by Sarina Bowen
And then he was trapped there, like an animal. His broken knee throbbed, and bile crawled into his throat. The room spun, and he closed his eyes to blot it out.
“Can’t believe you made me go there,” Callie hissed. He heard a plastic snap, and then felt a hand snatch the back of his sweatpants down. A second later, there was a sharp stab in his ass.
“Oww…” he roared. “Get OFF me.” His chest felt as if it would break apart, and the next breath came out as a heated sob.
“You owe me seven-hundred dollars. And you owe Willow an apology,” Callie muttered behind him. Her warm hand pressed into his back. Dane wrapped one arm around his face and focused on not throwing up. His limbs began to feel strangely heavy.
* * *
At the sound of shouting, Willow shoved her feet into her shoes and threw open her kitchen door. It was only five quick paces to the apartment door. But when she arrived, it was hard to make sense of what she saw there.
Callie held a syringe in one hand, its plastic top still between her teeth. As Willow watched, she let go of Dane and replaced the cap over the needle.
“What’s happened?” Willow demanded. Dane lay on the couch, his head buried, his chest heaving.
“Willow, look at me,” Callie said. Willow found her friend’s comforting face. “It’s okay, honey. Everything is okay,” Callie repeated.
But it couldn’t be. Because Coach snatched a piece of paper off the floor as if his life depended on it. After scanning it, he sunk to his knees on the rug and covered his eyes. “My God. I can’t believe it.”
“Coach,” Callie warned. “You’re scaring Willow.”
Willow strode into the room and took the paper out of Coach’s hands. It was a lab report, with a strange name at the top. “Who’s Igor Maniac?”
Callie jerked a thumb at Dane, who had melted into the couch. “I made up the name…” Callie’s head dropped, as if exhausted. “Willow? The prisoner got let out of jail. I’m not sure what happens next. But right now I need us to go and sit in your kitchen. Put the kettle on, and I’ll be there in a minute.”
Willow nodded, but her feet wouldn’t un-root from the floor.
“Coach?” Callie asked, picking up her purse. He looked up at her, his eyes wet. “Did you know about this?” Callie walked over to Dane, picking up his arm to feel for his pulse.
Coach nodded. “I dug up his mother’s obituary on a hunch.”
Callie replaced Dane’s arm beside his head. Then she tipped his shoulder against the back of the sofa, so that he wouldn’t roll off. “He won’t wake up until tomorrow, okay? The next few days will be tough.” She handed him her card. “Call me if you think you’re in over your head.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
* * *
“It’s really an amazing disease, in a sick sort of way,” Callie told her. “You’re absolutely fine for thirty years or so—the symptoms are undetectable until well into adulthood. At first you begin to have muscle spasms, and you become forgetful,” Callie said. “And then it just goes downhill from there. Your body fails, and your personality darkens. You can’t chew your food or speak. But you don’t lose all your marbles until the end, so the patient is always aware of every bit of suffering.”
Their cups of tea sat untouched on the table. “Oh, my God,” Willow said.
“It’s extremely rare. His mother died of it.”
“And his brother died,” Willow said. “Last month.”
“Okay…” Callie said. “He didn’t bother to tell me about that. No wonder he’s batshit crazy. I swear to God, Wills—the guy could not have been a bigger asshole to me if he’d tried.”
“So…” Willow put her hands on her belly. “He thought the baby…”
Callie nodded. “Dane never had the test, because he didn’t want to know. But then you were pregnant…” She rolled her eyes. “If I didn’t have to listen to all his bullshit, it would all sound quite noble. He did it for you, Willow.”
“No wonder he was so angry.” Willow put her head in her hands. “I was really reckless, Callie. My prescription was lapsed, and I lied about it. I thought I could just skate by.”
“Well…” Callie cleared her throat. “Someday he’s going to look back on this and realize that you did him a big favor. But it’s really hard to say when that day might be. First he’s going to have to get past a whole encyclopedia of issues. Survivor’s guilt…”
“Anger,” Willow added. “Denial, grief, isolation. Even his issues have issues.”
Callie smiled. “At least you have the training to understand what he’s going through.”
“I knew there was something, Callie.”
“You’re a gifted shrink.”
“He referred to himself as toxic.”
Callie blew out a breath. “He wasn’t kidding. He meant it quite literally, didn’t he?”
Willow nodded. “And if that’s why he was so adamant that I have an abortion…” she rubbed a finger around the rim of her teacup. “That’s basically admitting that he wished he’d never been born.”
“That’s fear talking,” Callie said.
“It’s years of pain talking. He…he actually cried. Right after we…” She cleared her throat. “He sounded broken.”
“Don’t go all soft on me, Willow. I think you have to leave him out of it, now. And make up your own mind. What does your gut say?”
“My gut is worried about money. How can I even weather a few months with a newborn on nothing? It’s not like my temp job will give me a maternity leave.”
Callie flinched. “Things could be pretty tight for a while. But with a couple of lucky breaks, you could be a practicing psychologist in a couple years with a great job. It’s not impossible.”
Willow put her chin on her fist. “If only I knew where to get a lucky break. They are in short supply around here. I do want a child. But is it even fair to have one, if I know I’m on the path to becoming a welfare mom?”
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Willow,” Callie said carefully. “But I do know that being a welfare mom isn’t necessarily a permanent condition.”
“I just don’t know the answer,” Willow sighed. “If you have a crystal ball lying around somewhere, don’t hold out on me.”
“I would never,” Callie laughed. “I’d be peering into it myself, trying to figure out if I’m ever going to meet Mr. Right.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Even though it was already March, Vermont was about to be hit with one more blizzard. On his back on the sofa, Dane listened to it roll in. The wind rattled the windows, and snow sped past the glass, flying first in one direction and then the other.
He had spent the last few days in a stupor, barely speaking. After whatever powerful drug Callie had injected wore off, he woke the next day shaking. Coach had been treating him as if he had the flu, bringing him soup and sodas. And at first, he’d felt exactly like a flu patient—he’d had a crushing headache and zero interest in food. He slept for hours at a time.
But whether it was the sound of the storm approaching or that his shock was wearing off, today his brain had come back online. He’d spent the day lying still, trying to look at his life through a completely new lens.
And it was excruciating.
Every minute of Dane’s past had been colored by dread. Intellectually, he understood that his negative blood test ought to change that. The problem, he was beginning to realize, was that words on a page didn’t change him. Not overnight, anyway. Instead of joy, he felt scared. He would have fifty more years instead of ten. But since he’d tried so hard to keep people out of his life—except for Finn, who was gone—it was going to be a pretty lonely half-century, unless he underwent a complete personality transplant.
And maybe it was too late. Once an asshole with a death wish, always an asshole with a death wish?
In a matter of days, Dane would get the go-ahead to put weight on his leg and go back out into the world. He would have to start physical therapy.
He would have to look people in the eye. He wasn’t sure he remembered how.
A heavy cloud of self-loathing hung over him. And whenever he thought of Willow, it twisted his guts into a knot.
“I’m going for groceries.” Dane looked up to see Coach stepping into his boots. “We might be snowed in,” Coach said, grabbing his jacket.
“Could you…” Dane’s voice was scratchy. He had barely spoken for three days. “Would you see if Willow has everything she needs?”
Coach tilted his head, his expression soft. “I would do that,” he said. “But she isn’t home. Callie picked her up a couple of hours ago, they went off to some appointment at the hospital.” He snatched his keys off the nail by the door. “I hope they make it back before the snow gets any feistier. See you in an hour.” Then he went out the door.
Appointment at the hospital.
Dane sat up quickly, bile rising in his throat. Had Willow gone to have a…? His heart banged against his ribcage. He should already have apologized. He should have already told her that whatever she decided, it was okay.
He’d been such a shit.
Dane put his head in his hands. The room threatened to spin. He could still apologize. He would. But what if she’d already listened? What if she believed he thought she was…all those nasty things he’d said.
He took a deep, shuddering breath.
The sound of the wind grew increasingly loud, rattling the roof. For the first time in hours, Dane got up off the sofa. Pulling his crutches off the floor, he maneuvered over to the window. The snow had begun in earnest about an hour ago, and now Dane saw that the flakes had already covered the patches of grass that had shown through the recent thaw. The window revealed its slice of Willow’s yard and the barn beyond. Dane waited, watching.
* * *
Callie dropped Willow off, but couldn’t stay. “I have to get home before the roads get worse.”
“Thank you for coming with me!” Willow beamed at her friend.
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Callie said.
It would be dark in half an hour, and even snowier. So Willow didn’t go into the house. Instead, she went into her garage where the feed bags waited. She had already knocked one of the fifty-pound bags onto a kiddie sled. All she had to do was pull it to the barn.
Willow headed out across the yard, the wind whipping her hair all around. When she reached the barn, she opened the door and dragged the chicken feed inside. “Coming through, girls,” she said as the sled began to catch on their wood shavings. She scooted forward, toward the feed bin.
This next part would be tricky.
Willow tipped the empty feed bin on its side. Then she tugged the rounded end of the sled into its opening. Moving around behind the sled, she grabbed the back and tried to lever it up, tilting the fifty-pound bag into the bin.
Instead, the plastic sled bent in the middle.
“Damn it,” she said. It wasn’t going to work. So she squatted over the feed bag and put her hands on either side.
“Can I help you with that?”
Willow whirled around to see Dane leaning in the doorway. There was snow in his hair. He’d grown a trim beard, which made his face look a bit older and more serious. His expression matched—it was grave and thoughtful. But it was still the same man who made her breath hitch when she looked at him. Those sharp blue eyes and long lashes looked back at her. And then he was moving toward her, the tips of his crutches landing in the wood shavings.
Too surprised to speak, Willow backed out of his way.
Dane laid his crutches on the floor. Then he righted the bin, bent his good knee, picked up the feed bag and dropped it in.
“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling rattled. “I’ve been trying not to lift…” She stopped, clamping her lips together.
He stood up slowly. “Lift things,” he said. Then his mouth opened and closed like a fish.
Oh no. She felt herself trembling.
“Willow,” he began. Then he put one hand on the wall of the barn to steady himself. “Are you going to have a baby?”
Terrified of his reaction, she only nodded.
Slowly he closed his eyes, lifting one hand to his temple. “God, I’m so relieved.”
For a second she couldn’t say anything. “You are?” she stammered.
He nodded, looking unsteady. “Because…” he said. “Because I didn’t wreck you, Willow. You made your own call.” He tipped his head back with a sigh. “I said awful things, and you stood your ground.”
“It wasn’t an easy decision, and I don’t know if I did the right thing,” she said, hearing herself start to babble. “But my gut said I do want a child. The timing is awful, but I really do.”
The look on his face was so raw, so vulnerable that it startled her. “You’re impressive, Willow. You meet assholes right and left….” He shook his head. “Nobody breaks you. Not the idiot who left you, not me, not the jokers at the bar that night…” he cleared his throat. “Hang on. I didn’t even get to say it yet.” He bent over and plucked his crutches off the ground. Then he hitched a step closer to her.
She just stared up at him. She had to stop herself from reaching out to touch him, to acknowledge that he was really here, talking to her.
“Willow, I just want to apologize. Everything I said—I wish I could unsay it. I’m just so sorry I was cruel. You deserve so much better.”
At that moment, a gust of wind banged the barn door on its hinges, and the chickens stirred in fright.
Willow felt her heart in her throat. “Dane, a blizzard is coming and…” she was suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded. She’d been yearning—no—she’d been desperate for his apology. But actually hearing it was scary. The decision to cut him out of her life completely was a painful one, but also uncomplicated. Now here he was, his eyes begging. She didn’t know what to do with it.
“There’s more I need to say, Willow.” His voice was low. “Can we talk in the house?”
She took a deep, steadying breath. “Just…give me a minute.” She turned away from him, her heart fluttering. The chicken feeder was stocked and their water bottle adequately filled. “Hang in there, girls,” Willow called. “See you in the morning.” She pulled her hood back over her head. She followed Dane out of the barn, sliding the latch back into place.
* * *
Outside, the world was a darkening swirl. Snow coated every surface, and drifts began accumulating at the base of every tree. Willow went ahead of Dane, opening the door to her kitchen. She kicked off her shoes and went to sit on the couch, lighting the table lamp in the corner.
Across the room, Dane struggled to free himself of his one snowy boot. When he eventually came crutching toward her, she watched him approach, half thrilled that he wanted to talk, and half terrified of what he might say.
“Willow,” he said, hesitating before her. “You don’t have to look at me like that. I’ll never say a word against you again.”
She took a deep breath and then blew it out. “I think there were extenuating circumstances. Callie told me. What you thought you had…the genetic…”
He maneuvered around the coffee table, then sat down beside her. Slowly, he reached out, covering one of her hands where it lay on the cushion between them. “But I was nasty, Willow. I was mean to the only person…” he bit off the end of the sentence. “I can’t get the sound of it out of my head.”
She withdrew her hand, then crossed her legs, turning to face him. “I’m sorry, too.”
“For what?”
“I wasn’t careful, when I said that I was.”
“It happens. Usually to people who aren’t us.”
She studied him, finding his clear eyes steady. She wanted this Dane—the rational one—to be real and true. But she wasn’t ready to trust it. “Can I show you something I got today?”
“Anything.”
Even then, Willow hesitated. But his blue eyes were patient, waiting. She stood up and pulled the little stack of sono
gram pictures out of her pocket, handing them to him. Willow could feel her heart pounding in her ears as he looked at first one and then the others.
“Wow,” he whispered, glancing up at her with wonder on his face. “I can’t believe it.”
“That was my reaction, too,” she admitted.
He laughed, holding the pictures closer to the lamp. “A tiny little ski-racing chicken farmer.” He let the pictures fall into his lap. “I have absolutely no experience with this. So I need to ask, how can I help you?”
The question made her heart race. “I…I really have no idea. I never thought you’d say that.”
Dane flinched. “That’s fair.”
“I guess…” She cleared her throat. “I’ve got it covered for the next six months.”
“Okay.” He sighed. “Willow, I’m going to be off these crutches soon.”
“That’s good.”
“Sure. But in a couple of weeks, I’m supposed to be headed out west.”
Oh.
Willow felt an unnameable pressure in her chest. Whether or not it was a sane reaction, the idea that Dane would go away forever made her unbearably sad. “I see.” She looked at her hands.
“Willow?” She looked up to find his handsome jaw set in a serious expression. “If you told me not to go, I wouldn’t.”
Her heart leapt, but she didn’t trust it.
His face was nervous. “I know I don’t really deserve it, but I have to ask, because I’ll regret it forever if I don’t. Is there any way I could spend some time with you?”
Hope began to bubble up inside her, but Willow tried to beat it back. There were still so many issues. “But I’m having a baby you don’t want.”
He shook his head. “Who knows what I want, Willow? For years I never let myself ask. I’m a big mess. But I just…You amaze me, Willow. Every time I see your face, I feel happy.”
“I…people don’t say those things to me.” There was a lump in her throat the size of New England.
“They should. And I wish I’d said it earlier. But I…I quarantined myself. I’ve never had a girlfriend, because I thought it wouldn’t be fair to her. That means I’ve never told anyone I loved her. I’ve never even said, ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’ Christ…” he broke off, rolling his eyes. “I’m really selling myself here, aren’t I?”
