by BETH KERY
“I told you in that letter I didn’t think we should see each other again,” she said miserably when he lifted his mouth.
“I decided that really meant you were falling in love with me and running scared.”
She smiled despite the fact that her cheeks were soaked with tears. “That was a bold interpretation,” she whispered, wincing at the effort.
“Accurate, though?”
The familiar anxiety pressed on her chest, but Everett’s hand gently stroking her arm seemed to ease it.
“Yes.” A few more tears fell silently down her cheeks.
He kissed her again, quick and heartfelt. She watched his looming shadow recede as he left the room.
“You were there . . . in . . . in the hospital?” she managed when he returned just seconds later. Her throat felt like it’d undergone a pounding with a meat tenderizer. It had already been sore, but the insertion of the breathing tube during the surgical procedure had worsened matters. He sat on the edge of the bed as she pushed herself up on the pillows. He found her hand in the darkness and placed a cool glass into it. The icy fluid felt heavenly sliding down her throat.
“I was there. Fat lot of good I did you. That witch nurse Edna Shanoy had me arrested when she found me in bed with you.”
“What?” Joy asked, spilling some ice water on her chest.
“Why do you think I wasn’t there this morning?” he murmured. “Thanks to Edna, I was sharing a luxury suite in a communal holding cell with nine of Chicago’s finest citizens. Edna made me out to be a prime pervert for lying in bed with you after visiting hours. Of course, her interpretation might have had something to do with the fact that I fell asleep with my hand on your breast, but—”
“Oh, no,” Joy muttered, her voice a little stronger. She actually remembered that—his hand on her breast. How could she have forgotten it? Strange, the effects anesthesia had on the mind. She set the glass of water down on the bedside table and reached for a box of tissues. She wiped her cheeks dry. “Why didn’t they wake me up and ask me if I wanted you there?”
“I didn’t want them to wake you. Besides, Edna ended up not pressing charges. The other nurse she worked with finally talked her out of it, according to the officer. Of course, Edna wasn’t entirely convinced I wasn’t the Crazed Groper of Northwestern Hospital until she’d forced me to sit in that holding cell for the night and most of the day. Jimmy K., Mad Louis and that lot were pretty nice guys, but they didn’t really smell too great. Neither did I, by the time they finally let me go this afternoon, come to think of it.”
She’d caught a whiff of him earlier when he’d lain by her side and hugged her. “You smell wonderful.”
“After I found out you had already been discharged from the hospital, I checked into a hotel and showered before I came over. Didn’t want to make you sicker with my smell. Here,” he said, giving her the throat spray. Joy used it, thankful for the numbing sensation. She set down the bottle next to the glass of water.
“Better?” he asked, his voice like a rough caress in the darkness.
“Yes, thank you.” She blinked, the reality of his presence finally fully penetrating her consciousness. “How did you get in my apartment?”
“Picked the locks,” he said matter-of-factly. “I had one of the most notorious cat burglars in Europe teach me for Cat. He’s completely reformed now,” he added, as if he thought Joy was worried about his morals.
“Everett, there’s something I want to tell you,” she said.
He came down next to her on the bed, lying on his hip, his front pressed against her side. He put his arm around her waist and caressed the exposed skin between her shorts and tank top. She shivered, not knowing if the reaction was from anxiety or his touch.
“Then tell me. I’m ready to hear whatever it is. I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly.
Her throat swelled, making her pause for a moment before she continued. She took comfort from his stroking hand at her waist.
“Last year, I was diagnosed with PMBL. That’s a type of lymphoma,” she said in a rush. She’d only said these words once before—to Seth. This time it felt even more difficult. “It’s cancer,” she added, not sure how much sense she was making.
“I know,” he said, his hand not faltering as he caressed her.
“Oh, okay. So, well . . . anyway, I went through treatment—chemotherapy and radiation. I was told last winter I was in remission. I’ve been okay until last weekend, when I got sick. And I got the swollen glands and the fever, and . . . and those are possible signs of a reoccurrence of the cancer.”
His hand continued to stroke her, and the words just kept spilling out of her mouth.
“And the doctor in Prairie Lakes said I should have a lymph node resection done. He thought it was just a virus, but he wanted to make sure. So I came up here to see my oncologist, Dr. Chen, and he wanted to make sure, too. I had to do the surgery inpatient, though, instead of an outpatient biopsy.”
“How come?” Everett asked.
“They had to do this kind of procedure where they can resect a lymph node near my lungs. They have to cut my throat and insert this instrument down in between my lungs. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to gross you out,” she said apologetically.
“You’re not grossing me out,” he said evenly. “Go on.”
“Well, it requires general anesthesia, so I had to spend the night.”
“That’s why you weren’t here. I waited out on the street for hours. Seth said you weren’t supposed to go in until Tuesday morning.”
“I sort of—”
“Told him it was an in-and-out procedure so he wouldn’t worry. I know,” Everett finished for her, his matter-of-fact tone easing her embarrassment. He opened his hand along the side of her waist and grasped her gently. She could feel the pulse at his wrist next to her naked skin. Why was his heart beating so fast when he sounded so calm?
“Joy?”
“Yes?”
“Before you go on, I think it’s only fair to tell you that Seth already told me about your cancer diagnosis.” He must have felt her stiffen. “Please don’t be angry with him. He was desperate. He didn’t know how to break through to you.”
“Break through to me about what?”
“He wants you to know that he knows you’re scared. He’s worried about you. He doesn’t want you to suffer alone. He feels as if you’ve shut him out, and he turned to me with some thin, crazy hope that you’d hear my plea when you wouldn’t—or couldn’t—hear his.”
The silence seemed to swell and press against her eardrums. Anger at Seth’s betrayal of her trust mingled with a profound sense of shame. She wanted to hide . . . to run. Yet she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Everett again. She felt like she stood at the edge of a cliff while a terrifying monster quickly approached from behind, her heartbeat racing as if she truly believed it was taking its last beats.
“I won’t let you go through this alone,” he said. “I will not. Even if you decided you just want to be friends instead of lovers, even if we hear that your cancer has returned and you have to go through another round of treatment, even if it reoccurs five times or ten times.”
A shudder of emotion went through her. She’d never felt so naked, so exposed. She covered her face in her hands, but Everett gently removed them, kissing her cheek and then her clenched eyelids. Bitter tears escaped, scattering down her cheek. He pressed closer against her, his body absorbing her anguish.
“I will be here. Right here.” He firmed his hold on the side of her body and shook her slightly for emphasis. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Joy. No one and nothing will keep me from you if you need me. Not thousands of miles, or some cow like Nurse Shanoy, not God himself. But the thing of it is,” he added in a low, pressured whisper, “you have to say you need me. There’s no sin in needing another human being. Not when that person wants more than anything to be at your side, offering support, offering love.”
She shook, trying to
keep the avalanche of emotion from free-falling out of control, straining so hard to contain it—to keep herself safe. It’d been so long, though, that she’d held it down. She didn’t know until that moment how hard she’d worked to protect herself from feeling.
Everett came down over her, his lips pressed against the swell of her left breast, both of his arms encircling her.
“It’s okay,” he whispered gruffly, his breath warm next to her skin. “Don’t fight it. I’ve got you.”
Everything hurt. She couldn’t stand the pressure a moment longer. An anguished cry erupted from her throat, the harbinger to a rush of terror, confusion, helplessness and love.
She couldn’t stand the thought of Everett suffering because of her.
“I wouldn’t want it for you.” Caught in a ruthless, grinding grip of emotion, she only distantly realized what she’d said.
“I wouldn’t want you to suffer,” he said with calm deliberation. “Who would ever want that for someone they care about? We can’t choose our fates, though. We can only choose how we respond to them. I would choose to be with you. I want to celebrate your existence, Joy. Every day that’s available to me, I want it. I’ll cherish it.”
She felt like she wanted to howl as the tidal wave of emotion rushed over her. She wept and shuddered for—she didn’t know for how long. When her sobs finally slowed, Everett still held her fast, his cheek against her breast, his hands moving soothingly at her waist and back. She felt like a hollow, spent vessel.
Lighter.
Everett lifted his head.
“Here, drink some water,” he said quietly, and she took the glass he offered, swallowing the cool fluid between hiccups.
“Oh my God,” she rasped, spilling water on her chest for the second time. “I just realized I didn’t say—I already got the results. Everett, the biopsy came back negative for cancer,” she said, her words coming with the rapidity of machine gun fire.
She heard him breathing in the silence that followed. “I’m so sorry,” she moaned. “I was so caught up in everything . . . shocked you were here . . . Oh, Jesus . . . I should have said sooner.”
He made a sort of choking sound and suddenly his arms were around her again. Joy held up the water, trying to keep it from spilling on him while he hugged the daylights out of her.
“Dr. Chen says I have a really bad virus, and that’s all. No cancer whatsoever,” she managed to get out through Everett’s tight squeeze.
“I’m so glad,” he muttered.
She laughed. “Everett, I can’t breathe.”
He released her immediately. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, smiling. His hand touched her chin. Her fingers skimmed his lips. He was smiling, but she couldn’t see it. Why hadn’t they turned on the light? Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to drink in the sight of his face. She leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp. She immediately put both of her hands on his jaw.
For a stretched moment, they just stared at each other, both of them smiling. She had the strangest impression their hearts were joined, both of them pounding and near to bursting, they were so full. She studied every detail of his face. How could she have ever thought it was the property of an adoring public? The face of the man she saw right now with the expression of indescribable desire and love in his eyes—that face was hers, and hers alone.
Slowly, realization dawned on her. He must have noticed her incredulous expression.
“Oh, Everett—you didn’t,” she cried. She removed his cap; her eyes sprung wide. She touched the smooth skin of his skull, needing another sense to back up her eyes. Every bit of his blond, tousled, movie-star hair—gone.
“I shaved at the hotel,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Why?” she gasped.
“As a show of support. In case your cancer had returned,” he said. He touched her short hair. Regret flickered across his handsome face. “I was so clueless. I thought you’d cut it short for a fashion statement.” He lightly caressed the port scar on her chest, the reminder of her chemotherapy. He met her stunned gaze. “Please forgive me for being so clueless.”
“Everett,” she finally managed to say. “I can’t believe you did that.” She would have sworn it was impossible for her eyes to manufacture more tears, but that was before she’d seen Everett’s smooth, bald head.
He flashed his grin at her. “It’s just hair, Joy. It’s not a big deal.”
She shook her head disbelievingly, a bark of laughter erupting from her throat. “No. No, it’s the stupidest . . . sweetest, most incredible thing . . .” she said brokenly.
She halted, once again overwhelmed. This time, it was she who squeezed the daylights out of him. She kissed his neck feverishly, transferred to his jaw and finally settled on his mouth. She parted his lips with her tongue, so desperate, so eager to celebrate his existence. He made a gruff, appreciative sound in his throat and ran his hands along her sides, pausing to cradle the sides of her breasts in his palms. Joy hugged him to her, kissing him like she thought his lungs held the last oxygen on earth. She felt his body respond to their embrace and made a sound of confused protest when he broke their kiss. He looked down at her, his nostrils flaring slightly. She read the question and concern in his blue-green eyes.
“It’s just the flu,” she reminded him hoarsely. “But even if the cancer were back, I’d want you inside of me right now. I want to assure myself that you’re real, because from where I’m sitting, you look like the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Remind me never to let you switch positions, then,” he said wryly as he grabbed the bottom of her tank top and peeled it off her.
She loved the small smile that flickered across his lips. She loved the blazing heat in his eyes as he touched her breast. She loved the fact that he’d cut off all his glorious hair to remind her of what she should have known.
Everett was the real deal.
“I love you,” she gasped when he pushed his cock into her a moment later. “I need you.”
His face tightened with emotion. He touched his lips to hers and then lifted his head, watching her face as he thrust.
He paused with his cock high inside of her.
“Put your legs together,” he muttered.
“What?” she murmured, her hands moving anxiously over his hips and buttocks.
“I want to feel every nuance of you. I want to feel as close to you as I can.”
She moaned as she tried to do what he’d suggested. The pressure in her sex grew intense.
“Touch your feet together,” he encouraged. She heard the hard edge to his voice and knew he, too, was being affected as she squeezed his cock tighter within her body. “Now cross your ankles,” he demanded.
It wasn’t easy. Everett was not small, and nor was the thick, throbbing flesh embedded inside her. But the position definitely had its advantages. She had never felt his cock so clearly while it was harbored in her body—the shape, the heat, the throb of his heartbeat along the shaft.
She gritted her teeth, sweat gathering on her upper lip, and crossed her ankles. They groaned in unison. The pressure bordered on pain.
Everett slid out several inches and sank back into her, and Joy realized it also bordered on pure, intense pleasure. She saw a spark ignite in his eyes. Excitement zipped through her, because she knew what that feral gleam in his eyes signified.
He began to plunge into her again and again, their skin smacking together rhythmically. She could feel the thick rim beneath the head perfectly as he pulled his cock out of her. She’d never felt so inundated by a man, so possessed . . . so cherished.
“When I come, I’m going to leave a part of myself in you,” Everett said solemnly as he fucked her.
“Yes,” she moaned, for what else was he doing right now but pounding himself so entirely into her being that she would never—could never—let fear rule her again? That was what he was showing her, that love was the master of fear.
Emoti
on and sensation blended until the pleasure was too much to bear. She exploded with it. Everett was there with her, though, mixing with her, sharing with her, helping her to endure the sweet, shattering bliss.
Epilogue
FOUR MONTHS LATER
“Joy?” Everett called as he closed the front door.
“I’m here—in the studio,” he heard her call in the distance. He smiled and set the mail, a small box and the overnight bag he’d been carrying on the bench in the foyer so he could take off his jacket. He slipped his hand into his back pocket, his grin widening when he felt what he was searching for.
He was still celebrating his good fortune at finally having Joy in his house. She’d decided late last summer to become partners with Seth at Hightower Special Effects, but had insisted that she had to teach the fall term at the Steadman School. The administration wouldn’t have had the time or opportunity to hire a new art teacher, and she hadn’t wanted to leave her students hanging. As such, Everett and she had endured a long-distance romance for much longer than he preferred. He’d grown so impatient for her to join him in Los Angeles that Rill had hollowly threatened on a few occasions to ban him from the production studio for Razor Pass because of his surly mood.
Joy had just moved into his Laurel Canyon home two days ago. Unfortunately, no sooner had Everett helped her settle in than he had to take a prearranged visit to Death Valley with Rill, where they’d be moving production of the film to onsite location next week. Norman Cassavita, the author of the novel Razor Pass, was dead. For whatever reason, Rill considered Everett to have a better grip on the setting and nuances of the novel than anyone he knew—probably because Everett had been obsessed with the book since he’d first read it when he was sixteen years old. Everett had agreed to take the scouting trip with him to Death Valley before he knew that Joy would be moving in just days before.
This was his first time returning home to find Joy in the house, and it was a sweet experience indeed.
“Hi,” he greeted her as he walked into the large bedroom they’d converted into studio space for Joy. She stood before a half-finished canvas and was in the process of hastily rinsing off her paintbrushes. She dropped the brushes in a jar when she saw him and turned toward him, her face glowing.
