by Julie James
Cade took a moment to let that sink in as he turned onto his block.
Huh. Zach had been right.
It really wasn’t that much fun being a mess.
He was in uncharted waters here, and he had a decision to make. He could keep doing his self-protective thing, and let Brooke walk out of his life, and continue on with his string of unfulfilling four-month relationships with women who didn’t challenge him, didn’t make him laugh over a simple text message, and didn’t push him to be better. Or he could go find Brooke—a woman moving halfway across the country, a woman who’d specifically told him, in their very last conversation, that they’d both known from the beginning their relationship wasn’t anything permanent—and lay it all on the line, and hope that he didn’t look like a complete jackass in the process.
Cade waited for the annoying voices in his head to chime in with their opinions on that one.
Nothing.
This time, he was on his own, apparently.
As he opened the gate in front of his apartment building, he noticed someone sitting on the front steps. Whoever it was appeared to be waiting for somebody, and Cade smiled, thinking for a split second that maybe, coincidentally, it would be Brooke and—
Then he saw that it was his brother.
“Hey, Zach,” he said, heading up the front walkway. They didn’t have plans that night, so this was a surprise. “What brings—”
He stopped when he saw that Zach had been crying.
Instantly, Cade knew what was wrong—or at least, the source of whatever was wrong.
Noah.
The asshole had done something. Of course he had. Cade immediately went into protective mode. “What happened?”
Zach swallowed. “I kept thinking that you would come around eventually. I figured that once you got to know me better, you’d want to know more about our dad, too. But I don’t think that’s ever gonna happen.”
Cade ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. He’d always suspected that Zach had been angling for some heartwarming father-son reunion between him and Noah, but he hadn’t realized the kid was this serious about it. “I know you want that, Zach. And I want say that I’ll try, but—”
“He’s dying.”
Cade pulled back, the words dropping like stones in the air. “What?”
“He’s dying, Cade,” Zach said quietly. “My father—your father—is dying.”
Cade stared at him for a long moment. “How?”
“Cancer. Started in his lungs. I guess he used to be a big smoker before I was born. But we were—” Zach cleared his throat—“he was beating the lung cancer. Then an MRI scan came back about six weeks ago that showed a tumor on his brain stem. I knew it was going to be bad.”
It was all coming together now. “Six weeks ago. That’s when you came to see me.” And suddenly, a few things that had been nagging in the back of Cade’s mind made sense. Why Noah wasn’t helping Zach with football. A few odd, offhanded comments Zach had made here and there.
“After they did the biopsy, they told us that it’s some really aggressive kind of tumor. I knew then that I had to find you. I needed to do that for him. And I hoped we would have more time, but . . . they did a follow-up scan and we found out today that the tumor’s already grown.” Zach’s voice trembled. “They say that if we’re lucky, he’ll make it eleven months.”
Eleven months.
Cade felt a pit in his stomach as Zach wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. It killed him to see Zach so upset. Maybe they hadn’t found each other until six weeks ago, but it didn’t matter. This was his brother. He reached out and put his hand on Zach’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Zach.”
Zach pushed Cade’s hand away and stood up, suddenly going on the offensive. “You’re sorry?” He stepped closer to Cade, raising his voice. “Really?”
Cade held his ground. “Of course I am. No matter what happened between us, I’d never wish this on Noah. And I’d certainly never wish this on you.”
“Good. Then I want you to do something for me.” Zach’s jaw was set in determination. “I want you to go see him.”
That was . . . not a good idea. “I understand what you’re doing here, Zach. And it’s an admirable thing. But I say this in all sincerity: I don’t think Noah would want to see me. Especially not right now, with everything he has to deal with.”
“That’s a cop out.”
“Does he even know we’ve been hanging out?” Cade asked.
Zach paused before answering. “No.”
Christ. Before Cade could respond to that, Zach continued.
“I didn’t want to tell him in case you refused to ever see him,” he said defensively. “Look, I get it. You spent your whole childhood waiting for your dad to show up, this big hero you’d built up in your head. And then he let you down. You know why I get that? Because I waited my whole life for someone to show up, too. You. Cade Morgan, football star. I never forgot that day when I was watching the Rose Bowl and my dad told me you were my brother.” His blue eyes snapped with anger. “When I was younger, I fucking idolized you. Whenever I got in trouble and my parents sent me to my room, I used to dream up these scenarios where you showed up and sneaked me out of my room, and we’d go on these crazy adventures together. So things didn’t exactly work out the way I’d hoped either, did they?”
The words hit Cade right in the gut. “I didn’t know, Zach,” he said, nearly a whisper. “I didn’t know anything about you.”
Zach nodded. “But now you do. Now you know everything. And the question is, what are you going to do about it?” He held Cade’s gaze. “He’s at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. He’ll be there until tomorrow afternoon. What you do with that information . . .” he said as he held out his hands, “is up to you.”
* * *
CADE ENTERED HIS apartment and tossed his keys on the counter. He set his briefcase down, and sunk onto the couch, thinking about everything Zach had told him.
His father was dying.
Many thoughts ran through his mind, but the one he kept coming back to was, simply, Why? For years, he’d wondered what was so wrong with him that Noah hadn’t wanted to be a part of his life. He’d forced himself to move on, but now that question had reared its ugly head again.
From what he could tell, Noah was a good father to Zach. For that, Cade was genuinely happy. And he would love to be able to say that knowing they were close wasn’t a bitter pill to swallow, that he had no further feelings on the matter, and that after all these years he’d come to accept that Noah was just the guy who’d gotten his mom pregnant, nothing more. He wanted to fall back into the comfort of his routine, and be that blithe, that matter of fact. He wanted the why not to matter. He wanted to not care.
But after all this time, he thought maybe he still did.
Thirty-four
BROOKE PARKED HER car in a spot across the street from Cade’s apartment, and killed the engine. She sat there, waiting for the moment when she knew this was a bad idea, when logic and reason kicked in and she realized that instead of a face-to-face conversation, she could just text Cade something simple like, “Not going to Charlotte. Dinner tonight?” Because that—ha, ha—would put the ball in his court, not hers, and then she wouldn’t be the one . . . sitting outside his apartment looking like a stalker.
But the moment never came.
Crap.
So, fine, she was doing this. No clue what she was going to say to Cade—Remember that part where I wanted to keep our relationship casual? Psych!—but she figured she’d start with “hi” and go from there.
She got out of the car and crossed the street. It was hot outside, especially for eleven A.M. She’d wanted to wait a little longer to drop in on Cade, but she’d been driving herself crazy mulling over the various ways this conversation could go and had decided it was best to just rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with.
A teenager dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt was walking on the sidewalk, heading i
n her direction. They reached the wrought-iron gate in front of Cade’s building at the same time, and he politely held it open for her.
“Thank you,” she said.
She walked up the steps of gray stone, teenager in tow, and pushed the buzzer for “Morgan.”
“Looks like Cade’s a popular guy this morning,” the teenager said from behind her.
Brooke turned around and saw that he was studying her curiously.
“You’re the Niagara Falls girl,” he said.
She had no idea what that meant, but after taking in his tall frame and familiar cobalt blue eyes, she was certain of one thing. “And you’re the brother.”
“Zach.”
She smiled. His hair was lighter and shorter than Cade’s, but he was cute and athletic-looking in a way that probably caught the eye of many a sixteen-year-old girl. “Brooke.”
“You came to see Cade?” he asked, in a tone that hovered somewhere between a question and an accusation.
“I did.” She gestured to the silent intercom. “Although . . . he doesn’t appear to be home.”
Zach seemed particularly interested in this. “Huh.” He stared at the buzzer for a moment, and then looked back at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Charlotte?”
She pulled back in surprise. “He told you about that?”
“I was with him when that guy Charlie told him you were moving. Something that Cade strangely didn’t seem to know anything about.”
Zach waited, clearly wanting a response from her.
“I think this is probably a conversation Cade and I should have, Zach. It’s complicated.”
He rolled his eyes. “You two are like a broken record with that.”
Brooke’s ears perked up. “Cade said the situation between us was complicated?” She paused. “Did he say anything else about me?”
Instead of answering, Zach looked her over with a wary expression, as if debating something. “You know what? It’s been a really shitty couple of days, so I apologize if this comes out a little harsh. But . . . do you even like my brother? Because if he’s where I think he is right now, this day is going to be pretty shitty for him, too. So if you’re about to say good-bye, or do anything else that’ll make things even worse for him, then you should go. Just send him a text message when you get to North Carolina, or an e-mail, or tweet him, whatever.” He stopped and stared defiantly at Brooke, hands tucked into his pockets.
Brooke thought about how best to respond to that, since it sounded like there was a lot going on with Cade and Zach that she was out of the loop on. “I’m not here to say good-bye, Zach,” she said gently. “I’m not moving to Charlotte. And yes, I do like your brother. Very much so. That’s why I came here this morning—to tell him that.”
“Oh.” His face relaxed, some of the tension seeming to leave him. His expression turned sheepish. “Sorry. You’ll probably be wanting your head back now.” He pantomimed handing it back to her, a gesture that made her smile, then he took a seat on the first step.
He rested his arms on his knees and bowed his head, taking a deep breath. Brooke stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do, and then sat on the step next to him.
They sat in silence for a few moments.
Brooke cocked her head. “Niagara Falls . . . from The Breakfast Club, right? Good to see you kids are keeping up on the classics.”
Zach chuckled, then glanced over. “In answer to your question, yes—he talks about you. He says you’re the smartest, wittiest woman he’s ever met.”
“He did?” Brooke’s heart skipped a beat, suddenly filling with hope.
But first things first.
“About this shitty day you and Cade are having—is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
Zach contemplated that. “Actually, maybe there is.”
* * *
CADE PUSHED THROUGH the revolving door of Northwestern Memorial Hospital and walked up to the visitors’ desk.
“I’m here to see Noah Garrity.” He braced himself for the question he’d been dreading all morning. Friend or family?
“Sign in here,” the front desk clerk merely said, pointing to a clipboard. “Name and time.”
Cade did so, and then waited as the clerk typed something into the computer. She pulled out an ID badge and wrote a number on it. “Room 1502. Elevators are to your left.” She handed him the badge.
“Thank you.” Cade clipped the badge to his suit jacket and headed for the elevators.
He stepped into an empty elevator and pushed the button for the fifteenth floor. He stared straight ahead at the doors, refusing to toy with the cuffs of his sleeves, or run his fingers through his hair, or give in to any other kind of nervous gesture. He was doing this for Zach, and that was it. As much as a small part of him had questions for Noah, he had not come here seeking answers or closure. He was no longer a naïve ten-year-old boy, easily duped by a few pats on the back and a couple of nice moments.
And even if that small part of him still cared about the why, he’d be damned if he let Noah Garrity see that.
He didn’t plan to be angry or spiteful. Just businesslike. Emotions would play no part in this visit today.
The elevator doors opened and Cade stepped out. The floor was quiet, the patients’ rooms situated around the perimeter with a nurses’ station in the center. He followed the arrows to room 1502, at the far end of the hallway.
He tucked his hands into his pants pockets, his strides purposefully unhurried as he passed by the other patient rooms. He’d deliberately chosen to wear a suit, skipping the tie since it was Saturday, because he planned to get in and out as fast as possible with an excuse about needing to get into work. But he wouldn’t lie—he also wanted Noah to see the man he’d become. He may not have gone pro in football, but he’d done well by himself regardless. Northwestern University. Rose Bowl champ. Magna cum laude in his law school class. Assistant U.S. attorney. Today, he would wear those achievements like a suit of armor.
I did it all without you.
He spotted room 1502 and slowed when he saw that the door was open. One of the many things that had kept him awake last night was this moment, when he saw Noah Garrity for the first time in twenty-three years. He had a vivid image in his head of a tall twenty-eight-year-old man looking cool and tough in his leather jacket—a man younger than Cade was today. Juxtaposed against that were the portrayals of gaunt, bedridden cancer patients he’d seen in the movies and on TV.
He took a step closer to the door and saw that neither of those images had been accurate. Sitting in one of the chairs by the window, looking out at the view of the city, was a normal-looking fifty-one-year-old man wearing faded jeans and a navy sweatshirt. With the sunlight coming in through the windows, Cade could see gray peppered throughout Noah’s dark hair. He wore gym shoes—not too-cool-for-school work boots or even flashy running shoes—just regular gray Nikes.
He looked like . . . a dad.
Cade watched as Noah stared out the window. He looked lost in thought, and Cade realized then that his first instincts had been right.
This was a bad idea.
The man had just found out he was dying; he undoubtedly wanted to be alone. Now was not the time for a surprise, awkward visit from a long-lost son.
Cade took a step back to leave, but the heel of his leather wing tip scraped softly against the tile floor. Noah blinked, coming out of his reverie, and glanced over.
A look of shock crossed his face, and they both froze.
“Cade.” Noah stood up from his chair, not saying anything for a long time. “How . . . did you know I was here?”
Cade kept his tone impassive. “Zach.”
“Zach?” Noah’s expression was confused at first, and then realization set in. “He came to you because of the tumor.”
“Yes.”
Cade was wholly unprepared for what happened next.
Noah’s eyes welled up. “That’s so . . . exactly the kind of thing he would do.�
� His voice broke on the last word and he looked down. He said nothing for a moment, and then peered back up. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “This has been an exhausting couple of days.”
He gestured. “Please. Come in. Uh. . . maybe I can pull this chair over from here . . .” Moving awkwardly, as if nervous, he grabbed an extra chair from the corner and set it a couple of feet across from the one by the window.
After they’d both sat down, Noah rested his hands on his legs and looked Cade over. “So, wow. Assistant U.S. Attorney Cade Morgan, in the flesh.”
Though he showed no reaction outwardly, this surprised Cade. He’d had no clue Noah knew he’d become a prosecutor. “How are you feeling?” It seemed like the kind of question one should ask in a hospital.
“Well, it’s been a roller-coaster ride, all right,” Noah said. “But actually, I feel pretty good this morning. They started me on some new steroid yesterday—told me I needed to stay for observation for twenty-four hours to make sure there aren’t any side effects.” He waved in the direction of the hallway, managing a smile. “I think the nurses are pissed that I won’t wear the hospital gown. I told them they’ll have plenty of chances to see me in one of those soon.”
“What about chemotherapy or radiation?”
“I start radiation next week. They say it won’t shrink the tumor, but they’re hoping it might slow how quickly it grows.”
An awkward silence fell between them.
Cade figured he might as well get right to the point. There was one thing, at least, he wanted to say. “Noah, I—”
“I read about your big promotion in the news,” Noah cut in eagerly, before Cade could finish. “Acting U.S. attorney, that really is something. Will you still be able to try cases when you take over that role? Sounds like the Sanderson trial is shaping up to be a real dogfight.”
Cade carefully studied the man across from him. Noah sure seemed to have a lot of information about him. “You follow all the news related to the U.S. Attorney’s Office that closely?”
