means you haven’t told anyone yet.” “Why would you assume that? Maybe I’m just alone,” I said, shrugging. “Well, besides the fact that I read the article about you in the newspaper, you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who keeps to herself,” he said. And all I could do was shrug at his comment. “I know this is hard,” he said. “Do you really?” I asked. “A
ctually, yes. I helped my grandmother recuperate from cancer twice. It takes a toll, a very serious emotional and physical toll. Tell someone, Miss Ryan. Confide in someone. Bring someone in with you. Eventually, these therapies are going to take their toll. You’re going to need someone to help you through those days.” “I thought you said the immunotherapies would work without doing the kind of stuff chemo did,” I said. “But you’re still getting chemo shots, and eventually, if this all takes well and surgery is successful, radiation might be introduced. Anything to get you back on track and living the life you want. Even with boosting your immune system, exhaustion is going to take over eventually. Hair loss might occur. Appetite changes will definitely happen. You’re going to want someone at your side, especially if you’re getting your affairs in order. Speaking of, are you getting your affairs in order?” “I thought we were talking like this was going to work,” I said. “Miss Ryan, I need you to listen to me closely. We will always talk in this office like things are going to go well, but I need to rely on your mental disposition to take care of the things you need to. And when your mental disposition fails, and it will, I’m going to need whoever’s standing by your side to know what your estate and things should look like. I’m not only here to treat you. I’m here to take care of you.” “So, you’re standing by my side. Isn’t that enough?” I asked. He sighed heavily, and I could tell I was already starting to wear on him. “Settle your estate in case things take a turn. Get someone in here with you to provide mental and emotional support. You’re independent. I get it. But out of all the things to endure in life alone, terminal cancer isn’t one of them.” Terminal. Terminal cancer. That fucking word added to the beginning of a statement that ushered in a death before the life of the sentence even began. Terminal. An adjective to describe what would be the extent of my short-lived life. Terminal. The word that would be used to describe my legacy on this earth once I passed from it. Maybe he was right. Maybe my mental disposition was already failing me. “Terminal,” I said, whispering. “Miss Ryan, talk with someone,” he said. “A friend. A family member. The man you love. Anyone. I’m telling you, the support helps. The mind is a powerful thing.” “When it’s not riddled with a tumor,” I said flatly.
