by Nikki Ash
“Good game,” I say, squeezing his hand.
“You too.” He smiles at me then looks down at our conjoined hands. My gaze follows his, wishing we could stay like this for just a little while longer, knowing that as soon as our hands part, we’ll most likely never get this moment again.
All too soon, he does in fact pull his hand away, and with one last small smile, he turns his back to me and calls the kids over to pick teams. I sit down on the bench and watch as he laughs and jokes with everyone, and my heart aches over how much I miss him.
“That guy was pretty damn good,” Dean says, sitting down next to me.
“Yeah, he is. Could’ve made it to the NBA for sure.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“He chose to take care of our best friend when she was sick.” I frown when I think about Delilah. I hate that we’ve barely spoken since I left two years ago. But the truth is a text here and there is all I can handle. Now, though, I’m wondering if she and Cole still speak. If she’s not the one who’s pregnant that would mean Cole moved on...or was it Delilah who moved on? And if she’s pregnant, it sucks that she didn’t feel she could text me to tell the good news. Is she afraid it will hurt me to know they’re having a baby together? Or maybe she hasn’t texted me recently because she’s with someone who doesn’t want her talking to Cole and me...I hate that I have no clue what’s going on with them. At one time they were my entire world.
“Hey, man, you okay?” Dean asks.
“Yeah, just thinking about the past.” I smile the fake smile I’ve perfected the last couple years while deep down my heart feels like it’s shattering all over again.
“My mom used to always say the past is just that. The past. It’s done. Move on.”
Easier said than done...
I’ve just finished having dinner with Ciara, my assistant-slash-publicist. She doesn’t usually go everywhere with me, but while I’m here, she has me shooting a couple commercials, so she wanted to be here to make sure everything goes smoothly. She sets up all of my PR and makes sure I know where I need to be and when. I never knew there was so much more to playing professional ball than just simply showing up and playing. When I first got an agent for the draft, I was shocked when he recommended so many different people to me. At first, I ignored his suggestions, but once I was in over my head, I gave in and hired a team of people. It took a couple different tries, but I have finally found a good team who look out for my best interests.
“Are you going up to your room?” Ciara asks.
“I think I’m going to grab a drink at the bar.”
“Be careful, X. I don’t want to have to do any clean up while I’m here.” She shoots me a wink, but it’s not flirtatious. Ciara is the only person who knows the truth about me. I wave her off and head to the bar. It’s almost midnight and the place is quiet. It’s not often I’m able to sit in a public bar and have a drink anymore.
“What can I get you?” the male bartender asks with a smile.
“Jack and Coke, please.” The bartender nods, and I watch him as he goes about making my drink. He has dirty blond shaggy hair, bright green eyes, and lips that I imagine if he were into that sort of thing—and I’m almost positive he is—would be perfect for sucking dick.
He sets a napkin down and places my drink on it, then he tells me to let him know if I need anything else, before he moves down the bar to take someone else’s order. When I finish my drink, I order another and then another, attempting to drink until my chest is numb from the pain. Playing professional basketball means being on a strict diet, one that doesn’t include alcohol, but after seeing Cole today, I’m willing to risk the hangover to just forget for a little while.
“Is it too late to order from the kitchen?” I hear someone ask, and my head snaps toward the voice. Even half drunk, I would recognize that voice from anywhere.
“We have a late night menu you can order from,” the bartender says, handing him a menu. Like he can feel me looking at him, Cole glances in my direction.
“That’s what room service is for,” I point out, my words sounding a tad bit slurred. Shit...Ciara is going to kill me.
“They stop room service at ten o’clock,” he shoots back before eyeing the menu. “Can I just get a grilled chicken sandwich and a Coke, please?” He hands the menu back to the bartender.
“I heard you’re having a baby,” I say, getting straight to the point—the alcohol doing nothing to filter my words. Cole stares at me for a moment before he sits down two stools over from me.
“What’s wrong? You afraid you might catch the gay?” I laugh, bringing my glass up to my lips to take another sip of my drink.
“Gay? With all the women you’re seen with? I’m more afraid I might catch an STD.” He scoffs, and I glare his way but don’t say a word. I’m well aware of all the women I’m seen with. Ciara makes sure of it.
“So is the baby Delilah’s?” I ask.
“Yeah, she’s five months pregnant.”
“Good for her.” I nod. “She deserves to be a mom after everything she’s been through.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“And hey, looks like you’re on course for making your mom proud,” I point out. Damn, this alcohol.
“Yeah, well, it was great talking to you, too, Xander,” Cole says dryly then waves the bartender over. “On second thought, I’m not all that hungry,” he says before he walks away, and I don’t do shit to stop him.
chapter twenty-eight
Cole
“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Stein.” The doctor sticks her hand out to shake my hand then Delilah’s.
“Um...where’s Dr. Blake?” Delilah asks.
“He had an emergency delivery, and since we work as a team here, I’m seeing his patients this afternoon. Now it says here, you’re twenty-two weeks pregnant and scheduled for an ultrasound. Go ahead and lie back and put this against the top of your pants so I don’t get any gel on your clothes.” She hands Delilah a paper cover-up, and Delilah does as she says, lifting her shirt almost to her bra, and placing the paper along the edge of her jeans.
“Perfect.” Dr. Stein squirts some blue gel onto Delilah’s belly then places a wand looking thing on it, using it to move the gel all around. She flips a couple switches and the heartbeat comes over the speakers loud and clear. I recognize it from all the times the other doctor does it.
“One hundred and sixty. Good, strong heartbeat.” The doctor smiles at us. “I’m just going to take some measurements and then we’ll get to the fun stuff.” She moves the wand all over while clicking on the computer screen. It looks like she’s taking pictures.
“Okay, your baby is measuring at twenty-two weeks and five days, and everything looks perfect.” The doctor points to the screen. “These are the hands, the feet, and if you look closely you can see the sex. Do you two want to find out if you’re having a boy or girl?”
I look over at Delilah, and she has tears dripping out of her lids and falling down the sides of her face, wetting her ears and hair. One thing I’ve learned throughout her pregnancy is that pregnant women are emotional.
“Delilah?” I take her hand in mine. “Do we want to know the sex?”
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to know.” She sniffles. “Life only offers us so many surprises. I would like to keep the sex of the baby a surprise.” She looks at me. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it is.” I dip my head down to give her a kiss but stop myself, remembering that’s not who we are anymore.
The doctor takes some more pictures of the baby then hands some wet wipes to Delilah to wipe the goo off her stomach. Once she’s clean, I help her sit up.
“Now, according to your records,” the doctor says while looking down at a folder in her hands, “you had decided to put off any drug therapy during the first half of your pregnancy. Are you planning to begin any type of therapy now that you’ve reached twenty weeks, or will you be waiting until after the baby is bor
n?”
The doctor looks up at Delilah at the same time my head whips around to look at her. Delilah’s eyes go wide in what looks like shock, and her hands cover her mouth.
“Delilah...why would you be doing drug therapy?” I ask. Then it hits me. “Drug therapy...like when you had...” I can’t even finish my sentence before I’m moving around in front of her. “Delilah...do you have...” I can’t say the fucking word. It won’t come out of my mouth. It’s like Beetlejuice. I’m afraid if I say it, it’ll appear.
Delilah’s eyes are still wide open as fat tears fill her lids. She blinks slowly and they tumble down her cheeks, but she doesn’t answer me.
“Delilah!” I raise my voice, and the doctor’s hand comes up to touch my shoulder. Delilah is now full-on crying.
“Cole, please calm down.” I can hear the confusion and worry in the doctor’s voice, but I shake her off.
“Delilah, I’m assuming the worst here, so you need to give me something,” I beg. “Why would the doctor be asking about you doing drug therapy?”
“Because I have cancer,” she admits through her tears.
chapter twenty-nine
Delilah
Three months ago
“As you know, when we ran your blood, we found your blood cell count to be abnormal, which is why I called you in here,” Dr. Morton says. “After doing a full examination and meeting with my team we have determined that you have stage three Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.” He stops talking for a moment then says, “I’m so sorry, Delilah. In all my years I’ve never seen cancer spread this quickly.”
“What are my chances?” I ask.
“If treated immediately, about eighty percent,” he admits, and my heart drops into my stomach at the word immediately because we both know I’m not going to immediately start treatment.
“You have a couple of options: you’re only twelve weeks along, so you can terminate the pregnancy and we can set up an aggressive treatment plan, or we can wait until you’re further along and then begin treatment. There are a few treatments that have been used on women who are pregnant and have cancer.”
“And those treatments...have they proven that they don’t harm the baby?”
“It’s all too new. Most studies show they’re safe, but there’s no guarantee.”
“And if I stay pregnant and refuse treatment until after the baby is born?”
Dr. Morton sighs. “If you wait until the baby is born before beginning treatment, the cancer has nine more months to spread. I don’t recommend—”
“I’m not aborting my baby.” My hand goes to my belly. “This is my third time with cancer, and who’s to say if I survive, I will be able to get pregnant again. At least before I die I can bring another life into this world.”
“That’s if you make it. Without treatment we can’t be sure how quick the cancer will spread.”
“At how many weeks can a baby survive if taken out?”
“I’m not an obstetrician, but I spoke to a friend of mine before meeting with you. She said ninety percent of babies if born after twenty-seven weeks survive.” I do the math in my head. That’s only five months away.
“I’m not aborting my baby.”
“What if we reassess at twenty weeks along? See how much it’s spread and go from there?”
“I’ll agree to reassess then, but I doubt I’m going to agree to get treatment until after the baby is born. Once he or she is safe, I will do whatever treatment is necessary.”
“By then it may be too late.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take. I believe everything happens for a reason. I’m keeping my baby.”
“Okay, we’re going to need to monitor you closely. I want to see you every week. I’ll send over all your information to the obstetrician you choose, and if you or Cole—”
“I’m not telling Cole...or my parents.”
“Delilah...”
“No, this is my decision. I’m over eighteen, and Cole and I aren’t married. We aren’t even together. I’m choosing not to tell anyone, and I am making it clear to you right now, they are not to be informed on anything regarding my cancer. I’ll tell my obstetrician the same thing.”
chapter thirty
Cole
Delilah has cancer. My sweet and beautiful best friend has stage three Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. And because she chose our baby over her health, there’s a good chance she won’t survive this. I shouldn’t have left her, but I had to get out of there. She wanted to talk on our way home, but I needed time to think. So, when we got home, I made sure she was inside and then I left.
She’s going to die. She said she’ll be treated after the baby is born, but it could be too late. It’s spreading too quickly. This is why she’s had headaches and has been so tired. I chalked it up to her being pregnant but that’s not why. She has cancer.
I don’t know how long I’m driving, but when I look at the sign and see I’m in Houston, I realize where I’ve been heading—to Xander. Only I have no clue where he lives or if he’s even in town. He could be out of town for a game. I pull over on the side of the road and lose it. My head hits the steering wheel, and I cry harder than I’ve ever cried in my life. Harder than I cried when I lost my parents, or when I lost my grandma. My throat and heart and stomach hurt, but I welcome the pain. I can’t believe this is happening. She’s going to die.
Before I can stop myself, I dial the number I know by heart, not even sure if it’s still in service. It rings once, twice, and then he answers.
“Cole.”
“She has cancer.” And just like that, no more words need to be spoken. I know he’s on the other line because I can hear him breathing while I cry. I cry for the woman who over the last ten years has come to mean everything to me. My best friend, my partner, my lover. I cry for the years she will never see. For the baby she won’t be around to raise. And when my body feels like it can’t possibly shed another single tear, I go silent.
“Where are you?” Xander asks.
“Houston.”
“Send me your location. I’m on my way.” He hangs up, and I send him my GPS location. While I’m waiting for him, I pull up my text messages. I see several from Delilah. She’s worried. It’s been five hours since I left. Not wanting her to worry, I send her a text to let her know I’m okay and that I’ll be home later. About twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on my window. I turn my car off and get out, and before my door is even shut, Xander is pulling me into a hug I didn’t realize I needed so damn badly.
“Let’s go to my place,” he says. I lock up my car and get into his. We don’t say anything the entire drive. When we pull up to his condominium complex, I notice it’s gated. He drives through and parks underground. When we get out, he leads us over to a set of elevators, but when he types in a code, only one opens. We get in, and he doesn’t press a floor, and I notice there are no numbers.
“Is this your private elevator?”
“It’s for the penthouse,” he says. Both of us are silent as the elevator shoots us up to the top floor. When the door opens, Xander gets out first. I glance down the hall and see this is the only door on this floor. He unlocks his door and pushes it open, waiting for me to go in first. Stopping in the foyer, I take the place in. It’s beautiful and clean, but it’s bare. There’s a single couch and a flat screen TV in the living room. One lone barstool against the island. I spot a door just off the living room, but it’s closed, as are the others off the hallway.
“Did you just move in here?” I ask.
“No, I’ve been living here for almost three years.”
“The place is empty,” I say, completely baffled. I knew he only needs the necessities but Jesus, this place doesn’t even look like it’s been lived in.
“I have a couch and a bed, I don’t need anything more.” He throws his keys onto the counter, and I watch as they slide across the black and grey granite before they finally stop. “Beer?” he offers.
“Sure.” He pops the t
op to two beers and hands me one before he walks over to the couch and sits down. I watch as he takes a long pull at his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“You going to come sit down or what?” he asks.
“Ye—” My voice comes out horse, so I clear it before I try again. “Yeah, sorry. Thank you for the beer and for coming to get me.”
I sit down on the couch next to Xander, leaving a cushion of space between us.
“Regardless of what’s gone down, I’m always going to be here for you, Cole. As long as you want me to be there, that is.” His gaze bores into mine, and if I were a stronger man, I would tell him I’ll always want him to be there, but I’m not. I’m weak, and I don’t deserve him or Delilah in my life.
“Now tell me everything,” he says.
“She went in for her yearly checkup and found out she has Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, but then she also found out she was pregnant. She apparently was late getting her shot and that’s all it took.”
“Fuck.” Xander shakes his head. “And let me guess...she kept the cancer part from you and her parents.”
“Of course she did, because she knew we would beg her to terminate and start treatment. I should’ve figured it out.” My head drops to my hands. “She’s been getting these headaches and is always tired. She has to force herself to eat, and she always feels sick. I thought it was the pregnancy, but it’s not. Her cancer is growing and spreading every goddamned day, and until she gives birth, she’s not getting treated. I don’t know what to do.” I lift my head up and look at Xander. “What do I do?”
“You do the same thing you’ve been doing for the last ten years. You be there for her. You love her and spend your days making memories with her. You know that she’s going to be okay. She’s always okay.” The strength in Xander’s words almost have me believing it, but this time feels different.
“What if she’s not?”
Xander slams his beer down on the small coffee table and edges closer to me. “If you go home and allow doubt to seep through the cracks, you are setting her up to die. You believe she’ll be okay. You be her fucking strength.”
