We had a little time before the appointment with the oncologist, so we decided to go to lunch instead of heading all the way home. We ate in relative silence except for the occasional chitchat about unimportant things. After lunch we headed to the appointment, sitting in the waiting room for forty-five nerve-wracking minutes before being ushered back into the doctor’s office.
Dr. Lang was a chubby, balding, middle-aged man. What hair he had managed to hang on to flew out from the sides of his head, giving him a mad scientist look. Tweet sat in front of his large desk, flanked on either side by her parents. I stood in the back of the room like some uninvolved bystander, watching a scene play out. Only it wasn’t a scene from a medical show and I wasn’t uninvolved. I was witnessing the love of my life go through something that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and I wasn’t able to protect her.
“Well, I have some good news,” Dr. Lang said, looking down at Tweet’s records. “There doesn’t seem to be any evidence of cancer elsewhere. Your left leg appears to be the only area affected.” Four audible deep sighs filled the office. “But there does appear to be infiltration into the surrounding soft tissue. Because of this, I recommend a below knee amputation.”
Oxygen rushed from my lungs as my legs caved in slightly, causing me to stumble back. Reaching out for the table on my right, I steadied myself. The three bodies whose backs faced me stayed stock-still. The news wasn’t shocking, it was expected, but hearing the words in such a definite manner was like a punch to the gut.
Dr. Lang’s gaze stayed on Tweet for several seconds, gauging her reaction. I tried to put myself in his shoes. If I made it through medical school and my residency, the reality was that I’d be delivering devastating news to a patient someday. I knew doctors tried to remain unemotional, but Dr. Lang was struggling. I saw a picture of his family when we first walked in the office. He had a daughter who looked to be around Tweet’s and my age. I could tell he was thinking about her while telling Tweet that her life was about to be flipped upside down.
“They’ve come a long way in prosthetic limbs. I’ve seen some that look so real, you wouldn’t even know they weren’t,” he said.
Mr. Kelly cleared his throat and asked, “So if it’s just in her left leg… Once the…” His voice cracked and he took a moment to compose himself. “Once the surgery is done, she’ll be cancer free, right?”
Dr. Lang kept his eyes focused down when he answered. “Technically, yes. She’ll still have to go through chemo, though.”
“But if it’s just in her leg, why does she need to go through chemo?” Mrs. Kelly said.
Dr. Lang looked up. “Mr. and Mrs. Kelly, Amanda, and young man.”
Tweet glanced back at me. “That’s my best friend, Noah.”
The doctor and I exchanged nods.
“Amanda has osteosarcoma. It’s a very aggressive form of bone cancer. From what I know about your case, I’d say aggressive is an understatement. Your symptoms came on very quickly. We need to make sure we kill any stray cells that could potentially metastasize to your lungs. The chemo will give us the best chance of stopping that from occurring. I know this is extremely overwhelming. Let’s take it a little at a time. My nurse will talk to you about scheduling the surgery. She’ll also give you information on amputation and names of prosthetists in the area.”
“Prosthetists?” Tweet’s voice was flat.
“They’re the ones who will make your new leg,” the doctor explained. “It will be a few weeks before you’ll be able to get fitted for that and start chemo. We want you to heal from the surgery first. Do you have any questions?”
There was so much information being tossed out, none of us could think clearly enough to ask anything. I did my best to pay attention, running through major points in my head in order to fill in any blanks Tweet or the Kellys might have missed.
“I’m sure I’ll have a million questions as soon as I walk out the door.” A slight chuckle escaped Tweet.
Dr. Lang glanced over at me before directing his gaze back to Tweet, his brown eyes warm with sympathy.
“I have a daughter a couple of years younger than you, Amanda.” He paused, swallowing a large lump in his throat. “I’m going to do everything I can in order to help you survive this.”
“I know,” Tweet said.
There are times in life when the right person is chosen by some random force to be placed in your path. Tweet connected with Dr. Lang. I trusted what he said and knew he would fight for her.
The doctor hesitated before continuing. “I don’t usually talk to patients about this. But because of the type of cancer you have, the strength of the chemo treatments, and your young age, I feel compelled. Amanda, you may want to discuss the type of arrangements you want with your parents, just in case… To be prepared.”
“I’m going to be staying with my sister, Emily,” Tweet told Dr. Lang. “She has a ground floor condo in Radcliffborourgh close to the hospital. My parents’ house has steps going into it. We figured Emily’s would be a good place to stay.”
The room spun and the bottom dropped out of my world. She didn’t understand that he was basically telling her to plan her funeral.
“He’s not talking about living arrangements, sweetheart,” Mr. Kelly said.
I pushed Dr. Lang’s last statement out of my head. I couldn’t let my thoughts go in that direction, no matter how real the possibility was, and it just got very real hearing a doctor tell Tweet to think about her own funeral.
We filed out of the office with a stack of information on bone cancer, what to expect from surgery, the treatment plan, and a list of prosthetic companies for her to choose from.
Tweet didn’t want to go home just yet. She hugged and kissed her parents goodbye in the parking lot of the medical office building. I reassured them that I’d take care of her and bring her home when she was ready. Mr. and Mrs. Kelly were visibly shaken as they walked to their car.
Tweet and I sat in my truck in silence, processing what just happened at the appointment. All I wanted to do was disappear with her, inside our own bubble where nothing could touch us. I fidgeted, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, the words I love you ready to burst out of me. Taking in a deep breath, my mouth opened, but her words were faster.
“Noah, don’t. I need a little time to think about what was said in there.” She stared straight ahead out the windshield.
“What do you want to do?”
“Run away,” she said softly.
Without another word, I started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. I had something I wanted to show Tweet and there was no better time than the present.
We drove farther into downtown Charleston, passing Colonial Lake and the College of Charleston, before pulling into Emily’s tree-lined neighborhood. I parked the truck in front of a three-story, pale green Charleston home with white trim, a huge wraparound porch on the first level, and screened-in porches on the two upper levels. A lot of the historical homes in town had been renovated and divided into condos, with each floor being a separate unit.
I cut the engine, turned to Tweet, and said, “I’m staying here for a few weeks.”
“It’s really nice. Why are you staying here?”
“It’s Carter Perry’s place. I hang out here all the time. It’s within walking distance of school. He asked me to stay while he was out of town for Christmas. You know, keep an eye on the place. He won’t be back until after New Year’s. It’s great having some privacy.”
“Emily’s place is only a couple of blocks away. After my surgery, you’ll be so close by.”
“I know, funny how it worked out that way.” I smiled at her before getting out of the truck.
I wanted to be as close as possible to Tweet during her recovery. It wasn’t a coincidence that I would be only a few minutes down the street from her. When she told me she’d be staying with Emily I asked Carter if I could hang out at his place during Christmas break. If I had my choice, I’d be in the sam
e room with her, but I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening, so Carter’s place was the next best thing.
I rounded the front of the truck and opened the passenger door. Placing her hand in mine, I helped her down, and we walked inside my temporary home.
The two-bedroom condo had all the essentials—huge sofa, huge flat screen TV, fridge full of water and beer.
We both shrugged off our coats, tossing them onto the sofa.
“Do you want anything to drink or eat?” I said.
“No. I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
I walked down the hall to the bathroom. I closed the door behind me, leaned against it, and inhaled several deep breaths. Today was intense and I needed a minute to get my head together before I fell apart in front of Tweet. After several minutes I put on my game face and went back to Tweet.
She was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out over the courtyard. She was so deep in thought she didn’t hear me walk back in the room. I stood at the entrance to the hallway, leaning my shoulder against the wall, my arms folded over my chest. I stared, taking in every inch of her, and thought what a lucky bastard I was to have her in my life. As I got lost in Tweet, my guard weakened, and the negative seeped into my consciousness. If she didn’t survive this, neither would I.
I swallowed the huge lump in my throat, then asked, “Tweet, are you sure you don’t want anything?”
I walked to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and stood by the counter.
Not turning around, she continued to gaze out the window. “I don’t want to die.”
I froze. The word had been hanging out there, it had crossed all of our minds, the doctor had alluded to it, but this was the first time it had been said out loud. My mind searched for the right thing to say, something profound that gave her peace, but nothing came. Instead, my pathetic attempt at support shined through.
“You’re not going to die,” I said with confidence.
She turned toward me. “How do you know?”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” I unscrewed the bottle cap and took a swig of water.
“But I do. I need to talk about it with my best friend. I know it’s not easy. We haven’t talked about it at all. Things are going to get bad, and I need you to understand that.”
Lowering my head, I inhaled a deep breath. I was so pissed off at God for allowing this to happen to Tweet. I tried to shove down the anger mixed with fear, but it was too strong. The tremble started in my shoulders and quickly spread to the rest of my body. The feeling was overwhelming. I was helpless and weak. This wasn’t fair. I couldn’t lose her. She was my life.
The plastic water bottle flew across the room, smashing into the wall. My blurry eyes looked up into beautiful scared teal ones.
“You don’t think I understand how bad things are? I’m going to be a fucking orthopedic surgeon one day. I’ve done a ton of research. I know that if the cancer doesn’t eat you up, the meds they’re going to pump into your body might. The stats show you have a sixty-five percent chance of surviving for five years. For most people, that would be pretty good odds, but not for you. You deserve one hundred percent guaranteed survival.”
Tears and sobs were now gushing from both of us.
I moved toward her in three quick strides. Pinning her to the window, I placed my hands on either side of her face.
Our lips were almost touching when I whispered, “I can’t lose you. You’re everything to me. Those months you weren’t in my life wrecked me, but not having you in my world would completely destroy me. My purpose is to take care of you and protect you, but I can’t do either of them. I don’t know how to make this better, to make you better. I don’t know how to help you.”
“Noah…” Her palms lay flat against my chest.
“Please, don’t push me away, Tweet.”
“I’m not pushing.”
My eyes closed as her hands slid up my chest, over my shoulders, finally tangling in my hair. Grabbing the back of her thighs, I lifted her up, pushing her hard against the window. Tweet’s legs wrapped securely around my waist, squeezing tighter, pulling me closer, as I grinded my hips into her. We both knew this would be the only time we’d experience the sensation of both her legs around my body. My gaze shifted from her mouth to her eyes. Tilting my head slightly to the side, my lips brushed hers.
“Noah, I lo…”
The front door swung open and the sound of my name being called echoed through the condo.
Tweet untangled herself from around me and slid down my body, until her feet hit the floor. I ran my hands through my hair a few times, as I stepped back. A second later Brooke rounded the corner, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of me and Tweet.
How the fuck did she get a key?
“I didn’t know we were having company.” Brooke’s words were clipped with a nice sheen of snide bitchiness.
Never taking my eyes off Tweet, I said, “Brooke can you give us a minute, please.”
“No, I can’t,” she snapped.
“Please.”
“Noah, we were supposed to have this place all to ourselves through New Year’s Eve.”
Turning on my heels, I walked toward Brooke, grabbed her arm, and dragged her down the hall into one of the bedrooms.
“Noah…”
I raised my index finger, indicating for her to stop talking long enough for me to close the door. The click of the door was like a starting gun, causing Brooke’s mouth to take off running.
“I’m sorry she’s dying, but she’s not going to use that to come between us and ruin our time here. The world does not revolve around Amanda Kelly.”
My world does.
“Don’t talk about her that way.”
“I’m not trying to be a bitch. It’s just… this is our time. No worries about roommates or your mom walking in on us…”
“That’s not the reason I’m staying here.” I growled, my fingers linking behind my neck.
I hadn’t planned on telling Brooke I was spending the next few weeks at Carter’s. I failed to mention that to Carter, however, who had let it slip. Brooke assumed it was a surprise I had planned, so that we could have time alone. Carter must have been the one to give her the key to the place. I wasn’t thinking Brooke would show up when I brought Tweet here. When Tweet was involved, my mind only focused on her and no one else.
“Then why are you staying here?”
“Brooke… I can’t do this right now. I need to get back to…”
“Her!” She lurched forward.
“She needs me.”
I turned and reached for the doorknob when Brooke’s words stopped me.
“I need you.” There was a slight quiver in her voice.
I leaned forward, resting my head on the door. “Brooke, why are you with me?”
“That’s a stupid question.”
“It’s not stupid. It’s pretty simple, actually.”
“Because I love you.”
“Why? I’m a horrible boyfriend.”
“No you’re not.”
“We don’t have a lot in common or even know each other very well.” My voice was low.
“Opposites attract. And what do you mean we don’t know each other?”
“Who’s my favorite band?”
“What?”
“My favorite band, who is it?”
“Um… Nsync.”
“You don’t know me at all.”
“I know you’re smart, hot, and going to be a doctor one day. That’s all that matters, not some stupid group.”
“You like the idea of me more than you like me. That’s not fair to either of us.”
Twisting the knob, I flung the door open and headed down the hall. Once I reached the main room, it was empty. Tweet was gone.
Fuck!
I grabbed my phone and texted her.
&nbs
p; Me: I’m sorry. Where are you?
The sound of Brooke’s heels clicked across the hardwood floors as she walked up behind me.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you will not break up with me right before Christmas. I’ve put too much time into this relationship. You promised you’d spend Christmas day with me and I refuse to be humiliated just because I don’t know the name of your stupid favorite band.”
She jerked open the front door and stomped out, never looking back.
Happy fucking holidays to one and all.
The knot in my stomach twisted tighter as beads of sweat formed across my forehead. I weaved in and out of traffic, inching closer to the hospital at a snail’s pace. Tweet’s surgery was scheduled for 7 a.m. and I was sitting in downtown Charleston on Calhoun Street, only blocks away from the hospital at 6:27 a.m. If cars didn’t start moving soon, I planned to abandon my truck and haul ass the four blocks to get to her before she went to the OR. I flipped on my flashers and laid on the horn a couple of times, hoping people would get a clue and let me pass. Finally, whatever had caused the congestion let up and cars started moving forward.
Street parking in downtown was almost nonexistent, so I didn’t bother looking. Instead, I drove straight to the parking deck. There were two main hospitals within a few blocks of each other along with several doctor offices in this area. Crowds of people were already hustling to work and appointments. Rather than wait on the elevator I took the stairs, two at a time, and flew across the street into the main entrance of MUSC, I was glad that I had been working here since the summer. Because the place was huge and easy to get lost in, I already knew the layout, so I headed straight to the surgery floor. My heart thumped into my throat the closer I got. I checked my watch: 6:45.
Shit!
Presently Perfect (Perfect #3) Page 24
