Game Changer

by Melissa Cutler

  There was no such thing as hanging in there with her body in full rejection mode. Her eyes watered, her nose ran, and every retch seemed to well up from her toes and involve every muscle in her body. The pain was still present, but fuzzier, thanks to the medication, as if her chest was being hit by a pillow-covered mallet instead of a bare hammer.

  A cool washcloth pressed to her forehead, though she didn’t recall Brandon leaving her bedside to get one.

  Between retches and gasps for air, she bit out, “I really wish you weren’t seeing me like this.”

  With a tissue, he wiped the tears from her cheeks, then moved the washcloth to the back of her neck. “Give it a rest, baby. This is part of the deal now.”

  God, she hated it when he called her baby. “What deal?”

  “You and me being friends. Friends hold each other’s hair when they puke, right? I think I read that in Cosmo magazine.”

  Lindsay returned, pushing another syringe through Harper’s IV. Relief came gradually, with retches receding into weak pulses of her stomach muscles. Her throat relaxed. Brandon released her hair and slipped the washcloth away from the back of her neck.

  “Lie back,” he crooned. When she did, he pressed the washcloth to her forehead.

  He and Lindsay murmured to each other near the door. Harper watched through cracks in her eyelids. Brandon stood with the use of crutches now, though Harper couldn’t remember them arriving. From a cabinet, Lindsay pulled a stack of washcloths and set them on the counter. Maybe they were talking about her or maybe Brandon was getting her number. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was formless and groggy. She closed her eyes, silently wallowing in her wretchedness.

  A moment later, someone took her hand. Brandon.

  “You’re not alone,” he whispered.

  Why did that make her cry? Of course she was alone. She’d always been alone, even before her parents died. She would always be alone.

  “Harper, you’re not alone,” he said louder.

  She felt as black as a well, her heart empty of everything except fear and uncertainty. She’d felt this hopeless and lonely before, the night her mother died. She passed in the middle of the night in a hospital bed a lot like this one, that death rattle breathing ending and her skin turning ghostly. Harper and her aunt stood vigil on either side of the bed, but all three of them in the room were alone. Absolutely alone. The universe had felt like a vacuum that night. A cruel vacuum that sucked away every light, every hope. Three years later, her aunt was dead, then her father.

  She gave herself over to the anguish of the memories, of tonight’s pain, how despairing she felt, how lost. With a shaky hand, she braved the pain to touch the bandages spanning her chest. “Why is life so filled with loss? Why do we have to say good-bye so much?”

  The mattress sagged with the weight of Brandon’s knee. He loomed over her, putting no pressure on her chest, but getting his face close to hers, cheek to cheek. His hands clamped onto her shoulder and the side of her face. “Hey, you’re okay. You are. It’s the hospital and the drugs. It’s not you. It’s not real. You’ve got to trust me on this because I’ve been there. I’ve been exactly where you are right now. Except that you’re not alone. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

  Which meant that when he’d had his own dark night in the hospital, he had been alone. Alone, missing a leg, his career ended, and all while grieving the deaths of nine fellow soldiers. If anything, the thought of what he’d gone through plunged her deeper into despair. She wished she could wrap her arms around him, to bring him so close to her that his courage and his strength could seep inside her and transform her from the inside out.

  Crying hurt worse that speaking, but not quite as bad as throwing up. So she figured, if she was going to be in pain anyway, then she wanted her arms around Brandon. Clenching her teeth against the white-hot sizzle as she lifted her arms, she reached out and clung to him with her arms and with her very soul.

  He held her tightly for a long time, whispering words of empowerment, telling her what a fighter she was and that they’d get through this seemingly never-ending night together. Slowly, drowsiness overrode the adrenaline that had accompanied her bout of nausea. She concentrated on Brandon’s breathing and let her arms drop to the bed as she surrendered to sleep in his protective embrace.

  The next time Harper woke, the room was bright with early morning sun. She shifted, testing her body. She still ached terribly, but the pain was manageable. She wasn’t as sad, either. She felt stronger, more whole, as Brandon had said she would in the morning. He’d been right—the loneliness and despair had been illusions, products of the drugs and the pain and the hospital. She rolled her head to the side in the direction of Brandon’s chair-bed, but the bedding was gone and Presley sat there instead, her sleek black hair pulled back with a red ribbon and shimmering in the rays of sunlight through the window as she concentrated on her phone.

  When Presley saw her, she smiled and rose from the chair. This morning, she was dressed in a white 1950s-style silk button-down blouse tucked into high-waist, black skinny jeans. She looked like she was ready for a sock hop. “Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Brandon?” The word scratched up her throat.

  Presley didn’t miss a beat. “I sent him to your apartment to take a shower and catch some Zs. He’ll be back this afternoon.”

  He deserved a good, long rest, he did, but she wished she could’ve seen him before he’d slipped away. She needed to thank him for everything he’d done for her during the night, and she wished he could’ve seen that she’d woken up happier, her spirit on the mend as much as her body.

  Presley refilled Harper’s plastic water cup. “Brandon said you had a rough night.”

  She almost asked Presley to hold up the cup for her, but she thought twice about it. “Yeah. It wasn’t my most glamorous moment.”

  To test her arm strength, she lifted her hand. Not too bad; just a few sparks of pain. She raised it higher and reached out for the cup. She was probably due for another round of pain meds, but she wanted to start the day with this small achievement—this demonstration of her stubborn will to heal.

  She lifted the cup from the table and ignored the screaming of her nerve endings as she brought the straw to her lips. Victory.

  “If you can joke about it now, then that’s a good thing. Means you’re feeling better.”

  After she’d drained the cup, she said, “I am, but for the record, the next time I have surgery and will be looking and feeling my worst, remind me not to tell anybody ahead of time, especially any young, gorgeous male models. Ugh.”

  “Oh, please. We should all be so lucky to be held in our darkest hour by hot male models. That should be a mandatory component of post-surgical recovery. In fact, I think the hospital should have a few roaming the hallways at all times. You know, for morale.”

  Harper managed a snort-laugh through her nose. “Shirtless, of course. I can see it now.”

  Presley sat on the bed near Harper’s leg. “Besides, you don’t pine over Brandon anymore, right? You said you were over him.”

  “I am over him. Absolutely.”

  Even though a part of her wished she and Brandon could go back to a simpler time when they hadn’t been able to think of each other beyond wanting to rip the other’s clothes off, she was at peace with the way things had turned out and lucky to have him as a friend.

  Like he’d told her, friends hold each other’s hair when they puke, which he’d had to do a lot last night. If their disastrous quickie hadn’t taken the sexual attraction out of their relationship equation, then her lack of boobs and barfing would’ve surely done the trick.

  Of course, she could tell herself until she was blue in the face that bad sex had been a cure-all for her and Brandon’s relationship trouble, but the truth was so much more complicated than that. She’d
been so relieved that he’d moved away so she could move on, but the past two nights, he’d been exactly what she’d needed. He was sweet and giving, had shared his strength with her with no pity, and demanded nothing in return. Now that she was getting to know him, she genuinely liked him as a person and respected him for the beautiful spirit that he had—and she’d never been more confused.

  “Are you in pain again? You’re grimacing.”

  She was? “I was thinking about how I don’t have boobs anymore. It’s starting to sink in.”

  Presley grabbed her own breasts. “Have you seen the industrial-strength bra I have to wear when I jog? I fully expect you to take up jogging now so I can be murderously jealous of you.”

  “Jogging. Gross.”

  A one-knuckle knock sounded on the door, then Nurse Lindsay opened it. She was holding a vase bursting with yellow and pink Gerber daisies. “These were delivered to our floor a few minutes ago, so since my shift just ended, I thought I’d bring them to you and check on you one more time before I go. You look a lot better.”

  “I feel better. Thank you for everything last night.”

  “That’s my job, and you’re welcome.”

  Presley took the flowers from Lindsay. “These are gorgeous. Who do you think they’re from, Harper?”

  “I ordered them for myself earlier this week.” Maria, the florist across the street from Locks, had agreed to have them delivered to the hospital first thing in the morning and had waved the usual delivery fee, which had been right neighborly of her.

  “Why? I’m pretty sure you’re going to be flooded with them from friends.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I put on my bliss list to start buying myself flowers more often, so here I am. With beautiful flowers first thing in the morning.”

  “A bliss list?” Lindsay asked.

  “My list of bold or daring or fun things I’m going to do from now on.”

  Presley set a hand on the bliss list photo album sitting on the swivel table next to the bed and strummed her fingers. “Is it too late for me to join your crusade for self-happiness?”

  “No way. Come on aboard. I have spare cocktail napkins in my purse if you’d like to make your own bliss list. In fact, why don’t you hand me one of the napkins right now. A pen, too, please.” Harper asked Presley. To Lindsay, she added, “Just a sec. Before you leave, I want to give you something.”

  On the napkin, she wrote Brandon’s cell phone number. It felt fitting to use the same napkins that she did for her bliss list, since giving up any romantic notions about Brandon was one of her unwritten list items. “Here’s the number for Brandon, my friend who was flirting with you last night, in case he hasn’t given it to you yet or asked you for yours.”

  Lindsay looked confused. “I thought you two were together.”

  “No. Just friends. If I were you, I’d give him a call before he leaves town in a few days because he’s on the cusp of being a big deal. This is insider information, but he was just cast as the next groom on Meet the Groom.”

  She did a double take of his phone number. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, and he’s a highly decorated veteran of war.” Oh my God, did she just play the wounded American hero card on his behalf? What kind of alternate universe was she in? “And he’s a great guy. So if you’re looking for a little temporary fun this week, give him a call. I’ll even comp you two some drinks at my bar, Lock, Stock & Barrel down on Main Street in Destiny Falls.”

  What the hay? Might as well promote her business while she was busy hooking Brandon up with cute girls.

  “You own a bar?”

  “I do.”

  She pocketed the napkin. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

  When Lindsay had gone, Presley closed the door and then whirled to face Harper, an incredulous glare on her face. “What are you, his pimp?”

  Harper smoothed her blanket. “That felt good. Weird, but good.”

  “If you say so.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Presley resumed her seat on the bed. “Nothing. It’s just that I’ve known you both for a long time and I still don’t understand your relationship. You two bring out this odd, intense side of each other. Like you can’t stop pushing.”

  You can’t stop pushing. She’d never thought about her relationship with Brandon that way and her brain was too doped up and exhausted to give the idea much consideration. She tucked it away in a corner of her memory to consider later, when her mind was sharper.

  “You’re right. We push. And now he’s pushing me to follow my bliss and pushing me to be strong after surgery, and I’m pushing him to move on with his life and follow his own bliss. It’s a good thing. I’ve never been more excited about the future.”

  “Then that’s a very good thing. I think I will make own bliss list, but keep your napkins. I’ll dictate mine in a memo on my phone.”

  Harper nudged her with her knee. “You’re such a tech junkie.”

  “Yup. Loud and proud.” She smiled at Harper. “And I think my first order of business is to buy myself some flowers, too. I can’t remember the last time I got any.”

  “Then you’re overdue.”

  “Damn right. This is our year, Harper. It’s time for us to take control of our own happiness.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brandon’s time in the hospital with Harper was spent in a never-ending cycle of cajoling her to nap, nurse visits, and meandering conversations with her, Presley, and Kayla. She’d expressly asked everyone else to wait until she was settled at home before visiting and they obliged her that wish, for which she’d expressed her relief more than once.

  Two days after her release from the hospital, on Brandon’s last day in town, Brandon, Kayla, and Harper were in the middle of a fierce game of Monopoly at Harper’s kitchen table when Dr. Nguyen called.

  Brandon thought his heart stopped beating as he watched Harper’s blank expression while she listened to the doctor over the phone. He stopped breathing. Then she blinked, her expression cracking.

  “No cancer,” she said. Her gaze went to Brandon. “No cancer.”

  Swallowing a rush of nausea that hit him from out of left field, he pushed up from the table and stuffed his fists into his pockets, then walked to the window to get some air. Until that moment, he hadn’t allowed himself to contemplate the alternative. My God, what if she’d had cancer? What if she hadn’t been okay?

  He wouldn’t have been able to stand the idea of her going through cancer treatment while he reveled in Miami on a dating show. He would’ve had to break his Meet the Groom contract and quit the show.

  When he’d made the decision to move to Miami, he’d thought he’d never talk to her again. A clean break. But something huge had shifted inside of him since the night he’d failed miserably as her lover—a metamorphosis that had completed during Harper’s first night in the hospital, as he’d held her while she cried. They’d bonded in an irrevocable way. He’d never truly had a platonic female friend before, but he couldn’t imagine his life without Harper now.

  He closed his eyes. She didn’t have cancer. She would forever live with a heightened risk of getting it because of her BRCA1 gene, but she was clear for now.

  A hand touched his back. “Hey,” Harper said.

  He angled his head, pressing his lips to his shoulder as he met her gaze. “You cheated death. You realize that, right?”

  That made her smile. “Just like you.”

  Yes and no, because the specter of death hadn’t hovered over his life the way it had hers, year after year as she watched the same illness kill off the other women in her family. He worked his arm around her waist as he turned and gathered her up against him, his embrace loose so as not to aggravate her incisions. “There’s nothing holding you back now. You’re going to take on the world.”

  Snif
fing, she wiped the knuckle of her thumb across the corner of her eye, removing the evidence of her emotion. “I thought I’d get started on that tonight by tagging along to Bomb Squad’s game with you and Kayla.”

  As much as he wanted to encourage her to be bold, she was still only five days out of surgery. “Are you sure you’re up for that?”

  “I don’t have to stay the whole time, but I want to get my first appearance in public without boobs over with. My head held high. I want to show everyone that the surgery didn’t shake me.”

  “I think that’s badass,” Kayla said. “You should totally do it. We can time your pain meds so that sitting in the cold on those hard chairs isn’t too uncomfortable. And then I can bring you back home when you’ve had enough.”

  These past four days since he’d returned to Destiny Falls, Kayla had demonstrated a maturity that had surprised him. Living with Harper, helping her out, had brought out her inner caregiver and Brandon had to admit he was impressed. Presley and Harper’s other friends were helpful and supportive, but Brandon felt better about leaving the next morning knowing that Kayla was right there in Harper’s apartment with her to remind her to rest, keep track of her pain meds, and lend a hand for whatever Harper needed, which right now was a lot, since she still had trouble lifting her arms over her head.

  Harper’s smile lit up the room. “That’s going to be great. And we still have time for me to finish kicking your butts in Monopoly first.”

  Brandon hated to be the party pooper, but— “Or you could take a nap so you’re well rested and ready to go for tonight.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s no fun.”

  Kayla raised her arm and pointed at Harper’s bedroom. “I vote nap.”

  Brandon pointed his finger, too. “Kayla and I agree.” After a split-second of debate, he added, “Surfboard.”

  That got her attention. “What did you call me?”

  Kayla crossed her arms over her chest. “Not cool.”

  Brandon shrugged. “Joking takes away its power. Trust me on that. So you’ve got a flat chest, like a surfboard. Big deal. You can call me Stumpy if you want.”