Beautiful Dark (Beautiful Rivers Book 3)

by J. L. White

  “Why would they bother to tell you?” Like he has nothing else on his plate down there.

  “Because your boss knows that’s the kind of thing I want to know about. Why did you call in? She said you didn’t give anybody a reason.”

  I plop on the couch, sinking all the way down and leaning my head against the back. I close my eyes and rest my palms on my forehead. “I just didn’t want to go in today, okay? I’m sorry.”

  “All right,” he says, slowly, as if that’s not the end of the discussion at all. I hear him come over and feel him sit on the cushions next to me.

  “You look like shit.”

  I drop my hands and look at him. “Gee, thanks.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Rayce is the one I never have to talk to about stuff if I don’t want to, and I’m definitely taking advantage of that fact right now. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Too bad.”

  I look at him and blink. “What?”

  “Something’s really wrong with you. Tell me what it is.”

  I fold my arms against my chest, angry that he’s breaking the rules, but he’s getting to me and there’s something painful inside me that starts to crack.

  “Are you having problems at work?”

  I shake my head, a lump starting at the base of my throat. You’d think I cried enough today for an entire lifetime, but no, it just keeps coming.

  “Something to do with the cancer?”

  I shake my head again, tears swelling up.

  “Something to do with Mason?”

  I put my hands over my eyes and start to really cry again, wishing none of this was happening. Wishing Mason had never said those things the other night. Wishing to God my life was different so I could have told him all the things he needed to hear, all the things that are in my heart.

  Rayce pulls me against his chest, just like that, with my hands over my face, and lets me cry in his arms. He doesn’t say anything. He’s really not good with emotions like this anyway. He’s probably plotting a way to get Lizzy over here so she can take over now that he knows what’s going on, but I don’t really want to talk to her either. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to go back to sleep so I don’t have to feel anything.

  When I finally start to settle, and have sunk back against the couch staring into nothingness, I’m aware of the fact that he’s watching me carefully.

  “I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to tell me the truth.”

  “Okay,” I mumble. We’ll see about that.

  “I need to know if he’s hurt you.”

  I roll my eyes and throw my hands up. “God. No, Rayce. Do you still think so little of him?”

  “No, actually I don’t. But you never know and I wanted to be sure. You guys just had a fight, or what?”

  I exhale heavily, my breath shuddering from so much crying. “We broke up.”

  “What?” He sounds genuinely surprised. “Why?”

  God, I can’t answer that. “We just did.”

  Rayce furrows his brows, looks away, looks back to me. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to tell you, whether it makes sense or not, that’s what happened.”

  “How? I don’t understand.”

  I sigh again, realizing he’s not going to let up until I give him something. So fine. “He wanted to move in together.”

  He’s watching me like he’s waiting for more, but I offer no further details. This is bad enough.

  After a minute, he prompts, “The… bastard?”

  I roll my eyes. “I really don’t think that’s such a smart idea, do you? I mean, come on.”

  “I don’t know. I thought you guys really liked each other.”

  I throw my hands up again. “What the hell difference does that make?”

  He just looks at me like I’m crazy. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?”

  Because you’re all living in fucking la-la land, I want to say, but don’t. “I’m really not at a point in my life where I can be moving in with someone.” There. I said it. Now he can just go on home.

  “Do you feel you’re too young?”

  “Ugh!” I say, getting up and stomping into the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, frustrated, getting up from the couch and following me. “You’re not making sense.”

  I sigh and open the freezer door. “Okay,” I say flatly, pulling an ice cream sandwich out of the box. “Whatever.”

  Just stop asking me questions.

  Rayce straightens. “What’s the problem with living together? It’s too soon?”

  God, is he really going to make me spell it out for him? “Yeah. Two-and-a-half years too soon. If we live together now, it would just lock him in. But when the cancer comes back, it’s not fair to expect him to stick around for everything that’s going to follow, now is it?”

  Are you happy now?

  He pales. “Wait, you said it wasn’t the cancer. Has it come back?”

  I start attacking the paper wrapper around the cold little sandwich. “No.”

  “Well, then, Jesus, Corrine. What the hell are you talking about?”

  I toss the sandwich down. “I’m talking about the fucking inevitable, okay? And I’m not going to make him sit around watching all that when he should be able to just go.”

  He’s still looking at me like he’s confused. How can I be any more clear?

  “Has your doctor told you something you’re not telling us?”

  “I... what do you mean?”

  “I mean, has he said it’s definitely going to come back?”

  “Oh my god, what difference does it make?”

  Rayce’s eyes sharpen on me and he says, “He’s. Your. Doctor.” He’s acting like he’s mad at me. What the hell is he mad at me for?

  “Oh, he’s my doctor,” I say, mad right back. “Well then I should just hang onto his every word like he’s the fucking mouthpiece of God, because it’s not like cancer ever comes back even after the doctors say they got it all.”

  He gets this dawning expression on his face. “Wait. This is because of the cancer.”

  Ding! Ding! Ding! I pick up the half-unwrapped sandwich, then drop it again. I don’t even want this stupid thing. “Everything’s because of the fucking cancer.”

  “This is why,” he says, like he’s solving some sort of puzzle. “This is why you’ve been just kind of floating around like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

  I huff, scowling at him.

  He straightens and folds his arms. “Well, I’m sorry. But that’s just stupid.”

  I blink at him. “What?” Did he just call me stupid?

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I mean, maybe I should pat your little head and try to comfort you or something—” My jaw drops. “—but wow. If this is the shit you’re doing, you’re being really dumb.”

  “Hey! Stop calling me dumb.”

  Then just like that, he turns fucking Alpha Rayce on me, comes up, takes me by shoulders, and reminds me why Whitney wants to call him Sir. I actually pull back slightly, overwhelmed, but he holds my eyes and says levelly, one word at a time, “You don’t have cancer.”

  My heart pinches, like he wrapped his fist around it and squeezed. “For now,” I protest quietly.

  Still not letting go of me, he says it again, exactly the same way. I want to back up, but he won’t let me. “You don’t have cancer.”

  Shut up. Sir. “You can’t will it away, you know.” I hear the panic in my own voice. Why is he doing this? Why won’t he let me go?

  “Corrine, stop talking like you still have it. You. Don’t. Have. Cancer.”

  I struggle hard against him and he finally releases me, but he stays close. I’m trapped in the corner of the counter, but I look up at him. If he wants to have this conversation, fine. We’ll have it. “Don’t fucking tell me what I don’t have! You don’t know shit.”

  “Yeah, well, you
don’t know that you do have it. And yet, what? You’re just sitting around, waiting to die?”

  “I’m not sitting around.”

  “Oh, sorry. You’re not sitting. But you’re still acting like you’ve only got, what? A year left? Two? What are you thinking?”

  “You know, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

  He steps back slightly, regarding me. “You’re right. I don’t.” He glances away, then looks back sharply. “But I do know this. If you’re not letting someone get close to you because of that, you’re making a huge mistake.”

  That painful thing inside me is cracking again, and I need it to stop. I fold my arms and scowl at him. “I thought you’d be happy. You don’t even like Mason.” I know I’m just being spiteful. It’s pointless, because he doesn’t fall for it anyway.

  “You know that’s not true. I do like him. Come on, Corrine,” he says, exasperated, but trying to bolster me up. “You have to live your life.”

  The tears are back in an instant, and the lump in my throat is threatening to choke me, but I talk right through it, because how dare he?

  “I am living my life! How many bucket list items have you crossed off in the last year? I live every day like it counts,” my voice gets tight and thick as I lose the battle against these tears more and more, and his goddamned hurting empathetic expression isn’t helping. “Because I have no idea—” a sob breaks out “— how many more I’m going to get.”

  I’m gone again, crying freely as he pulls me back into his arms. I hate this. I hate this so much.

  He lets me cry a minute, rubbing my back, then says soothingly, “And that’s amazing. It really is. You do make your days count, and not everybody does. But, Corrine…”

  He gently pulls me back and makes me look him in the eye. I do it without a fuss. All the fight’s gone out of me anyway.

  He holds me by the shoulders. “You’re living your todays but giving up all your tomorrows.”

  He rubs my arms gently, still holding my eyes. Making me hear him.

  “Cancer hasn’t taken your future from you. You’re handing it over willingly.”

  Chapter 31

  Corrine

  A week later, I send Mason a text, asking if we could please talk.

  He waits awhile to send his response: There’s nothing left to say. I don’t think we should talk any more. Stop contacting me. Please.

  Two days after that, I’m sitting on a concrete bench under a Monterey pine, my bag sitting next to me, watching the path and knowing this is my absolute last chance. If this doesn’t work, it really is over. And I’ll have no one to blame but myself.

  He comes around the corner of the Burrito Bar, sees me, and stops. As quick as he stops, he turns to go back the way he came, but his eyes drop to the little brown and white puppy at my feet, and he freezes.

  Holding the end of the leash, I whisper, “Come on, boy,” and stand.

  Eyes flitting between me and the dog, Mason stays put, letting me approach. I stop a few feet away to give him space and keep him from fleeing.

  “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to see me anymore. And I promise after this I’ll respect that, if that’s what you still want. But there are things I wasn’t telling you before and it messed everything up.”

  His wary expression is unchanged. He still looks like he could turn and leave at any time.

  “This was all my fault. Please. You don’t have to forgive me, but will you please let me explain something to you?”

  He glances down at the dog, who’s sniffing at his boots and whipping his little tail back and forth.

  “Whose dog is this?”

  “He’s mine.”

  He looks at me.

  “Will you please come sit down?” I ask nervously, gesturing to the bench behind me.

  His expression loses some of its edge, and he juts his chin slightly, giving silent consent.

  I make a kissing sound to my dog, who perks up his ears and looks at me, wagging his tail. We settle in at the bench, almost arms’ length apart, and little paws softly scratch at my legs. I pick him up and he wiggles in my arms, settling down once I start petting him.

  I take a deep breath, trying to remember how I wanted to say all this.

  Mason is watching the dog, who sniffs the air in his direction. “What’s his name?” he asks, putting his fingers out and letting them get sniffed.

  “Hero. I got him at the pound. He was called Ruff, but I thought that was stupid, so I changed it.”

  He starts to pet his head lightly, and Hero’s little tail wags happily against my side.

  “Here,” I say, reaching into my bag. I pull out the paper I printed this morning and hand it to him.

  He reads it, glancing up at me once, and looking so sad and confused and hurt and guarded that I just want to kick myself all the way into last month so I could make it so I never did this to him.

  “It’s the email confirmation of my application to the University of Iowa’s online communications degree.”

  “I see that,” he says, handing it back.

  “I know I told you I was going to do this, but I wasn’t really. I just didn’t want anyone pestering me about what I was going to do next.”

  He exhales and shakes his head, like he can’t get over the way I keep disappointing him. “I don’t even know what to do with that.”

  “I just wanted to show you first that I’m doing things now.”

  “Okay, so you have a dog and you’re going back to school,” he says. “What does any of this have to do with us?”

  Biting my lip, I tuck the paper back into my bag. “It… has to do with us because it’s all the same. It’s to do with stuff way down the road.”

  He looks confused and I can’t blame him. I’m not explaining things very well. Now comes the hard part.

  I take another deep breath. “Okay, here’s the thing.” I gently pick Hero off my lap and set him on the ground. He starts sniffing at the grass at our feet.

  “When I was getting treatment the second time, I went into it knowing that even if I could survive another round, and they told me treatment was a success, and I could go back home… I just knew it would get me eventually.”

  He furrows his brows, but he’s watching me, listening.

  “I saw it so many times, there in the hospital. Relapses are bad news, and sometimes people just can’t fight it no matter how much they want to. And that’s where I was. This relapse acted like it had every intention of killing me. It was brutal. The treatment didn’t work at first, and at one point I spent six solid weeks absolutely certain that I was never going to leave that hospital room.”

  His face is slowly softening, getting entrenched in the story, and maybe forgetting for a moment why we’re sitting here so far apart from one another.

  “My death wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when. Then I actually started to get better, but I didn’t really trust it. Even after they sent me home and everybody else was celebrating.”

  He furrows his brows at this.

  I shrug one shoulder. “I’ve never believed it was gone for good. But this one day, about a month after I got out, I was watching my mom working in her flower bed in the backyard. My mom loves to garden and take care flowers and trees and all that stuff. It’s something that makes her really happy. She’s kind of crazy.”

  I smile slightly and a ghost of a smile flashes on his face before disappearing again and resuming his somber, listening expression. I grip the end of the leash anxiously, wondering if too much damage has been done, but I continue.

  “She had people looking in on the yard while she was in Scottsdale with me all those months, and my stepdad did his best to make sure they did a good job, but it wasn’t really up to her standards. Still. It took her a whole month to finally go out and get into it again, which was a long time for her.”

  I shift slightly, bringing my knees half an inch toward hi
m. It happens without any thought on my part, as if my body is a magnet compelled to be drawn to his true north.

  “I remember that day she finally went out. She was wearing her broad rimmed wicker hat, and had her little wagon full of tools. She worked in that yard almost all day and I kept going back to the window so I could watch her.”

  I pause, letting my eyes rest softly on his as I remember that day so long ago now.

  I smile gently. “For the first time in months, my mom looked happy. Like, really truly happy. And at first I felt so sad, you know? Because I knew she believed we’d beaten the whole thing, and it made me sad to think about her being devastated again when she found out she was wrong.”

  Mason rests his elbow on the back of the bench, his hand hanging loose just a few inches from my shoulder. His face is slowly changing. He’s not just listening to my story anymore, he’s really thinking about it, maybe trying to jump ahead and guess my conclusion. His eyes flit to Hero, then back to me.

  I keep going. “But as I kept watching her, I kind of had this realization. And it’s stuck with me this entire time. I realized that her little day of joy had nothing to do with whether or not the cancer came back later. She was happy then. That moment existed outside the cancer, and she was truly happy. Because she was just enjoying a moment, you know?”

  His eyes are still locked on me, but his head cocks slightly at the word ‘moment.’

  “And I thought, she deserves this moment.” A little lump forms at the base of my throat as I remember my mom, who deserves that moment so much and has never deserved to shed so many tears over her dying daughter. “I thought, even if she’s going to get her heart broken again, she deserves as many moments of happiness as she can get. That’s when I decided that I could do the same for myself. I could try to get as many happy moments as I possibly could, and just be grateful for them.”

  My lips are trembling now, and his eyes are starting to shine too. When I speak, my voice is tight with emotion, but I can’t stop now, because I have to lay it all out on the line and make sure that even if this is over, he at least understands.

  “Because I didn’t think I’d ever get to leave that hospital again. I really didn’t. So I figured, every happy moment after that was more than I ever thought I was going to get anyway. And it…”