The Summer of Us: A Romance Anthology

by AJ Matthews

  “Thea, what’s going on? I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t see you anymore.” No. Be firmer. “Don’t want to see you anymore.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. We—”

  “We what, Shay? Fucked? Don’t you understand?”

  His wide eyes tell me no.

  “From the start it’s been about sex. I needed someone to make me feel hot, make me forget the surgery. Make me come till my eyes rolled back into my head.”

  “Stop, Thea.” He blinks and cracks his neck.

  “Mission accomplished. You fit the bill, but we’re done.” I choke on the words. “Get dressed and go.”

  He pulls his shirt over his head and stands to slide on his boxers. I try not to look at his magnificent legs, but they’re so . . .

  My tongue sticks to the dry roof of my mouth.

  This is much harder than I anticipated.

  He screws up his face, his forehead wrinkling. Those beloved dimples he’d shared with me all night are nowhere to be found. “Why?”

  “I told you. The sex was fabulous, but I’m starting a new chapter in my life and need a clean break.” The tears stinging my eyes blur my vision. I turn my back to him.

  “I don’t understand. What’s changed in the last few hours? I asked you not to lie ever again. Tell me.”

  I break when he places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  “Please. This is not easy.” I sob and sink to the floor. “I can’t do this to you. Your expression when you saw Dr. Knox’s wife with her baby. When she was breastfeeding. I can’t ever do that. Hell, Shay, I’m at increased odds for ovarian cancer too. About thirty to forty percent. Do you remember that from your genetic studies classes? I may never have kids.”

  “Thea, don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what, Shay, be honest? That’s what you want. This is me, in my ugly, naked form. If I do have kids, I sure as hell can’t nurse them.” I’m shaking and crying, snot running out of my nose and onto my upper lip. I swipe it with my sleeve and square my shoulders.

  “Is it you, Thea? Or me? You don’t want kids with me because of the long line of crazy in my family?”

  “No. Of course not! Where is this coming from?”

  “I have doubts about having kids, too. What we might pass on to them. Mental illness. Breast cancer. Do we stop living our lives because of this?”

  I stand because a woman in a heap of tears on the floor is hardly a paragon of strength and fortitude. My knees buckle, but I manage to stay upright.

  “That doesn’t matter, Thea. The only thing that matters is you.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest, attempting to block his kindness and devotion, because it could pierce the suit of armor I’m trying to don.

  “You say that tonight. Will you feel the same in five years when I’m undergoing radiation, and my eggs shrivel and die? Don’t talk about things like you know how they’ll be in five years, or ten, or more.”

  I turn my back on him. I’m done talking and can’t bear to look at him anymore. His tears shred my heart into bleeding strips.

  “You should take your own advice and stop acting like you know what I think or what I’ll want in the coming years. You know nothing. I’ll never stop loving you. You’ll never stop loving me either.”

  The floor creaks as he comes to stand behind me. He drops one last kiss on the top of my head. “Take care, Thea. I’ll think about you every day for as long as I live.”

  Then he’s gone. Down the hall, through the door, and out of my life.

  If this is what’s best—for him, for me—why the fuck does it hurt so damn much?

  Shay

  On the drive home, I play everything over and over in my head. One minute we’re making love, sweating and clinging to one another like tomorrow is a bump in the road on our lifetime of happiness together.

  The next minute, she’s kicking me from the bed and out of her life.

  All for fun. That’s what it should have been.

  That’s what she said the night I found out about the surgery. It was more than fun though.

  It was real. Is real.

  Even though it’s late, I call Mr. McBride to tell him about Thea’s surgery tomorrow. She didn’t tell them when, and he’s glad I called. Another thing she’ll be angry with me for, but I don’t care.

  If she thinks this act she’s putting on will keep me away, she has another thing coming.

  She believes she’s protecting me from being trapped in a life I don’t want, with someone who may not be able to carry my children. I can’t think of a way to convince her I’m telling the truth, that I don’t care about those things. I want to be with her and never leave.

  Unless she calls the cops on me for stalking. I hope it won’t come to that.

  Tomorrow, she’ll understand how serious I am. How committed.

  I told her before, I’m all in, and if that means changing dressings and checking stitches and convincing her nothing else matters except her, sign me up.

  There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

  Boy, will she be pissed when she comes to in recovery and sees me there.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thea

  I pay the cabbie and grab my overnight bag from the seat. The parking here sucks, and I don’t want to hog a space for several nights or more in case of complications.

  I pray for no complications.

  I arrive early and enter through the emergency room, checking in at the receptionist’s desk.

  The receptionist behind the desk points to the hallway. “Your friends are here.”

  I take the nearest corridor to the Women’s Hospital, terrified I’ll find Shay. Instead, Bennie and Leesh sit in the waiting area.

  “What the hell are you guys doing here?” I rush over and hug both of them, thankful they’re here.

  Bennie pulls back, eyes darting around. “Wait, where’s Shay? I thought he was coming with?”

  She narrows her eyes at me, at my swollen eyes and blotchy skin.

  “He—he couldn’t come.”

  Leesh glares at me. “Thea, what did you do?”

  I gaze at the ground. “Nothing. We decided things wouldn’t work out.”

  Bennie steeples her fingers and points them at me. “We decided, T, or you decided?”

  “What’s the difference? He wants something I may not be able to give him. You know, kids someday.”

  “Crap, he said that?” Leesh’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates.

  I stare at the ceiling. “No. He confirmed my suspicions when he talked about wanting kids, so I broke up with him.”

  “Like hell. Were you a total bitch? Did you try to make him hate you? Because you suck at that.” My heart drops into my stomach as I recall the many times when Bennie and I were freshmen, and she had a habit of losing or ruining my things. I tried to be nasty to her at one point and failed miserably.

  She’s right. I’m no good at mean, and I hope my efforts at full-frontal bitch improved over the last few years.

  We check in at the nurse’s station and head to my sterile room. I change into the fabric gown and climb into bed. Nurses shuffle in and out, their rubber-bottomed shoes squeaking on the tile floor. I absentmindedly sign paperwork, the beeping of the monitors and the buzzing of the fluorescent lights echoing distantly. I’m like an outsider hovering above this scene.

  Daddy and Jen come in, squeezing between Bennie and Leesh and hugging me tight. The nurse purses her lips but remains silent.

  I hadn’t told Daddy or Jen what time my surgery is, but they’re here.

  I narrow my eyes at Bennie and Leesh. “Did you call them?”

  “No!” Their voices blend in unison.

  Shay.

  He must have called earlier this week because he wouldn’t call after midnight.

  Would he? Since I told him to go and stay away, he wanted to ensure I’m surrounded by people who love me and will take care of me.

  The w
ay he wanted to.

  And I wouldn’t let him.

  He’s protecting me, still, the way I think I’m protecting him.

  He has no right. I guess the way it’s not my right to protect him either.

  I am the biggest idiot in the world.

  The anesthesiologist and the surgeons come in, discussing the procedures again in detail.

  Daddy turns his back while they mark my skin with the locations of the incisions. When they leave, he turns around and cracks knock-knock jokes to distract me, like when I was a kid.

  The sedative is kicking in, and the punch lines barely register.

  “Okay folks, we need to head to the OR.” A nurse rolls my bed to the door.

  Jen covers her mouth with her hand, tears rolling down her cheeks. Another nurse lays a reassuring hand on Jen’s shoulder. “We’ll take good care of her, I promise.”

  “Stop, Jen. This is a good thing.” I swipe my tears away.

  “We’ll be a few hours. Why don’t you head out to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat, and we’ll come back with any news.”

  My whole body shakes, and my stomach churns.

  This is happening.

  I wish I had Shay to hold my hand and tell me everything will be okay before I fell into unconsciousness.

  The last thing I hear instead is my own voice: “What the hell have I done?”

  Thea

  I’ve never had general anesthesia, so I had no idea what to expect.

  My throat is like the Sahara.

  Right. The breathing tube.

  The lights aren’t bright, but my eyes were closed for hours, and they refuse to open all the way. Through the slits I see a nurse, and from the sound of the beeping machines I think she’s taking my vitals.

  “How’re you doing, love?”

  I croak, “Okay. Thirsty.”

  “Let me.” A hushed voice comes from the other side of the bed. I turn my head in its direction.

  I’m hallucinating.

  After the bitch-fest send-off I gave him last night, I can’t believe Shay would show.

  Against my wishes. I told him I never wanted to see him again. He figured I was lying.

  “Why are you here? Didn’t I tell you . . .” I push to my elbows. At least I try to, but I’m sore, and the multitude of tubes and catheters and cuffs restrain me.

  He walks to the bed, pitcher of ice in hand, and scoops a few cubes into a cup. He pushes the button on the hospital bed and raises me a few inches so I can suck on the ice.

  Dimples etch his cheeks as he grins. Like the major blow-out last night didn’t happen. “I heard what you said. I don’t care.”

  “But . . .”

  He crosses his arms across his chest. “But nothing. I told you before you don’t get to make my decisions for me. I love you, and you love me.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but he won’t let me.

  “Don’t deny it. Love is all that matters. You don’t have this,” he waves his hand between us, “and let it go without a fight. You worry I’ll be disappointed if we get married and have kids and you can’t nurse them. That’s what formula is for. Many women opt not to nurse, and that’s okay.”

  “Shay, I—”

  He holds up his hand, asking me to stop talking.

  “So when we’re ready to start a family, something happens and we can’t conceive our own? We’ll adopt. Lots of kids in foster care need families, or we can adopt a baby. Whatever you want.”

  My heart squeezes.

  “I can think of a more succinct way to tell you this: Thea, I don’t give a flying fuck.”

  Wow. He does mean business.

  “Shay, be quiet. Yes, I lied, didn’t tell you the truth about the surgery to start, and I lied last night to protect you.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m an adult, not a child, and I can handle the truth no matter what.”

  “Never again. You get bonus points for getting by Bennie and Leesh. How’d you manage that?”

  “Promised them free drinks at Paddy’s for life if they let me in.”

  “Sold out by best friends for shooters.” I shake my head. They wouldn’t give in like that, so I imagine the conversation went much differently, with my friends threatening serious bodily harm if he ever hurt me.

  Love them.

  Love him.

  Life is good.

  Thea

  Life sucks.

  I’m sore and semi-sleep deprived.

  I knew recovery would hurt, and I left the hospital after two days with a handful of prescriptions to help with the pain.

  No complications, and everything looks good, Dr. Beltran says.

  It’s all good. Except for these awful drains embedded into the surgical sites to prevent fluid build-up. Those things are a major inconvenience.

  I hate sleeping on my back, propped on two feet of pillows. If it weren’t for the painkillers, which make me loopy, I would get no sleep at all instead of the restless sleep I do get.

  The drugs make me itchy too. No way could I get hooked on the stuff. I’d scratch my skin raw.

  Shay has been great. He’s doing everything for me.

  I wish he would stop.

  He needs to leave. Go to class.

  This is one reason I didn’t want him to know. I thought he’d drop everything, neglect his own responsibilities to take care of me.

  It’s annoying.

  He pops his head into the bedroom.

  “Hungry?”

  “No,” I grunt.

  “Thirsty?”

  “No.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “For you to leave.”

  His head snaps back. “What?”

  “Go.” I cross my arms across my chest, jarring one of the drains.

  Owwww.

  I drop my arms back to the bed.

  “No.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t want you here anymore.”

  “Liar.”

  “Seriously.” My voice should be dripping with venom, but all I can muster is a squeak.

  “Sit. It’s time to check the drains.”

  The drains need to be cleared, and the fluid measured twice a day. It is not a pleasant task.

  “Once we’re done, I’ll take you for laps around the house.”

  More like up and down the hall a couple times, but it’s good for my circulation and keeps the rest of me from getting too sore. I want to go outside, but I’m still too weak to walk far.

  I’m going stir-crazy and want to be left alone. I grab a book from the nightstand and throw it at him.

  Try to throw it at him. I can’t lift my arms above my shoulders, and my range of motion is limited by the stitches and the shooting pain. The book hits the floor with a resounding thud.

  “Why won’t you go?” I sob. I’m hideous and gross and must smell awful, but I can’t tell anymore.

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets and leans against the door jamb. “You need me.”

  “No, I don’t.” I jut out my lower lip.

  “Yes you do. Even if you don’t want me here, I’m not leaving,” He pushes off the door frame and grabs the measuring vial and log from the dresser. “Unzip your jacket.”

  I open my mouth to say no. He glares at me. I clamp my mouth shut and comply. He sits on the edge of the bed and unscrews the cap from one drain bulb.

  It makes the most disgusting sound when Shay squeezes the fluid into the measuring tube before replacing the cap.

  So gross.

  I pull up the earbuds lying in my lap and listen to music while he does it.

  Squiiisssh.

  I turn the music up louder.

  Then he’s all done. I pull the ear buds out.

  “Ready for your walk?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to get up yet.”

  “Okay. I’ll come ba—”

  “Stay.”

  He holds out the gunk-filled vials. “Let me dump these.”

&n
bsp; He rushes to the bathroom. The toilet flushes and the water in the sink runs.

  He returns, and the mattress sinks under his weight.

  I lean into him, his clean, woodsy scent a comfort.

  The tears start, and I can’t stop them. Nothing in particular is wrong, but I’m overwhelmed and held it all in for so long, the tears surge like waves crashing on the beach.

  “Shhhhh.” He strokes my hair, kissing my temple. “It’s okay.”

  “I-I know. I c-can’t stop.” I snort, sucking in the snot threatening to run on my lip.

  “Let it out. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  I’m lucky. I’ve survived the surgery and these first few days at home all because I met and fell for a beautiful boy with a mischievous smile while on vacation.

  Best trip ever.

  I sob again and thank my lucky stars. The stars I wished on the night we met.

  Chapter Twenty

  Thea

  “All done on this one.” He examines the measuring tube. “Forty ccs on the left.”

  He screws the cap back on the bulb, then jots the number in the log. He unscrews the cap from the drain bulb on the other side and repeats the nasty process.

  One more thing to confirm how stupid I was being, worried about him running away. He’s proving he can take the worst.

  More than Bennie, for sure. She nearly vomited the day she needed to check the drains because Shay was running late.

  She played field hockey, so minor injuries don’t bother her too much, but this post-surgical stuff is nasty. She considered dropping out of the exercise science program when she had to take biology. Identifying the organs of a dissected pig— not her strong suit.

  She’s great with bringing me food and queuing up our current binge-worthy show on Netflix and hunkering down to keep me company. As far as bandage changes or wound checks?

  “That’s what your doctor boyfriend is for, chica.”

  Boy, does he continue to deliver with taking care of the icky stuff even I can’t handle, even though my body produces the yuck.

  After the first few days, the pain hasn’t been as bad as I expected. Surgery was a full week ago, and I’ve weaned myself off the narcotics. Just ibuprofen a few times a day.