They were also very, very different. David was the methodical one who crunched numbers and put things into motion. Chris was the networker. The idea guy. David drove the train, but Chris laid the tracks. That was how they’d always done things, and even when they butted heads—roughly seventy-eight times a day—it worked well.
Without Chris…
David closed his eyes and willed the muscles in his shoulders to relax. He could do this. And even if he couldn’t, he’d damn sure make it look like he could, at least until he was alone in his office or his condo. Then he could beat his head against a wall and curse into the empty space until he either figured out what to do or God Himself came down and handed him a clue or three.
First things first—press conference.
Let Chris announce the news. Let the press do their thing.
And then…then David wasn’t sure what would happen next. Apparently, he’d be heading up Berserker Tech and hoping like hell he could keep this thing going.
Part of him believed he was panicking over nothing. It wasn’t like he’d have the reins of Berserker Tech overnight. The transfer would be gradual.
And part of him knew that was bullshit. Especially as Chris stepped into the backstage area, his posture straight but his gaunt face alarmingly pale.
There wouldn’t be a gradual transfer of power and responsibilities.
Because there wouldn’t be time for that.
They could plan all they wanted, but in the end—and that was what it was, wasn’t it? an ending no one wanted—the company would abruptly land in David’s lap. He just hoped like hell he was ready. Well, no. He knew he wouldn’t be ready. Not to run the company while coping with his best friend’s death. But he did hope he could manage it without fucking something up.
Chris’s voice caught his attention, and he turned around. The man was talking to some of the audio-visual guys, probably making sure the microphones and lighting were perfect. No doubt reminding them to light him so he didn’t look as sick as he really was, even if that made David and Joanna look flushed by comparison.
And speaking of Joanna, there she was. Hand clasped in Chris’s, eyes down. When David had arrived at the cabin to coax her home just forty-eight hours ago, she’d been dressed down with her hair in a messy ponytail. Today, she was the way he was used to seeing her—a pantsuit that was less “professional woman” and more “ready to be the First Lady”. She never seemed comfortable when she was dressed like that. It was well-tailored, and while it certainly didn’t fit loosely, it didn’t seem to constrict her either. Yet she always looked like she could barely breathe—shoulders set back and tight, her spine rigid. When she smiled, it looked genuine on her lips, but her eyes were…distant.
He wanted to ask if she was doing all right, but he doubted the question would be welcome. She probably hadn’t yet forgiven him for convincing her to come home. He was glad she was there, though. Whether she knew it or not, just having her back had livened Chris up quite a bit. Maybe even added some time to his life—he’d been so depressed and angry over her leaving, the doctors and David had been concerned it would just accelerate the inevitable.
But he was happier now. With any luck, that meant he’d be healthier too. As healthy as could be expected these days, anyway, considering what he was here to announce.
As David, Chris and Joanna stepped out onto the stage, Joanna didn’t so much as look at him. That wasn’t unusual—they’d never gotten along, and apparently that wasn’t going to change. Fine by him.
They took their seats, and the reporters settled.
Chris pulled the microphone closer to him. He introduced David and Joanna and thanked everyone for coming. He sounded great—this auditorium and its acoustics had pretty much been designed with his voice in mind. The people in the back row would be able to hear him loud and clear, as if he were sitting right next to them and speaking normally.
And he sure didn’t sound like someone who was about to announce that he was dying. That he had tumors forming in his lungs. David could hear it, though. The difference was subtle, but it was there. Chris had carefully written his comments so he could keep his sentences short. That way he could pause frequently and not run out of air before he’d finished speaking. To someone who hadn’t spoken to Chris nearly every day of his life for the past thirty-plus years, the man sounded fine.
But David couldn’t ignore it, and his heart sank as Chris went on. This was real, wasn’t it?
Chris paused for a long moment. He glanced at David, and David gave him the reassuring nod he knew his friend was looking for.
Facing the crowd again, Chris went on. “As many people are aware, I was treated for cancer a few years ago.” He paused, grimacing as if the C-word, as he called it, tasted bitter on his tongue. “I’ve recently been informed that the disease has returned—”
The collective intake of breath seemed to pull the air from the room.
“It has returned,” Chris went on, “and spread.” He paused and took Joanna’s hand on top of the table. At least this was a somber announcement. Then her blank face and downturned eyes could believably be explained away as shock and grief.
Chris cleared his throat. “It’s advanced to a stage where I only have a few months remaining.”
The reporters shifted and murmured, probably struggling not to shout out questions—it was well known that Chris would have any reporter removed from the room if they interrupted a statement before he was willing to take questions.
“Over the next few weeks,” he continued, speaking slowly, “I’ll be transferring my responsibilities within Berserker Tech. Most will be going to my trusted business partner, David Lamont.” He gestured at David, and David nodded somberly, pretending his gut wasn’t twisted into knots.
“I will, of course, fight this as long as I can.” Chris smiled, lifting his and Joanna’s joined hands slightly. “I have a great deal of love and support, and I’m not giving up yet.”
Joanna lifted her head and looked past Chris to meet David’s eyes.
If looks could kill…
He gritted his teeth and faced the audience again. Fine. Let her be bitter about upholding her vows. She was the one who’d have to live with regrets after her husband was gone.
Which would probably be, he recalled as a lump rose in his throat, a lot sooner than later.
Oblivious to the silent exchange between his wife and business partner, Chris sat up a bit. “With all of that said, are there any questions?”
Of course, every hand in the room shot up.
David didn’t really hear what any of them asked, or how Chris answered. There was only one question in his mind.
God, why?
Chapter Six
As soon as the press conference was over, the news started spreading. It would have started even earlier—probably the instant Chris had uttered the word “cancer”—but he and David had designed the auditorium to be a phone and Internet dead zone. Some people had screamed that it interfered with the freedom of the press, but Chris reminded them he wasn’t preventing anyone from reporting on what happened in the auditorium, only making sure they didn’t report prematurely, before a presentation had been completed. After one reporter had announced that Berserker Tech was releasing a particular game nearly a year before its actual release, thanks to misunderstanding a comment about the game’s projected completion date, they’d taken measures to make sure nothing went fully public until the entire statement was completed.
Joanna had never had a strong opinion about that one way or the other, but today, she was grateful for it. The delay bought her some time to catch her breath in private and shake some tension out of her shoulders before her phone started blowing up.
And start blowing up, it did.
Her social circle as Joanna was tiny—just her parents and sister, and one or two friends she’d kept in
touch with since high school.
Her social circle as Mrs. Christopher McQuaid, however, was massive. Within minutes of the announcement, half a dozen texts had trickled in. By the thirty-minute mark, she’d heard from nearly a hundred people. The phone rang. Voice mails stacked up. Texts came in faster than she could answer them.
Finally, she shut off her phone. She needed to decompress first. The past six months had been the longest period of just being Joanna she’d had in years, and stepping back into Mrs. McQuaid’s shoes was harder than she’d expected.
As was slipping into one of Mrs. McQuaid’s dresses. Chris had noticed too, but wisely hadn’t said anything. His face had said enough, giving her that disapproving down-up before he shook his head and walked away.
I’ve only been back for a day. Back off.
As if it would make a difference if she’d been back for a day or a damned month.
After she’d gone home, showered and had a cup of coffee, she finally lay back on the guest room bed and turned on her phone. There were two dozen voice mails, but she started with the texts. Though there were many more, they were all largely the same.
Oh, you poor dear. Please LMK if you need anything!!
We’re praying for you. God is good—miracles happen!
Chris is a wonderful man. Thank the Lord for the time you two still have together.
Heart sinking, she set the phone on the nightstand and rubbed her eyes. Every last sender meant well, but every last message hurt. Of course, they weren’t lying when they said to ask if she needed anything. They just weren’t expecting her to respond that she needed “a quickie divorce,” “a chance to vent about what an ass my husband is without people telling me how terrible I am,” or “to change places with him, and not for the reasons you think.”
She had no idea how to respond to them. Or what she was supposed to do now that she was home and Chris’s illness was becoming more real by the day. How do you comfort someone you want to escape from? How do you grieve for someone you don’t want to see again?
Swearing aloud, she buried her face in her hands.
I’m a terrible person. A terrible, terrible person.
But feelings were what they were, even if they were selfish and, well, terrible. She couldn’t make herself grieve the way she was supposed to any more than she could make others understand why she was grieving the wrong way. All she could do was smile when she was supposed to, cry when she was supposed to, and wait until she was behind closed doors to wash the real emotions away with something good and strong.
“I really wish you wouldn’t drink this way.” Chris’s voice echoed in her mind.
“I only drink this way when I don’t know what else to do,” she whispered into the silence, dropping her hands into her lap. Now that the words were out, she cringed. Was she turning into an alcoholic?
Oh fuck. Who cared? But a shot or three of tequila suddenly sounded—
Her phone chirped and startled her. It was a different text tone entirely. One for a number she’d blocked until very recently.
Acid rose in her throat as she picked up the phone.
Could you swing by my office?
She rolled her eyes. What now?
But God forbid she ignore him. He’d probably send his PA du jour down to get her, or he’d use the emergency intercom he’d had installed to summon her in case he needed medical help in some remote part of the house. Either way, the longer she took to go to his office, the more he’d get on her case for ignoring him before he got on her case about whatever he’d called her in to discuss.
What’s he going to do? Ground me?
The thought made her laugh. At least that beat crying, which was what she really felt like doing.
Maybe he wouldn’t ground her, but he’d certainly let her know he was displeased. Not that she cared all that much about pissing him off anymore, but she wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. Facing him now would be the lesser of two evils.
So, she went upstairs to his office and tapped on the door.
A second later, a pretty blonde who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—or bigger than a size two—came to the door. “You must be Joanna.”
“I am.”
The girl extended her hand. “Hilary. I’m Chris’s assistant.”
Of course you are. Joanna made herself smile and shook hands with Hilary. She didn’t ask what had happened to Vanessa, the assistant Chris had hired a couple of months before Joanna left for Tillamook. She really didn’t want to know—the woman certainly had been Chris’s type. So was this one.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, injecting as much pleasantness into her voice as she could.
“You too.” Hilary’s smile seemed genuine. Then she stood aside and gestured for Joanna to come in.
Chris was, of course, at his desk. Hilary took a seat at the desk beside his, a tablet and a spiral-bound day planner spread out in front of her.
Joanna set her jaw and looked at her husband instead of scrutinizing the new girl. She’d long ago stopped wishing that Chris would hire a plain-looking personal assistant. She might be able to delude herself into believing he wasn’t sleeping with her, but a heavier or plainer assistant would undoubtedly have to tolerate his subtle disapproval about her appearance. If Joanna was honest with herself, she preferred the idea of Chris fucking his PA than making her feel bad about herself.
And his illness probably made his womanizing a moot point anyway.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked Chris.
“Yeah. I’ve got some forms I need you to look over.” He slid a thin manila folder across the desk. “Healthcare directives and whatnot.”
Joanna swallowed. Gingerly, she picked up the folder. They’d gone through this before—even though she was his spouse, Chris made sure to have explicit directives spelled out, and a power-of-attorney for her as well as David. He refused to take chances, and didn’t want to leave any opportunity for a medical professional to question his decisions. He insisted on being in control. Sometimes she wondered if controlling everything from how he was to be medicated to how he was to be buried was a way of keeping an iron fist on fate. If he spelled out everything he wanted, what he would and wouldn’t allow, then somehow the disease would take a hint and give up.
“I need you to read them over,” he said. “We’ll have them notarized in the morning, but I need to make sure you know and understand everything.”
Joanna nodded. But after today’s press conference, and while she was still settling into being here and going through all of this, Joanna wasn’t ready to look at the paperwork. She wasn’t ready for his instructions for palliative care, heroic efforts and funeral options.
She tucked the folder under her arm. “I’ll, um, give them a look. First thing in the—”
“Jo.” He lowered his chin slightly and looked at her through his lashes. “We need to have them notarized first thing in the morning. Just read them over, and we can—”
“I’ll read them in the morning,” she said through her teeth.
He held her gaze. Subtly, she braced herself, fully expecting an argument.
Instead, he broke eye contact. “Whatever. Do what you want.” Chris rose slowly, steadying himself with the edge of the desk. “I’m wiped after today, so I think I’ll go lie down for a while.”
“Good idea.” She gestured at the door behind them. “I’ll be downstairs in my workroom. If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”
He met her eyes again, and his usual responses—annoyance, amusement, condescension, derision—lurked in his expression, but he just shook his head slowly. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Then he made his way out of the room, walking a lot slower than he normally would. She pursed her lips. Hopefully it was the treatment slowing him down, not the cancer itself. On one hand, she wanted to
be grateful that he’d apparently been too tired to argue with her about the directives or to give her shit about the time she wasted in her workroom.
On the other, seeing him like that made her breath halt.
This was real.
Chris was dying.
And Joanna had no idea how to feel.
She swallowed. “How long has he been that tired?”
Hilary set her pen down with a quiet click. “He’s…been dragging a bit. Mostly since they started him on the new treatments.”
Joanna turned toward the young PA. “How has he been handling it? Aside from…” She gestured at the door.
Hilary shrugged. “He has his good and bad days. It hasn’t made him as sick as he thought it would, fortunately. Not yet, anyway.”
“Good,” Joanna murmured. “Let’s hope it stays that way. And let’s hope it helps.”
“Do you think it will?” Hilary sounded timid at first, but then Joanna realized her tone was one of a scared child. It was entirely possible Hilary had never been this close to someone with advanced cancer. Joanna barely remembered when she’d been as naïve and inexperienced with it. It had only invaded their lives in the last few years, but it seemed like it had been there forever. When she hadn’t known the hospital’s ICU like the back of her hand and hadn’t memorized all the side effects of a dozen different drugs.
She held Hilary’s gaze. “It’s a crapshoot. They’ll try one treatment. If it doesn’t work, they’ll try another.”
Hilary exhaled hard. “Well. Hopefully this one works.”
“Yeah. Hopefully.”
Hilary eyed the door Chris had gone through, and Joanna studied her. Oh, she’d seen that look before. She was too exhausted to get angry, though. If anything, she hurt on the young woman’s behalf.
Do yourself a favor, sweetheart.
Don’t fall in love with him.
Joanna walked into her workroom and looked around. When she’d left, she’d only brought a few things with her to keep some hobbies going. Fortunately, her favorite hobby was leather tooling, which didn’t require a lot of space or supplies. Just a few stamps and knives, a workbench, some light, and the odd bottle of dye and various chemicals for treating leather. She could spend hours beneath a window, painstakingly cutting and etching intricate designs into leather, sometimes for herself, sometimes as gifts. It was relaxing. Gave her a chance to focus on something that was, in the grand scheme of things, small and easy to deal with. A tricky pattern could hold her attention for hours while she navigated the tiny details and complex lines, effectively shoving all other thoughts from her mind.
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