TYLER (Blake Security Book 2)

by Celina McKane

  I didn’t tell Ariana that it nearly turned into a fistfight. Something about Mom being sick, or maybe it was just me being sick of it, had caused me to find the strength to tell him no more. I wasn’t going to stand by and let him smack me around any longer and if I had to use my own physical strength to prevent it, I would.

  “Wow, that’s probably a really good call on your part.” Ariana reached across the table and took my hand in hers. “I wish I could do more for you.”

  “Are you kidding? What other girlfriend would come over just to read to my mother or change her sheets after she vomits? Who else would encourage her to drink more water by cutting up fresh fruit and putting it at the bottom of the glass? You’re amazing, and I thank God every day for you. I don’t know if I could get through any of this without you.”

  Ariana squeezed my hand. “You’ll never have to know,” she said. “And on that note, I told my mother I was having Thanksgiving at your house. I really might have to bring Brandon though because neither of my parents are speaking to him for defending you.”

  I smiled. “The more the merrier,” I said. I hated that they gave her a hard time about me, but I loved that she wasn’t willing to stop seeing me because of it. “Do me a favor though?”

  She looked up at me with those gorgeous eyes. I really wasn’t sure sometimes that I could wait for her birthday to make love to her. It was killing me. “What’s that?”

  “Promise me you won’t feel guilty. You’re a good daughter, but you can’t help how you feel.” I almost said “who you love,” but neither of us had said that yet. It was another thing I was saving. “What are you doing the rest of the day?”

  “Reading to your mother,” she said, “Dean Koontz’s new book came out today.”

  “I am so damned lucky.”

  She winked at me and said, “And don’t you forget it, big boy.”

  *****

  The months passed, and the holidays came and went. Mom got sicker and was unable to attend to any of her own needs without practically debilitating pain most days. The sicker she got, the more binges Dad went on. I did my best to avoid him because each time I came across him drunk and feeling sorry for himself, a hot rage burned inside my chest until I was almost afraid that I wouldn’t be able to control it. I spent most of my time—when I wasn’t at school—at home with Mom. Ariana did the same, to the chagrin of her own parents.

  Mom’s treatments weren’t working. The tumor wasn’t responding to the chemo or the radiation and it was in a spot that was too dangerous to operate on. Her oncologist had upgraded the stage to IV and he’d told her the two years he’d given her when she was first diagnosed may have been “overly optimistic.” She was losing weight—it seemed—on a daily basis. She could hardly hold anything down any longer. They were now calling the care she received from the nurses “hospice care.” I wasn’t by any means a medical professional, but I’d done enough research on cancer since Mom got sick to know what that meant. It meant that her days were becoming more and more numbered.

  I was with her the day the doctor had given her that bit of news. His words had splintered inside of me, causing real, physical pain in my chest. What he was telling us was that—for Mom—there would be no more of the walks in the park she loved. No more birthdays or parties at the club. This winter would be her last and her life from then on out would consist of four walls and lots of pain medication. As he spoke, Mom had listened quietly to him and when he finished she said, “Do you have a form I can sign for a Do Not Resuscitate order?”

  I watched in private agony as my mother signed the paperwork that would tell her care providers that when it was time…she should just be let go. On the one hand, I understood her not wanting her chest pounded on and split open. On the other, I felt angry, mostly at myself. I hated that she was signing it because anything they did to her or for her would be extending her time on this earth just a little bit longer. I felt guilty about that, but it was so hard to be unselfish and understanding when it was your mother they were talking about dying.

  Two days before Ariana’s seventeenth birthday, as I sat at Mom’s bedside and we both stared at a game show on television she said, “What are you doing to celebrate Ariana’s birthday?”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I cooked her dinner here?” Mom no longer made the trip downstairs to the dining room. She pretty much did everything from the master bedroom. Dad had begun sleeping on the couch when he was home, and only entering the bedroom for his brief daily visits with her.

  “That’s a wonderful idea. You won’t burn down the kitchen, will you?”

  I grinned at her and said, “I might set off the smoke alarm like some people I know.”

  She laughed. She had made her first Thanksgiving dinner from scratch when I was about five years old. She hadn’t covered the turkey pan with a lid or foil and she’d cooked it too long. As the skin turned to ash and dripped down onto the bottom of the oven, it began to smoke. Every smoke detector downstairs began going off. I remember Dad teasing her about it, and when he saw that she had actual tears in her eyes, he’d taken her into his arms and told her how amazing she was. “You don’t have to cook a perfect turkey. I’m actually glad that you didn’t.” That was when he was still more flesh and blood than he was alcohol.

  Looking confused and with tears rolling down her cheeks, Mom asked him, “Why?”

  Dad had kissed the side of her face and said, “Because then you would have been too perfect.” He’d taken us all out to dinner that night, and it was one of the best Thanksgivings that I could remember. Every year—from there on out—Dad consumed more alcohol and gave in to more of his rages. Sometimes I thought that man was completely gone now, and I wished the one that was left would just stay away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TYLER

  The day of Ariana’s birthday I gave Mom her meds and read to her until she went to sleep. Then I kissed her softly on the forehead and went downstairs to check on the dinner I was making. I had broken the cardinal rule of friendship and begged Brandon to tell his parents he was taking his sister to the city for dinner and to an under eighteen club. I rented a hotel room for Brandon, and my best friend told his mom and dad that he and Ariana were going to stay overnight and drive home the next day. It hadn’t been easy convincing him. Brandon made me swear that I only wanted Ariana to stay over so we could “cuddle” and that I wouldn’t take it any further than that. For the first time in my life, I lied to him. I suspected Brandon knew that I was lying, but it made us both feel better that he didn’t know my real intentions. The other thing that helped was that Brandon had started dating Zoe Augustus a few months before. I knew that they were having sex because Brandon told me. Zoe was a senior like Brandon, and she’d just turned eighteen. A night in the city in a hotel room that he hadn’t had to pay for, as well as a nice dinner I had footed the bill for, and Brandon couldn’t say no. On his way out of town, he dropped Ariana off, and when I opened the front door, Brandon put two fingers to his eyes and pointed them in my direction. I grinned at him and waited until he was gone to pull Ariana into my arms and kiss her deeply.

  “Happy birthday, baby.”

  She smiled and snuggled into my chest. “Thank you,” she giggled then and said, “You smell like pasta sauce.”

  “I made seafood étouffé.”

  Ariana pulled back and looked up at my face. “That’s my favorite.”

  “I know,” I said, kissing her on the forehead. “You told me the night I took you to New Orleans for dinner.”

  “You made it all by yourself?”

  “Mostly. I ran back and forth upstairs for tips from my mother.”

  Ariana looked impressed, and when I took her hand and led her into the dining room where the table was set and the food was laid out, she suddenly had tears in her eyes. She took in the roses in the vase in the middle of the table, the burning candles, and the wrapped gift box that sat next to her plate and threw her arms around me again. �
��This is the best birthday ever.”

  I pulled her in for another hug and put my lips to her ear and said, “We’re just getting started.”

  We sat down and ate, and Ariana sweetly raved about my dinner, which wasn’t really all that good. After dinner was finished, I took the dishes to the kitchen and didn’t let her help. I had a little chocolate cake that I brought back in with two candles burning in the center of it.

  “Oh my God! You made cake, too?”

  “I wish I could take credit for it, but unfortunately my culinary skills don’t extend to pastries. I bought it…but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

  “I love it, and yes, it is.” I sang happy birthday to her, and she made a wish and blew out the candles. While I cut and served the cake, I teased her and tried to get her to tell me what she wished for. She flushed bright red every time I tried and refused to tell me. That gave me hope that she was wishing for the same thing tonight that I was.

  We ate cake, and then I said, “Okay, time to open your gift.” Ariana picked up the little box and shook it. I laughed. “You don’t have to guess what it is.”

  “I like to envision it in my head before I open it,” she said with a grin. She started gently pulling it open at the seams, and after several minutes of waiting, I handed her a knife. “Patience,” she said, “I’m savoring it.” I rolled my eyes, but the fact was that I thought she was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. When she finally got the paper off, she pulled the lid off of the white box and sucked in a big breath of air. “Oh my God, Tyler…it’s gorgeous.”

  It was a delicate gold cross pendant with a strip of small diamonds that ran down one side of the cross. “Turn it over,” I told her. On the back, the delicate metal had been engraved with both of our initials and the date.

  Ariana had tears in her eyes. “Tyler it’s so pretty. I love it so much.” She leaned her face into mine and kissed my lips.

  “I’m glad you like it. Here, let me put it on you.” She lifted her hair and turned her back to me. I slipped it over her head and fastened it around her neck. When she turned back around, I picked the cross up with my fingers and stroked it gently before leaning in to kiss her again. “It looks as good on you as I knew it would.”

  Our kiss was soft and sweet at first. I could feel the tears on her cheeks as they soaked into my skin. Ariana was the one who pulled me in tighter and deepened the kiss. She parted her lips and invited my tongue in, and I reveled in the fact that she tasted like Ariana and chocolate, my two favorite things.

  When we came up for air I said, “So, did you get what you wished for?”

  Ariana’s cheeks flushed again, and she smiled and stood up. Taking my hand and urging me to my feet as well she said, “Not yet.” I could see the desire burning in her eyes. I didn’t need to ask her again what she wished for. I took her by the hand and led her upstairs to my bedroom.

  When we got there, I closed the door behind us and searched her eyes. “Are you sure?” She pressed her forehead into mine and said, “It’s what I wished for.”

  It was what I’d wished for too, for a long time, and it was everything I thought it would be and more. Afterwards, while we lay there in each other’s arms, she whispered, “I love you, Tyler.”

  I’d meant to say it first; I’d just gotten so carried away. I hugged her tightly and said, “I love you so damned much, Ariana.” I kissed the side of her face, and she snuggled into me. It wasn’t until she’d fallen asleep that I took off the condom and realized it had broken. I was too on top of the world to worry about it. I was sure it would be fine.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TYLER

  It was a week to the day that Ariana and I had spent the night together. We hadn’t had a chance to make love again since then, but I closed my eyes and relived it every night. Each time I kissed her, I felt closer to her, and I knew that she was the one whom I wanted to spend my life with. She’d been my bright and shining light during the worst storm of my life, and she hadn’t faltered.

  I was in my room getting ready to pick her and Brandon up. We were meeting Sam at the edge of the lake. A bunch of kids from school and some of the men and women from Sam’s college would be there. We were having a bonfire to close out the end of winter and the beginning of spring, not that there was much to that in Louisiana. It was a good enough excuse for a party though.

  I’d just picked up my keys, and I was headed to tell Mom good night when I heard my father’s raised voice. I’d grown accustomed to the sound of it after he was drunk. He was slurring his speech, and his tone sounded almost shocked as I heard him say, “No, you’re crazy! I can’t believe you would ask me that.”

  I hated when he talked to my mom like that. I was going to intervene, but I was curious what it was Mom was asking of him.

  “Please, Bobby. The pain is so bad.”

  Dad’s voice softened, and I stopped outside the door and listened. “Oh, baby. Oh God. I’m so sorry, but I can’t. I can’t do that and live with myself.”

  “Even if I’m asking you to, begging you?”

  “Please listen to yourself. You’re asking me to end your life.” My whole body stiffened. What the hell was going on?

  “I’m just asking you to give me a little more pain medication than usual. I’m so tired, Bobby, and it hurts so much…all the time.”

  I knew Dad was crying when I heard him say, “Baby, I can’t. I just can’t!”

  Mom was crying too when she said, “Bobby…please…”

  “No!” He screamed that. I flinched at the sound of it and then realized that suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I ran down the stairs and almost ran right into Mom’s nurse.

  “Is everything okay, Mr. Petit?”

  “Yeah,” I said, barely able to talk. “I’m just…I have to go.” I brushed past her and ran outside, gulping in the fresh air as soon as I hit it. Every time I think things couldn’t get worse, they do. I waited until I could breathe normally again before getting in my car and going to pick up Ariana and Brandon. For tonight, there was nothing that I could do about what I’d overheard. I was sure Dad wouldn’t do it.

  I found myself wondering as I drove, “Why didn’t she ask me?” As soon as that thought ran through my head, a violent shudder ripped through my body. There was no way I could do it. That’s why she didn’t ask me, because she knew.

  *****

  Almost as soon as Ariana and Brandon got in the car Brandon asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” Brandon was in the backseat and Ariana the front. I looked over and smiled at her. She smiled back, but I could tell she was wondering what was wrong, too. I parked the Challenger in the small lot near the river, and we took a bag of marshmallows and a blanket down to where the party was already in full swing. The college crowd had brought a keg, and there was a chick passing out paper cups. Ariana and I both passed, and while Ariana roasted her marshmallows and Brandon bullshitted with Sam and some other guys, I lay back on the blanket and stared into the fire. Ariana stopped what she was doing and laid down next to me after a while and said, “Baby, is there something going on? Is your mom okay?”

  “She’s the same.” I wrapped her up in my arms and held her there under my chin and against my chest for a really long time. The party was going on around us, and several times Sam and Brandon came by to ask if I was okay. I kept insisting that I was, but I was sure that my friends all knew differently. Unfortunately, none of them could possibly know how serious my thoughts were.

  *****

  I spent as much time with Mom the following week as I possibly could, even cancelling on Ariana a time or two. My friends all tried to reach out to me and find out what was going on, but I just kept telling them all I was fine. There was no way that I could tell them what I’d heard Mom ask my dad, not even Ariana. I didn’t just think about the words though, I thought about the sound of her voice as she told Dad how bad the pain was and how tired she was of fighting. I couldn’t stop thinking about that and
couldn’t stop wondering if keeping her alive was the most selfish thing that we could do.

  I was in the middle of reading her new book to her a week later when she said, “Tyler.”

  I put the book down. “What’s up, Mom?”

  “Baby, I have to ask you a favor.” I felt a pain in my chest. I knew what she wanted, and I didn’t think that I was any more capable of doing it than Dad was.

  “What do you need, Mom?”

  She reached her pale, skinny hand over and put it on my face. I leaned into it. The tears were already forming in my eyes. I was praying that I was wrong and she wasn’t going to ask me. “I need to go, Tyler.”

  “Go where?”

  “Go…you know. It’s too hard for me now. It hurts too much. This is no kind of life. I’m ready to go.”

  I could feel the tears slowly spilling down my cheeks. “Mom, please don’t ask me to help you do that.”

  “I asked your father…but he’s not as strong as you.”

  “Mom, I can’t.”

  “Baby, please! Please help me.”

  I was sobbing then. “I can’t, Mom!”

  She started to say something else when the bedroom door was shoved open. Dad rushed in, smelling like booze as usual. “No! Do not listen to her! She has no idea what she’s asking. The medications have gone to her brain.” I was stunned at first. Dad was yelling at the top of his lungs while Mom lay there in excruciating pain, crying and asking me to end her life. Without thinking it through I put my hand on Dad’s big chest and pushed him out into the hallway.