Where the Road Takes Me

by Jay McLean

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me you’ll let me carry some of the burden. Don’t pull back and don’t push me away. This is our life now, our future.”

  I sucked in a breath and held back the tears. “Okay, I promise.”

  Minutes felt like hours while we silently sipped our coffees.

  “I wish Mary were here.”

  He nodded slowly, a grimness washing over him. “I wish my mom was here, too. She’d be good in this situation. She’d take charge, make appointments, whatever we needed, you know? I mean . . . do we even know what we do from here?” He laughed, low and slow at first, and then he let it out, unconfined. It was a beautiful sound. A beautiful sight. He was beautiful.

  “What?”

  “We’re eighteen, and we need our mommies!”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “But at the same time we’re only eighteen. We’re not supposed to have all this figured out yet.”

  He ended his laughing fit with a sigh.

  “I think it’s time to go home, Blake.”

  And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count, it’s the life in your years.

  “I love you, babe,” he said as he stood in front of the fridge and read my magnet. He picked up our bags off the floor and kissed my cheek. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

  “Wait. You’re not doing a magnet today?”

  He winked. “It’s there.”

  I turned back to the fridge, my eyes already searching for it. And there it was. Top left corner. Red ink, as always.

  Be strong when you are weak, brave when you are scared, and humble when you are victorious.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Chloe

  Mary cried when we told her the news, just like we knew she would. Dean—he left the room, went out to the backyard, and sat in the playhouse. Mary said to leave him be—that he just needed time. He was there for an hour, then Blake went out there to talk with him. They were there for another two hours. When they came back into the house, Dean wrapped me in his arms, told me he loved me, and went back to his normal self.

  Blake never told me what they’d spoken about.

  Harry, the only one old enough to understand, announced that he was a man and he wouldn’t cry about it, but when I went to his room to talk to him, I heard him sobbing. I left him alone so he could get it out. Maybe it was important to him to keep up that front, but it pained me to know how much he was hurting because of me.

  We told them we’d be back the next day, hopefully after we knew what the next step would be. For the time being, we had no idea what the lump was. And it was important to us that we all remained positive.

  Blake’s mom gushed when she saw the ring on my finger, but when she saw Blake’s face, hers fell instantly.

  “We need your help,” he croaked.

  She sat on the couch opposite us while we told her everything. His hand held mine the entire time, gently squeezing when he knew I needed the encouragement to keep going. She sat frozen, crying silently and listening to everything we had to say. When she knew we were done, she smacked her hands on her knees and stood.

  “Well, then,” she said, quickly wiping the tears from her face, “looks like we have some stuff to organize.”

  Blake nudged me with his elbow, a hint of a smile on his face. He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward his mom. A kind of “I told you so.”

  Before I finished making us all coffee, she was on her laptop, on her phone, taking names and numbers. She was in full control. Something we both admitted to needing.

  She made an appointment for a mammogram the next day with Dr. Ramirez, and told us we could stay in the main house until things were sorted out; it had been empty since his dad had left.

  She worked fast, almost too fast, but it was for the best. The earlier we knew, the sooner I would be able to get treatment if I needed it.

  I asked Blake to get our bags and meet me up in his room. Once he had left, I turned to Mrs. Hunter. “Thank you.”

  She smiled sadly, took a seat next to me, and held my hand.

  “Go on,” she said. “I know there’s more.”

  “Blake told me that you helped him with the ring when you came to see us. But it was before either of you knew about . . . you know . . .” Even though I’d had my entire life to deal with and understand cancer, I had a hard time actually saying the word.

  “What are you saying, sweetheart?”

  I wiped the wetness off my cheeks. “I’m saying that if you don’t want us to go ahead with this . . . if you don’t want Blake to marry me, or even be with me, I understand.” I looked down at her hands, covering mine. “I’m sure it’s hard as a mother, to know that your only son is in love with a girl that could be dying. I’m sure that it’s not the type of life you wanted for him—to be with someone like me—to have to deal with so much, so young. And as much as I love him, I’ll walk away. I’ll tell him that it was my choice; he’ll never have to know this conversation existed. You just say the word.”

  “Oh, Chloe,” she sighed. “You couldn’t be more wrong. Blake told me about your chances . . . that it might happen. But he doesn’t care, and neither do I. I’m not going to lie; it scares me that he has to deal with all of this, especially so young. But you know what’s also great?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s great that you’ve found a love so deep while you’re both so young. It means that you can deal with this together, and the love that you have—it’ll help you through it all. So when you do beat this—you’ll have the rest of your lives to keep on living.” She squeezed my hands as her eyes held mine. “When Blake asked me to help him with that ring, I didn’t even think twice, Chloe. Blake—he’s always been smarter than he gives himself credit for. If you think for a second that him asking you to marry him was a split-second decision, you’re wrong. He contemplated it for weeks, not just the days leading up to it. He would’ve thought about the cancer, he would’ve thought about you, and he even would’ve thought about me. I want what’s best for him, and the best for him is you, Chloe, however healthy you are.” She smiled before adding, “Regardless of all the black-letter days you might have to endure, there’s always a red one waiting for you.”

  I cried. Harder than I’d ever cried before.

  We hugged each other good night at her door. “Keep your head up, Chloe. You never know. It might not be cancer at all. It might be benign.”

  It wasn’t benign; it was cancer, just like we’d all expected.

  Blake wasn’t joking when he’d said that his mom would take charge. Within two weeks, she’d purchased a block of townhouses in Durham, a block away from Duke. One for us, one for her, and one for Dean and Mary, for when they visited. She’d called the Duke Athletic Department and committed Blake to playing and attending there. He’d wanted to defer, but we’d both pushed him to start that coming fall. Nothing should have to change, and his mom had guaranteed that she would be with me when he couldn’t. He’d made a joke about starting up a two-player team and calling it Team Uncoordinated Losers, but he’d been smiling as he’d said it. And that smile had been enough to let me know that things would be okay.

  For a while.

  His mom had made all the appointments for us. Blake had said that she actually looked as though she was enjoying herself, not because I was sick, but because she felt as if she had a reason to be a mom again.

  Then one night, I told him that she’d make a great grandmother. We spent the rest of the evening naming our future kids.

  I said Clayton.

  He said Jordan, LeBron, Kobe, Shaquille, Barkley, and about ten other names.

  I laughed and asked him if he planned on making enough babies to create his own basketball team.

  His eyes lit up. “Can we do that? Oh man, that would be so good!” was his actual response.

&n
bsp; God, I love him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Six Months Later

  Blake

  I crawled into bed and under the covers. It was already warm from her body heat. She was in bed a lot lately, always tired from her treatments. Carefully, I curled my arm around her stomach. “Baby,” I whispered in her ear.

  Her cheeks rose as a smile formed. She turned in my arms, her eyes still closed. She leaned in, her mouth already puckered. I pressed my nose against her waiting lips—our standard morning ritual. And then I waited. I knew what was coming next. Her hand trailed up my arm, over my shoulder, up my neck, and into . . .

  Her eyes snapped open. “Where is your hair?”

  I shrugged.

  Tears instantly pooled in her eyes, and she pouted. “You shaved it all off?”

  I nodded.

  “Because of me?” She wept.

  “You’re just so damn beautiful with no hair, I wanted to be the same. I kinda look like Gollum, though.”

  “You do not.” She giggled. “You look . . .” She trailed off.

  “I look like what?”

  “I don’t know.” She sulked. “I don’t have the words. I just love you.”

  “I love you, too, baby. Happy birthday.”

  Her pout turned into a smile. “Did you come in here to give me a present?”

  “You told me not to get anything.”

  Her smile widened. “You don’t have to.”

  Then her hand was on my dick, and my eyes went huge. She started softly stroking me through my shorts, but I had to pull back. “Babe—”

  “I’m feeling good today, baby,” she said quickly, moving so she was lying on top of me, her legs on either side, and her ass on my junk. My palm flattened against her back, pulling her down toward my waiting mouth. Then I kissed her. Softly, slowly. She started moving on me, getting me harder and harder.

  And then I remembered.

  I pulled back. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Her hand went straight to the chemo tube in her chest, checking to see if it was still in place.

  “You have visitors.”

  “What?” She quickly got off me. “Who?”

  I leaned up on my elbows, smirking, as I watched her rush to the walk-in closet. “Just some people who wanted to wish you happy birthday.”

  She stuck her head out of the closet and glared. “Who, Blake?” she yelled.

  Laughing, I rolled out of bed and joined her in the closet, taking a seat on a chair in the corner. “Just some people.” I shrugged again. I knew she’d get annoyed and call me an asshole, but she was kind of adorable when she got pissed.

  She turned to me, wearing nothing but panties, an old shirt, and a frown on her beautiful face. “I have nothing to wear, and I’m ugly.”

  I got up and was next to her in no time. She was looking in the full-length mirror. To me, she hadn’t changed much. She was a little thinner, her skin a little gaunter, and her hair was gone, but she was still beautiful. “You wanna know what I think?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “No, I already know what you’re going to say.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to say that you think I’m beautiful, and that I haven’t changed, and if anything, I’ve just gotten better with time.”

  I chuckled. “So if you know that’s how I feel, then what . . . ? Wait . . .” My eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to impress some other asshole? Who is he, Chloe? I’m gonna find him and beat his ass. Right now.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. A sound that was rare—but that just made it ten times more rewarding.

  I picked a dress off the rack and handed it to her. “Here, I’ve always liked you in this one.”

  She placed her hand over her tube. “But it doesn’t cover this.”

  “So?” I raised my eyebrows, waiting for her answer. She took it from my hand, but she looked uncomfortable. I added, “Baby, do you think it matters to whoever is waiting downstairs?”

  “It’s Dennis,” she deadpanned.

  “What?”

  “Dennis. He’s the other asshole I’m trying to look good for.”

  I laughed. “Dennis, that fat old bald man that calls you ‘girl’? The one that memorizes ball stats from 1863?”

  She nodded.

  “Shit, I got my work cut out for me.”

  She slowly peeled her shirt off, put on a bra, and shrugged on the dress I’d handed to her. When she reached for her wig, I stopped her. “Leave it, babe. I told you I thought you’d be beautiful with dark hair, blonde hair, or no hair at all. And I was right. You’re beautiful without it.”

  She gasped, loud and slow. “You guys!” she yelled.

  My teammates laughed.

  “When did you—? How did you—?” And then she cried—the good kind of cry. She tried to bolt, like I knew she would, so I held on to her waist to make sure she stayed put.

  “What’s wrong?” I teased.

  She buried her head in my chest.

  “Chloe,” Grant, our team captain, sang. “You don’t want to show us some love?”

  She raised her head, looked up at me, and whispered loudly, “Blake. The entire Duke basketball team is in our living room.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s not funny!” she said a little louder.

  I laughed.

  Then she stomped on my foot. Hard.

  That got laughs.

  She finally looked at the team. “Where did all your hair go?”

  They cheered just as Mom came out with a birthday cake. We sang Happy Birthday, and Chloe blew out the candles, crying the entire time.

  Josh and Tommy showed up a little later, and so did Mary and Dean and the kids. It didn’t take long for her exhaustion to settle in.

  “I need to take a nap,” she said. “But you stay down here. I’ll only be an hour.”

  I led her upstairs, helped her change, and got her into bed.

  “Why did the team do that?” she asked once she was settled. “Why did they shave off their hair? For me?”

  “And for me, too. They wanted to do something. It was Grant’s idea. They all raised money and made a charity event out of it. The money went to Duke Cancer Institute.”

  “I like them. They’re good people.” Her eyes started to drift shut as she slowly lost the will to stay awake.

  “Sleep, baby. I’ll come up and check on you in a bit.”

  “I love you, Blake,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving me this life.”

  A second later, she was asleep. I stayed up there for another half hour, watching her chest peacefully rise and fall.

  Though I’d never admit it to her, it was hard. Keeping up with college classes, basketball, taking care of her . . . sometimes, it got the best of me. The pressure and the uncertainties of our life made every day a struggle. Mom being around helped, but when Chloe was in for a session or a doctor’s appointment, and I had practice or games and couldn’t be with her—I hated it.

  At first, I’d been a mess on the court. I’d been distracted, and the coaches and the players, they’d understood. But I hadn’t thought it was fair to them for me to take up a spot when my head and my heart weren’t always in the game. I’d tried to quit once. Chloe—she didn’t know this. Coach had said to give it a year, and if I still felt the same—if the pressure was still too much—he’d let me walk. He’d be disappointed, but he’d let me go.

  Sometimes I still thought of quitting. But then there’d be days like today. Where the support of everyone around us was overwhelming, and I knew that it’d be worth it. Grant—he was nothing to me. Not really. But he knew enough to understand what it would mean to Chloe if they did what they had done.

  He’d told me the idea one day after practice, once everyone had left the locker room. He’d said that
he’d run the idea by the team, and they’d all been eager to do it. Not just for her, but for me. I was glad that he’d waited for everyone to leave, because I’d cried like a bitch. He’d sat next to me and let me get it out. He’d said that we were more than just teammates; we were brothers, and I didn’t need to feel the pressure of it all—not when I had fifteen of my brothers to carry some of the weight.

  So I’d done it—I’d asked for help. They’d worked out my schedule and what classes I had to go to and what classes they could cover for me. For those, they took notes or had friends take notes, and I was able to spend more time with Chloe. Which was all I’d wanted in the first place.

  I wiped my eyes as I watched her flip to her side, relaxed and sleeping. And I knew it then—even without the support of everyone around us, it would be worth it. Chloe—she was worth it.

  She was worth everything.

  I checked on her a few more times while people were there, but it didn’t seem as though she was going to wake up anytime soon. Mom helped clean up and took Tommy to her house, asking Josh if he could stay with her until Josh was ready to leave. I told Josh that he could stay the night, and Mom was more than happy to have Tommy with her.

  Josh and I settled on the back patio.

  He took a swig of his beer. “How are you, fucktard?”

  I laughed. It seemed like so long ago since we’d talked shit and worked in that bowling alley. “It goes alright, shitstain.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Some days are rougher than others. She’s having a good day today, more upbeat than yesterday.”

  He laughed. “I asked how you are.”

  “We’re one and the same, Josh. I’m whatever she is.”

  “So no regrets?”

  I shook my head. “None.”

  “Even with the cancer?”

  “I didn’t choose to fall in love with her; I just did. Just like she didn’t choose to have cancer; she just does.”

  The back door slid open, and she stepped out. “I missed my own birthday party.” She laughed. “What kind of person does that?”