Shattered

by Joan Johnston

  Holly’s heart constricted with sympathy for her child. “Not quite yet.” He probably wouldn’t be going home tonight, but there was no sense telling him that now. “Daddy and I are going to get some coffee. Do you want to come with us, or will you be all right here?”

  He shrugged, too tired to make a choice.

  “We’ll be back in a little while. If you want us, just tell the lady with the pink top. She’ll know where to find me and Daddy.”

  Holly told the caretaker where she would be and joined Jack, who was pacing by the elevator like a dangerous animal in a too-small cage. “Let’s go,” she said.

  Holly went through the line at the coffee shop with Jack, then sat down across from him at a table for four that another ravaged-looking couple had just vacated. She’d picked up a pastry, knowing that her pregnancy required energy, but she was afraid that if she ate anything she would throw it back up. For the first time in months she felt nauseous. But she was more sick at heart than physically ill.

  “How could this happen?” Jack asked as he stared at his steaming coffee without drinking it. “How does a child get infected with this disease?”

  “That’s one of the mysteries we haven’t solved yet,” Holly said.

  His dark brown eyes met Holly’s leaf-green ones as he said, “Do you find this as ironic as I do? I mean, what are the chances that our son might get this disease?”

  “Maybe thirty-five hundred kids a year—out of how many millions in the U.S.?—are diagnosed with leukemia. You do the math.”

  “If he’s sick, what are Ryan’s chances of getting through this?” Jack asked bluntly.

  “If he’s sick,” Holly said, “it depends on what kind of cancer he has and whether it’s chronic or acute and what stage it’s in.”

  “Okay, give me a best-case scenario,” Jack said.

  “Stage one chronic leukemia. White blood cells are more mature when they’re released into the bloodstream and grow at a much slower rate. If he has acute lymphoblastic leukemia, ALL, white blood cells are released from the bone marrow into the bloodstream before they mature, and they reproduce rapidly.

  “In both cases,” Holly said, “survival rates are high.”

  “High?”

  “Ninety percent.”

  “So ten percent still die,” Jack said somberly.

  Holly nodded, because her throat was swollen with the emotion of trying to clinically discuss leukemia when the patient was her own son.

  “Worst case?” Jack asked.

  “Acute myelogenous leukemia. But only twenty percent of kids who get leukemia have AML.”

  “So his chances of having it are less. What about his chances of surviving it if he has it?”

  “They’re less, too,” she admitted.

  “How much less?”

  “We’re coming up with new treatments all the time.”

  “Give me a number, Holly.”

  His voice had risen so much Holly was aware of people from other tables looking at them. “Shh. Keep your voice down, Jack. I don’t want to give you a number, because you’re going to focus on that instead of on the fact that children with AML do survive.”

  He leaned across the table, his lips drawn back in a snarl and said, “Give me a fucking number!”

  “Less than half.”

  “How much less?”

  “Damn it, Jack! We don’t even know if Ryan has leukemia. Let it alone.”

  “It must be bad if you won’t give me a number.”

  It was, but she wasn’t even going to think the number in her head, for fear she would jinx Ryan’s blood test results.

  “Maybe you should go to work,” she suggested.

  “Work can wait.” He picked up his coffee and put it back down again. He hitched in a breath, huffed it out and said, “I’m terrified, Holly.”

  “So am I.”

  “You look so calm and collected. I don’t know how I’m going to handle this. I can’t imagine how Ryan’s going to handle this.” Jack rubbed a hand across his face.

  Or how our marriage is going to survive this, Holly thought. Devastating illnesses like leukemia either tore couples apart or brought them closer together. She wondered which it would be for her and Jack.

  Holly’s cell phone rang. She’d set it on the edge of the table when she’d sat down, so it was a simple matter to answer it. But she stared at it without picking it up.

  “Answer it, Holly.”

  She met Jack’s gaze as she picked up the phone. “Yes, this is Dr. Tanner. I see. Thank you.”

  She closed the phone and looked at Jack. She knew the answer was already visible on her face, but she said the words anyway. “His white blood cell count is sky-high. The doctor wants Ryan to spend the night. He’s scheduled for a bone marrow biopsy and spinal tap first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Holly half expected Jack to jump to his feet and stalk away. He did something she hadn’t anticipated.

  He reached for her hand and held it in his as he changed seats, moving from the chair across from her to the one beside her.

  Holly felt a tear spill onto her cheek and blinked furiously to stem the tide for Jack’s sake.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and leaned close. He kissed the tear from her cheek and caught the next one that spilled with his thumb and said, “We can get through this, Holly. Ryan’s going to be fine. We’re not going to let our son die.”

  That was when Holly finally lost it. She turned her face into Jack’s shoulder and burst into tears.

  21

  Kate found it hard to sleep when Shaw was in bed beside her. She was aware of every male sound. Every male scent. Aware of him in a way she’d never been aware of Jack.

  Of course, she’d never been in bed with Jack. Never had his callused hands roaming her flesh as she returned the favor. Never felt his bristled jaw against her belly. Never experienced the joining of bodies that changed everything between a man and a woman.

  Kate made a frustrated sound in her throat and turned her back to Shaw. And felt the luxury of silk sheets surrounding her.

  That was another thing. Shaw was a hedonist.

  He loved fine wine. He enjoyed good food. He had silk sheets, for heaven’s sake. She couldn’t imagine Jack sleeping on silk sheets. A sleeping bag on the ground was more his style.

  Not that there was anything wrong with that.

  Kate rustled the silk sheets as she turned over and tried, unsuccessfully, to get comfortable.

  “Go to sleep,” Shaw murmured.

  She no longer protested that she couldn’t sleep. He knew the problems she had lying in bed with him. He didn’t care. He wanted her in bed with him, and that was that. She’d actually tried moving to the guest bedroom, located between the boy’s room and Shaw’s bedroom, the fourth night she’d spent in Shaw’s home.

  That had been a disaster she’d never repeated.

  She’d gone to bed early that night, knowing Shaw wouldn’t confront her—if he intended to confront her—until the boys were asleep. She’d lain in bed with bated breath, thinking of all the arguments she would use to convince him this was the right thing to do.

  But he never came. She’d already started to drowse when he kicked open the door, scooped her into his arms and headed toward his bedroom.

  She’d struggled silently—but violently—as he carried her down the hall, pulling his hair, biting his naked shoulder, scratching and kicking and writhing to free herself from the prison of his arms. Once he had her inside his room, he kicked the bedroom door closed behind him and threw her onto the bed.

  “This is where you sleep. Tonight and every night.”

  “I don’t want to sleep with you!” she’d raged, crawling off the bed and standing toe-to-toe with him. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be here!”

  “Fine. Leave the boys and go.”

  “You know I won’t do that,” she snarled.

  “Then go to bed. It’s late. We’ve both got work tomorro
w.”

  She eyed the door, met his obdurate gaze, then tried an end run around him. She had her hand on the doorknob when he slung an arm around her waist from behind, pulled her back tight against him, stalked back across the room and dumped her onto the bed.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said, his hands on his hipbones, which were visible above a pair of low-slung jeans.

  Kate was incensed. “You’re the one insisting that I sleep with a man I don’t know. A man I don’t like.” None of that was provoking a response, so she said, “A man who makes my stomach turn.”

  That did it.

  He shoved her flat on the bed and came down on top of her, restraining her kicking legs with his thigh while he manacled both her hands in one of his and held them on the pillow high above her head.

  “Let me go!” she gritted out between bared teeth.

  He used his free hand to grab her chin, while he captured her mouth with his, staking his claim. She got one hand loose and yanked his hair. He grabbed her breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her cry out with the pain—and the pleasure—of it. She bucked against him, desperate to get free.

  Arousing him.

  And inflaming herself.

  The fingers that were pulling his hair threaded through it, and she thrust her tongue into his mouth, making him grunt with surprise. He let go of her hand so he could trace the healed surgical scar on her chest, where the bullet had nearly taken her life, then twisted his hand in her hair to haul her close for another soulful kiss.

  She shoved her free hand between them and slid it down inside his jeans, past a slicing scar on his hip, making a growling, angry sound in her throat when the sturdy cloth didn’t give way. She reached for the snap and shoved down the zipper before her wrist was caught in a vise of steel.

  Kate was gasping for breath, panting for air, excited and aroused and frustrated, biting at Shaw’s lips and tasting him with her tongue.

  He lifted his head and she saw his eyelids were heavy, his gray eyes avid, his lips full. “Say you want me,” he said in a guttural voice.

  “I—” She wanted him. It must have been obvious to him. Her nipples were painfully peaked, her breasts sensitive to his touch. Her body arched into his hips, seeking the heat of him. Wanting to be impaled. Needing him inside her.

  “Say it,” he muttered.

  “I want—”

  “Who do you want?” he rasped. “Say it, Kate.”

  “I want—” she grated out. “To go home.”

  He dropped his forehead to her shoulder. She felt him collecting himself, felt the tension ease from shoulders and biceps, felt his breathing slow. Then he rolled off of her and pulled her into his arms, holding her close. “Lady, you sure know how to kill a mood.”

  That was when she knew for certain that he was going to keep his promise not to make love to her unless she asked him to. And that she might as well sleep in his bed, because even though it wasn’t a comfortable place to be, it was where she wanted to be.

  Somehow she’d managed to get through a very long, very celibate week in Shaw’s bed.

  Why hadn’t Jack called her back to tell her Ryan was okay? She’d tried to reach him throughout the week, but the calls had all gone to voice mail. Why hadn’t she kept calling until she reached him? Or left a message? Or e-mailed him?

  That was easy. Too much to tell. Too much to explain. Too much that was inexplicable.

  She’d barely dropped off to sleep when she heard her cell phone buzz on the bedside table. She grabbed for the phone and flipped it open, noting the time on the bedside clock—12:23 a.m. Because Jack had been on her mind as she fell asleep, she presumed it was him.

  “Jack? Why are you calling so late?”

  “It’s Dad. Your mom’s in labor.”

  “Daddy? Isn’t it too early?” Kate said anxiously.

  “Just three weeks,” her father said. “You were early, too, so I’m trying not to panic.”

  But she could hear the worry in his voice.

  “Who is it?” Shaw asked as he turned over in her direction. “What time is it?”

  Kate shushed him and said, “But Mom’s all right?” Her mother’s late-in-life pregnancy had kept her bedridden, so Kate knew she would be glad for the early delivery, so long as both she and the baby were okay.

  “Libby’s fine,” her dad said, “but I need you here in Austin. We’re at Brackenridge Hospital. I tried calling your home phone but you didn’t answer.”

  “I…couldn’t get to the phone,” Kate said.

  “I’ve got a neighbor staying with your brother and sister until you get to the house.”

  Kate glanced at Shaw, who was stirring, and said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Daddy.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Daddy. Tell Mom I can’t wait to meet my new brother.”

  Shaw flicked on the lamp beside the bed, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Your mom’s in labor?”

  “Yes, and I need to get to Austin. I was—am—supposed to take care of my younger sister and brother while my father’s at the hospital with my mom.”

  “How much younger?” Shaw asked.

  “Dallas is six. Houston’s eight.” She didn’t want to ask Shaw for help, but the drive from Houston to Austin would take more than three hours. And she’d have to rent a car. “Can you fly us there?”

  “By us do you mean you and me?”

  “I planned to bring the twins with me, so they can spend time with my siblings. Then we’ll all go to the hospital together to meet our new brother—and the twins’ new uncle—once he’s born.”

  “Your parents know it’s a boy?”

  Kate nodded. “Because it’s a high-risk pregnancy, Mom had to have a lot of tests. One of the nurses let it slip. They’ve already named him Austin.”

  Shaw snickered. “How are they coming up with these names?”

  “For your information, smarty-pants, my mom told me the kids are named for the city where they were conceived.”

  He arched a dark brow and said, “What are we supposed to do when we need a name, and Houston’s already taken?”

  Kate flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “The twins could stay here,” Shaw said. “That way they wouldn’t miss school.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not comfortable leaving them behind.” Because she might never get them back.

  “I wouldn’t steal the twins from you, despite the fact that you kept them from me,” Shaw said.

  Kate pushed the black silk aside and got out of bed. “Nevertheless, they’re going with me.”

  “Then so am I,” Shaw said, shoving his way out of bed on the other side.

  Kate turned to face him, her hands perched on her hips. “My father’s a federal judge. He isn’t going to appreciate having Dante D’Amato’s son in his home while he’s at the hospital with my mother.”

  “Dante D’Amato is my father by an accident of birth,” Shaw snapped back at her. “And you’re not going anywhere without me.”

  Kate didn’t argue. She went into the bathroom, where she wouldn’t have to worry about Shaw following every move she made and eating her with his eyes, got herself dressed and went to wake the boys. The twins had been looking forward to spending time with Houston. Dallas always joined in because she refused to be left out when the three boys were playing.

  Shaw woke up Lucky while Kate woke up Chance.

  Scratch stretched languorously at the foot of Chance’s bed, then hopped off and left the room with her tail held high, seeking somewhere else to sleep. Kate figured she was headed for Shaw’s pillow, from which he’d evicted her when he’d gone to bed.

  Harley jumped off the foot of Lucky’s bed and trotted into Chance’s room. He stuck his cold nose in Kate’s palm, as though to ask why they were getting up in the middle of the night. She was glad Shaw had help at the house so they didn’t have to take the pets with them.

  “What
’s going on, Mom?” Chance asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in much the same way Shaw had. Heredity? she wondered. Or environment? Perhaps Chance had seen Shaw rub sleep from his eyes early one morning last week and copied him.

  “Gram is having the baby,” she told her son. “Shaw is going to fly us to Austin to see Houston and Dallas.”

  “That sounds really confusing,” Shaw said from the other room. “Flying to Austin to see Houston? Or to see Dallas? Of course, we’re actually flying to Austin to see Austin, so I guess it all works out.”

  “Stuff it,” Kate replied.

  “Yippee!” Chance said, bouncing out of bed. “We get to fly in Shaw’s plane again!”

  “It’s a jet, stupid!” Lucky called back, as he came barreling into Chance’s room, his arms spread wide, making jet noises as he pretended to be Shaw’s Gulfstream.

  “Your brother isn’t stupid,” Shaw said. “But he does make a pretty good jet,” he said as he watched Chance mimic his older brother.

  Shaw stood in the doorway that divided the two rooms with his arms crossed over his chest and grinned as he said to Kate, “I always wanted twin jets.”

  Kate was chagrined to realize that the boys were more excited about riding in Shaw’s 550 than about the new baby, or even the opportunity to have a playdate with their youthful aunt and uncle.

  “Just intercept Lucky and get him dressed, please,” Kate said.

  Shaw saluted and grabbed Lucky on his way past, lifted him up, tipped him sideways, balancing a hand under his chest and one under his legs, and soon had him flying back toward his room high in the air.

  “Do me!” Chance insisted as Lucky came to a laughter-filled landing on his bed.

  Shaw picked Chance up and flew him back to his own bedroom, where Kate was waiting for him.

  Kate’s eyes brimmed with tears.

  Shaw set Chance down and came back to her, using his body to shield her from the twins. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  Kate shook her head and scrubbed at her eyes with her knuckles. “It’s nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. “Really. I’m fine.”

  “Shaw,” Lucky yelled. “I can’t find my other tennis shoe.”

  “Lucky needs help,” she said.