Yeah, this was a barrel of fun. He was ready to pop out the party favors and cut the cake in celebration of their little share moment. “Fine, Dad, I’ll do whatever, can you just get on with it. It’s obvious you’ve got something else up your ass.”
“No, not up my ass… I have what you would call, a fucking broken heart.” David eyed his father’s throat as it bobbed up in a swallow. Unease filled his chest as the slow fall of tears slipped down the broad cheeks of this suddenly broken man. He held his breath at the sight. His dad didn’t cry. Ever. “I promised her I’d stay quiet. I promised your mom that we would tell you and your sister…together. But dammit David, there is no way I’m going to let you go home and screw with your mom’s already fragile state because you feel too damn sorry for yourself.”
“I don’t feel sorry for myself,” …at least not all the time. “But god Dad, she’s so emotional and needy anymore, and she’s always hovering over me. She’s gotten better in the past week it seems, but it’s like she’s never going to get past the fact that her son is a cripple. Nor is she ever going to get it through her thick skull that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself now.”
Stiffness took hold of his father’s frame. And in a matter of two days, the guy looked, if at all possible, like he’d aged twenty years. “Did you wonder why that was, David? Did you wonder why she’s been hovering so much?”
Throwing his hands into the air, he gave a quick jerk of his head as he responded. “Hell, Dad, I don’t know shit about what’s going on in her head anymore.”
“No, you wouldn’t, because your own troubles and issues and all that shit, are far worse than death, aren’t they? Far worse than the prospect that someone else might have a bigger issue than you do.” Damn sarcasm. His dad was the fucking king of it.
“Go to hell, Dad. You don’t know me anymore, and you don’t know jack shit about my life either.”
“Hah, you’re right, David. I don’t know you. And I don’t know about your life anymore either. But I do know, that your mother…” his voice shook, as did his hands, “dammit…your mother…she’s dying.”
Disbelief boiled in his chest, like a pot of water that was there to scorch his heart. No—the bastard was lying. His mother was healthy. What the fuck was his angle here? Was he trying to guilt him into something? Why was he saying this, it made no sense? He shook his head; fast, angry, unwilling to hear him out, unwilling to believe him.
Raw emotion echoed in his father’s words as he continued on, killing David in the process. “It was undetectable. There were no lumps or spots. Nothing…” Pain lodged under his breastbone. David pushed against it, begging for it to go away. Pleading for this all to be a dream…or a really bad nightmare. He’d suffer a million nightmares, and the loss of all of his limbs, just to make the reality of what his father was telling him to be nothing more than a simple illusion of words.
His mother wasn’t sick. She didn’t having fucking cancer. She was fine—a healthy, thirty–nine years young, stay–at–home mom.
“She’s been so tired lately, and I finally urged her to go to the doctor a few months ago, to make sure she was okay. She kept refusing, saying she was just worn down from everything that had been happening with you and Harley. But one morning, she literally couldn’t get out of bed, her entire body hurt, and she was beyond the point where it was just exhaustion anymore. That’s when she agreed that it was time. So she went in, had a physical and the doctor…he ran blood work, scheduled an MRI…” Every sentence his father spoke was cut off by a sob. It was the most terrifying conversation he’d ever had. With anyone…
“And Friday, after we dropped you off at the airport, we went in for the results of all her tests…” Tears of misery drenched his father’s face, and David took in the sight of the man he had always admired, watching as he let the pain go with tears.
His father never cried. His father was a Harley Davidson fanatic who wore a heavy beard, the occasional bandanna over his head, and looked like a dude straight off the cover of one of those mechanic magazines. But still, there in the darkness of the car, he was a man who no longer looked himself. Instead, there sat a man who was beyond scared; a man who was on the verge of losing everything in his life—his children first and now possibly, even his wife.
Shutting his eyes, David finally let the words of absolute, uncertain truth, wash over him…
Where the fuck was the fairness in this? What did their family ever do to deserve the shit hand they were constantly dealt? He could have murdered God with his bare hands if the guy stood there in front of him in that moment. But instead, he kept breathing. It was all he really could do.
“It’s…it’s everywhere, David. In her breasts, her stomach … It’s spreading so rapidly that surgery won’t help. Chemo might buy her a few months, but it won’t fix it completely. It would be a miracle if anything could.”
His mother was too young, too vibrant, too high–spirited and positive to let that bitch of a disease take over her body. There had to be another way! Miracles happened all the time. Look at him! He was a walking and talking miracle in the making. He’d been on the verge of death, suffered a lifelong brain–debilitating injury, and had only one leg. Yes, miracles were possible, dammit!
But then it all came together in the silence of the car, like a burning light bulb in his skull. The facts…the reality…it all hit him head on, barricading his positive thoughts to the back of his brain.
His mom’s over emotional attitude the last few weeks of PT…
Her constant onslaught of tears…
The horrible sadness seemingly consuming her whenever she thought he wasn’t looking…
The fact that she let him go off to California without a huge bitchy protest on her behalf…
Dear, fucking god…his mother…she really was dying. His mother, the person he got most irritated with, but loved with every piece of his living self, was dying. He slammed his fist into the dash. No, dammit, she wasn’t dead yet and he’d never bury her alive. He’d fight for her until the end. He’d do whatever it took to keep her alive, just like she did for him.
“Okay, fine…she’s got cancer. But she’s not dying. She can get chemo and radiation and all that shit. She’ll make it…she’s not fucking dying, Dad!”
“Doctors are saying six months…at the most. We need to be prepared. We need to get Harley and Mason to come back this month. We need to be a family unit to get through this David, and I can’t have you—”
“What the fuck, Dad?” He was giving up? Just like that? He shook his head, pulling at the handle. “Unlock the door.”
“What? No,” he shook his head, confusion balanced out the tears in his father’s eyes, “it’s pouring outside now.”
Gritting his teeth through a snarling jaw, David pounded against the window. “I said, open it!”
Shaking his head, his father reached over and grabbed his hand instead of doing as he asked. David yanked it away with a growl. He didn’t need comforting. He needed answers. His mother would live. He’d make it happen. He’d give his soul to keep her alive if he had to.
“Dad. Please,” his hands shook, his stomach rolled, he needed to get out of the car. He was suffocating, he was dying internally. Didn’t his dad see it?
Finally taking his non–verbal warning at hand, his father nodded, and clicked the lock. The wind whipped against his body just as he jumped onto the gravel. Hard pellets assaulted his face, but he still tilted his head back to study the dark, starless night. Lightning scattered across the length of the sky, and he roared along with it, letting his emotions free from his mouth. He yelled until his stomach burned. He yelled until his throat ached. He wasn’t here emotionally anymore.
His mom…was dying.
He needed Abigail.
He blinked, leveling his head again, letting the water drip down his cheeks. God, he needed Abigail so badly…
Slipping back into the car, he faced his dad, the tears he’d shamefully
shed mixed with the droplets of water from the sky, but he didn’t care. His salvation was only a short drive away and he had to get to her. “Dad, please…just drive me to Abigail’s tonight. I can’t go to Mom yet. I can’t…face her. I just…fuck, Dad, please…” he sat back in his seat, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, begging. “She’s dying…Mom is dying. I…I just…I can’t, not yet. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry for everything I said,” he sobbed, falling forward until his head hit his knees. “Dad, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll change. I’ll be a better son. I’ll do whatever I have to do, for both of you. I promise! But tonight, please…I just…I need Abigail.”
All past digressions flew out the open door as his father leaned forward, nodded his burly head, and pulled David into his arms. David let him, wretched sobs angrily fought against the pressure in his throat, winning over as he tucked his head against his father’s shoulder. And together—there on the side of the road—two broken men cried. Two men, who hadn’t spoken more than five words to each other during a single conversation for the past two and a half years, became joined in a crusade…together.
And David, once more, lost his will to live. But this time, it wasn’t his own self–pity that broke him. It was the mom he would lose in a short span of one hundred and eighty days or less.
Chapter Nineteen
Who the hell was throwing shit at her window?
Jumping up from her bed, Abigail glanced down at the clock before heading towards the glass panel. It was a few minutes passed midnight…
She grinned, pressing a hand to her lips to keep her giddy squee quiet. It could only be one person. Her heart jumped like a rapid, crazy frog in her throat. David… He couldn’t stay away after all. And she was more than excited that he hadn’t followed through with her demands.
The window was caught up on the ledge, so she darted down the steps through the darkness of her house, only to run towards the back door instead. Her cheeks ached as her smile spread almost violently over her mouth. She was a hot mess of love for this boy.
She flipped on the backdoor light, and darted out towards him, slamming her body against his in a hug that was beyond just a simple nice to see you. This hug said welcome home. This hug said I love you. This hug said I won’t ever let you go.
Breathless, she whispered in his ear, grinning as her lips pressed lightly against his skin. “You didn’t listen to me.” Tucking her face into his neck, kissing the pulse that beat wickedly against her lips, Abigail could not get enough. Unresponsive, he simply wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing her with scary conviction.
She froze, her smile fell. Something was wrong. And that’s when she felt it, the unmistakable shaking sobs bellowing from his mouth against the top of her head. Squeezing tighter, she shut her eyes, tensing up, and praying that he was okay—praying that life hadn’t stolen him out from under her once again. She knew he wasn’t as broken as he once had been, but the healing process was so new that his pieced–together heart would surely disintegrate completely this time if something else bad had happened.
The night air was steamy and humid from the earlier storm, and together the heat between their bodies made for an even stickier reunion. But damn the sweat—she’d hold this boy hostage in her grip until she melted into puddle of literal wax if she could somehow make him feel better.
Minutes passed—his arms didn’t fall away. Nor did he pull back. He just cried, big, giant tears that were surely staining her black t–shirt. But she couldn’t find any words to whisper to him anymore. Nor did she want to. David would talk…when he was ready.
“She’s dying, Abs.”
Stomach tightening in knots, she pulled him closer. Um, what did he just say? Who was dying? Nobody was dying, everyone she knew was healthy. She continued her frozen stature, other than the movement of her tongue and mouth as she spoke. “Who, David…who are you talking about?” Never had she heard a man sob; never did she want to. But here David was, doing just that…and doing it hard. But she wasn’t about to tell him to stop, even if the sound sent her body into immediate back–off mode. Because she knew that tears had the ability to clear the pain away. They were like little bars of soap for the soul.
Minutes later, in the dark of the night with only a single streetlight reflecting from behind, he finally did stop, only to pull back to stare down at her. He cupped her cheeks, and pressed their foreheads together.
“Let me come inside. Let me stay, please. I just want the pain to go away, Abigail. Please…”
“Yes…anything you need…I’m here.” Swallowing, she nodded along with her words. She’d do whatever she could to make the obvious ache in his chest ease away.
So she reached for his hand and led him towards the house, only to turn to him in the kitchen for another momentary glance. She had to make sure he was still okay, had to make sure he wasn’t falling apart on her. He nodded, as if he knew what she was questioning. And she swallowed smiling sadly at him, only to lead them both towards the steps and up to her room.
She didn’t bother with the lights as they entered. There was no time. David was hurting, and she had to take the pain away. She’d bury it deep within her own soul if need be. The door clicked shut behind him and she reached around to lock it, her hands trembling with anticipation as they brushed against his waist. She gulped, pulling back to stare up at him.
“Are you sure?”
His gaze was locked hard on her, unwavering, full of a need she could never tap down again. “I won’t run, Abigail. I’m here, I’m yours now. I’ve always been yours…” God yes…he was hers…as she was his. And together, they’d soon be one.
Ignoring the lingering anxiety brewing in her stomach, she used the moment’s adrenaline to peel her shirt from her body. She wanted nothing more than to feel the heat of his skin on hers. It would burn away her nervous energy, replacing that emotion with the love she felt for him instead.
His eyes widened in surprise. Yeah, she wanted him… There was no time for formalities or foreplay. And in response to her brazen move, his gaze raked over the length of her body in one, quick sweep. Shivers of desperation and heat radiated over her skin as she stood almost bare to him, clad in nothing but a pair of white, cotton panties. There was no need to hide from his gaze though—she wanted to be eaten up by those dark, midnight eyes—wanted nothing more than to make him forget about his sorrow, whatever that might be.
Tiptoeing to stand flush with his body, she found her fingers taking control of the situation, reaching towards the hem of his shirt, gripping the material as if it was the only thing that kept her standing. It definitely needed to go; she needed his skin crushed against hers. So she quietly commanded him to do just that with nothing more than her gaze and a tug of her hand. He abided, nodding, and with a little help from her fingertips along the way, the material was thrown through the air like it weighed next to nothing. Her nails found solace in the curves of his perfect chest, just as the sound of his crutch fell to the floor with a crash. She ignored it…ignored everything except for David. It was impossible not to be lost in this moment, entranced by his darkened face. This wouldn’t be close to a cure–all, but it would be a cure–for–now, and that’s all she knew how to give tonight.
Her lips swelled as she chewed on him. She was more than ready to make this happen, more than ready to be overcome by his body, his mind, and his beautiful soul. He was bound to his grief tonight, but she wanted nothing more than to give that emotion a run for its money.
In a flash, his pants were off and on the floor, followed swiftly by his boxers. His blue boxers this time… Grinning down at the mess of clothes on the floor, she knew right then and there that there would be no going back again, this was going to happen, and he was finally, seemingly starting to understand that.
In response to his sexy strip tease, she countered it, slipping her own panties off. Toe extended she caught them, kicking them away to only God knows where though. Ready, beyond willing, and way more than able, sh
e reached for him again. The lingering wetness of his tears was barely visible on his cheeks, but she wiped them off anyways with her thumbs, tipping her head to the side as she slowly pulled his lips down against hers.
Sighing against his mouth, she had to wonder if there was an intervention group for lip addiction, because with David, she might just need it. They were always so warm, so perfect. And tonight, they were more fierce than ever as they glided over hers. Aggressive, passionate—they were the perfect ingredients to set her body on fire. His tongue made its way between her lips, dueling with hers in a way that should have scared her. But instead of fearing the abrupt anger in the movement, she gave it back, just as madly, just as intense. His hands lowered from her shoulders, dropping down to the curves of her backside in reward. She shook even more, nibbling at his lip, demanding with her mouth that he take the next step.
“I want you…so fucking bad it hurts.”
“Then have me, David. All of me.” And then she was up in his strong arms, whipped around until her back was slammed against the wall. Her heart raced to an unnatural speed as he supported her against him and the plastered wall of her room. She gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist, feeling every inch of his hard body surged up against her. He didn’t stop to make sure she was okay and ready this time; again, the desperation was too intense. He just entered her…fully…devouring her body in one quick motion of his hips. Moaning, she accepted him, letting her body take over, letting her mind’s palette clear.
She should have been worried about the extra pressure on his leg. Hell, she probably should have forgone the sex altogether just so she could discover what his cryptic words about dying, actually meant. But it was like a force had taken over between their bodies, like it was necessary to ease the suffering he’d exhibited. Sex medicine… Yeah, she was learning that there was absolutely nothing better than that.
A Long Time Coming Page 16
