Dirty Biker (An MC Motorcycle Romance) (The Maxwell Family)

by Alycia Taylor

I played for two more kids. One was a little girl who was six and a half. She was shy, but she loved Katie Perry. I did my best girl voice while I sang “Eye of the Tiger” and for some reason, that made her laugh. The next guy was a thirteen-year-old. When I’d first met him, he was really angry about being sick. He had a tumor in his brain too, an inoperable one. I told him about mine, and he said, “You’re lying. You don’t look sick.”

  “I was bald as an eagle my freshman year in high school,” I told him. “You see all these tattoos? I got them to cover up the scars all of the IV’s left on my arms.” He still looked skeptical so I parted my hair and holding it apart with each hand I told him, “See the scar? That’s from one of the three surgeries.” I also had a drain in my head. When the tumor had gotten big, it blocked the ducts that drained the cerebral spinal fluid out of my head and cause horrific headaches. They put in the drain, and they had never removed it. The doctor told me that my brain had grown to it, and to take it out now would just be more traumatic. I had a tiny little bump under my hair where it was at. I told him to feel it; it was just like the one on his head, apparent because he was bald. “When you get better, you can grow your hair out and no one will ever be the wiser,” I told him. I was pretty proud of myself when he smiled. Then the little traitor blew it for me though. He turned to his mom and said, “Can I get tatted up to cover the scars?” I tried to laugh it off, but I thought maybe it was time to move on. In my defense, I did mention to him that I didn’t get the tats until it was legal.

  I went to the adult unit then. The nurses told me I could just go room to room and ask each patient if they wanted to hear a song. I got quite a few takers, and sang everything from Kenny Rogers to Usher before I’d got to the last room on the end. I stepped up to the doorway of that one and saw an older woman sitting next to the bed. She was facing me, but she didn’t see me. She was looking at the dark-haired girl that lay in the bed. I looked at her face and my heart went out to her. I had seen that worried drawn look on my dad’s face more times than I could count. I thought about leaving and not disturbing her but then the sleeping girl on the bed shifted onto her back and if my guitar hadn’t been hung around my neck, I would have dropped it. It was Molly. My Molly!

  Okay, in reality she’s not mine. But in my heart that was exactly what she is…my Molly. The older woman finally saw me, and she must have seen the shock on my face. She got up and came over to me. When she got closer, I could see that she had Molly’s eyes.

  “Are you okay, son?” she asked me. The human capacity for empathy amazes me. A few minutes ago she was sitting here worried about Molly, and now she’s worried about me because I seem to be standing in the doorway with my mouth wide open.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I told her. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was offering to play music for the patients. I’m just surprised to see…I mean I didn’t know….”

  “Do you know Molly?” I nodded, dumbly. When I found my voice again I said, “What’s wrong with her?” Her grandmother, or at least that’s who I assumed she was at the time said, “Come here, let’s sit.” She led me past the bed to two chairs by the window. I wanted to stop and touch her. Hell, I wanted to climb in the bed and hold her. She was so pale, and there was blood hanging from her IV pole and running into her arm. I followed Molly’s grandma though, and took the seat she told me to.

  “Is she okay?” I asked.

  Her grandmother looked at her again and said, “Molly has an amazing spirit. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” She still hadn’t answered my other question, so I stubbornly asked it again.

  “What’s wrong with her?” The old woman looked at me with Molly’s eyes and said, “Molly’s a grown up now, as hard as that is for me to process sometimes. I think we should wait for her to wake up and see if she would like to tell you.” I wasn’t happy with that answer, but I thought arguing with the grandmother of the girl I was probably going to fall in love with was not the best idea. I nodded instead and then remembering my manners I said, “I’m Brock.”

  Molly’s grandma smiled and said, “It’s nice to meet you Brock. I’m Gail Lewis. I’m Molly’s grandmother and her guardian.” Then she looked at the guitar and said, “So, you’re a musician?”

  “Yeah,” I told her. I was having a hard time keeping enough moisture in my mouth to talk. My head was reeling with all of the questions I had. This is an oncology unit. This is where I should be…not Molly. She wouldn’t be here unless she had some kind of cancer. Why didn’t she tell me? Asked the pot to the kettle. I remembered her grandma then and I said, “I come by as often as I can and play for the patients who want me to. I especially enjoy seeing the kids. They’re little troopers. It gives you hope for the world.”

  Grandma smiled and glanced over at Molly again. “They certainly are,” she said. “Molly has been giving me hope for the world since the day she was born. I had lost a little of that where her mother was concerned, I’m afraid.”

  “Where is her mom?” I asked, not knowing if I was stepping over some kind of boundary or not. But, I figured her grandmother would tell me if I was.

  Grandma looked sad, and then I felt really bad for asking. Then she said, “I don’t really know. Last time we talked to her she was in Georgia. She travels…a lot. She left Molly with me when she was two, and we’ve only seen her once since then…a few years ago. It was awkward for both of them; they don’t really have a bond any longer.”

  “Oh,” I said, trying to think of something more profound to say. It didn’t come. Poor Molly. First she was abandoned by her own mother and then…this, whatever this was. I wondered about her dad, but didn’t ask. As it turned out, I didn’t have to. Her grandma wasn’t finished.

  “Molly never knew her father. I don’t even know who he was. Thank the Lord that Molly turned out as well as she did. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

  “You’ve done a great job,” I said. I wished Molly would wake up, but then I didn’t. She hadn’t told me she was sick, I doubt she was going to be happy to see me. I tried to tell myself that I should go, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Grandma was smiling and she said, “How do you know Molly?”

  “I go to school here at the university,” I told her. “My roommate is Molly’s best friend’s boyfriend.” That was a mouthful.

  “Megan’s boyfriend,” Grandma said with another smile. “I met Jake once. He seems like a good boy. Megan is like another daughter to me. She’s a good girl.”

  “Yes, I like Megan a lot. Jake’s okay too,” I told her. We both looked back over at Molly. She looked so small and pale against the white sheets and her dark hair. I wondered what Grandma would think if I told her how much I liked her daughter. So far the longish hair and tattoos didn’t seem to be offending her, but then she didn’t know how badly I wanted to date her granddaughter.

  “Megan brought her here and called me. I’m sure that Molly told her not to. Sometimes she gets our roles mixed up and she wants to be the one who does all the worrying. I told her that was my job, and even my right as her grandmother.”

  I laughed, “Yeah that sounds like Molly. She’s always thinking.”

  “Too much sometimes, I’m afraid,” Grandma said. “I tell her she’s too serious. She needs to be a kid before the time has passed and she’s forced to be a grown-up. I try to help her more so that she doesn’t have to work. I told her that I don’t mind, and it would free her up to do more college things. But she says she won’t have me working two jobs while she’s not even working one. I’m afraid she’s over-doing it.”

  “I think she wants to be independent very badly,” I said. I was thinking now about her telling me that she didn’t want a boyfriend and wondering how much of that was not wanting to have to tell me she was sick. It was so strange, because I could not only understand that, I could identify with it. I didn’t like telling people that I was sick because no matter how good I was doing, they still treated me differently. I knew that it was with good intentions, and also jus
t because most of the time people just didn’t know what to say or do. But it was frustrating nonetheless

  “Brock,” Grandma was saying, “Will you be here for a while?”

  “I can be, if that’s okay,” I told her. What I didn’t say was, “Hitch up the wild horses and see if they could drag me away.” I think she got the point.

  “That’s fine,” Grandma said. “I have a few errands and I didn’t want to leave her alone. I won’t be long, just an hour or two.”

  “I won’t leave,” I told her. Then I grinned and said, “Even if she tries to throw me out when she wakes up.”

  Grandma laughed then and said, “It’s likely son. Stay tough.”

  “I will. Mrs. Lewis?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

  The old lady put her hand on my face then and said, “You seem like a nice boy. Thank you for staying with her.”

  If she only knew…had she tried to kick me out, she may have had to physically remove me. I didn’t just want to be here when she woke up…whatever the consequences, I needed to be here. My chest was aching just seeing her in the bed. I had to see for myself that she was okay. I sat down in the chair next to her bed where her grandmother had been sitting earlier. The paleness of her skin was a stark contrast to the burgundy of the blood they were pumping into her. I looked up at the bag to see what type she was. She was AB positive, the same as me. I whispered, “See I knew I was your type.” I was glad she was asleep; that one was really corny.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Molly

  I opened my eyes to the strip of fluorescent lights above me. The lights were off, but because they were there, I knew that I wasn’t in my room at the dorm. I looked to my right and saw the tube going into my arm, attached to the bags of clear fluid and blood. I was in the hospital…again. I remembered now. Megan brought me here because I was feeling weak, and the doctor didn’t have good news…and Grandma was here. I turned my head to where she was supposed to be and imagine my surprise when instead of my grandmother, I was looking at Brock.

  “What are you doing here?” I said a bit too harshly, maybe. “Did Megan call you?”

  I was instantly mad. How dare she? All of this time she hadn’t told anyone and the one person I most especially didn’t want her to tell was now sitting at my bedside…in the hospital.

  “No, Molly,” he was saying as I cursed poor innocent Megan in my head. “Megan didn’t tell me. I was here, in the hospital. I play music for the patients sometimes. I saw you.”

  I felt bad for snapping at him, and I felt bad for accusing Megan. I felt bad period. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want Brock of all people to see me like this. “I’m sorry. Where’s my grandmother?”

  “She had to run a few errands. She said she should be back soon. Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’m fine. What did my grandmother tell you?” I asked him. I doubted she told him anything but I’m sure he asked. I couldn’t even look at him.

  “Molly look at me, please.” I wanted to tell him to leave, but I wanted him to stay. I know that’s weird.

  “No one told me anything. Your grandmother was really nice, but she said that if there is anything to be told, you should be the one to do it. You can tell me, Molly. You can trust me.”

  I was looking at his beautiful blue eyes and they were earnestly telling me that I could trust him. He didn’t want to hurt me…I just blurted it out…. “I have cancer.” Then I looked at his face and waited for…something. Whatever I expected though was not what he gave me. I knew Brock well enough by now to know that he wasn’t like other people.

  “I kind of figured that out,” he said, “because of the oncology unit and all. What kind of cancer do you have Molly. Did they just find it?”

  “It’s called renal cell carcinoma, and I was diagnosed when I was sixteen. They did chemo and radiation and they thought they had gotten it all. It hadn’t spread anywhere so the doctor said I was lucky. I was in remission for just over a year and this summer, it came back. I had one kidney removed already. The one I have left has cancer in it now. We’ve been trying some new drugs that the university is experimenting with, that’s why I chose to come here…” I considered whether or not to tell him what Dr. Harris had told me earlier, but I decided against it for now. Instead I just said, “I let myself get dehydrated. I usually take better care of myself than that. My hemoglobin gets low sometimes because my kidneys don’t produce red blood cells like they’re supposed to, so that’s what the blood’s about. I’m fine though.”

  He looked like he was processing that. I knew from experience that most people our age didn’t know much about cancer. Most of them thought cancer meant death. I don’t expect our friendship to be the same now. At first, he’ll be super nice, asking if there’s anything he can do for me or anything I need. Then he’ll just stop calling so much, or coming around so often. When he did call, or we got together, conversation would be awkward and stilted, because he would be hesitant to talk about things that he was afraid I might not be able to do because of my dreaded cancer. I had seen it all before. So far, Grandma and Megan were the only ones that it hadn’t affected that way.

  “Is the new chemo working?” he asked. I was surprised at his use of the word chemo. I had just told him we were trying new meds. Usually, people unfamiliar with cancer only call it chemo when you go to the hospital and get an IV. Maybe he was close to someone who’d had cancer. Sometimes that can be worse. I went to high school with a guy whose father ended up dying from bladder cancer. I know he wasn’t trying to upset me, but he used to tell me every detail of his dad’s treatments and surgeries, right up to his father’s death. That’s just not exactly what a chick with cancer wants to hear.

  “I guess…” I lied. “When did you say my grandmother is coming back?”

  I hate this. Things with Brock, other than the whole awkward kiss thing had been so normal.

  “She should be back soon,” he said again. “Do you not want to talk about this? Your cancer?”

  “No,” I told him, “I really don’t.”

  “Okay, then we won’t. How about a song? Anything you want to hear?”

  “You pick,” I told him.

  Then I closed my eyes and within seconds he was singing to me:

  “Her eyes, her eyes, they make the stars look like they’re not shining. Her hair, her hair, falls perfectly without her trying. I know, I know when I compliment her she won’t believe me…..”

  Bruno Mars. Damn this guy is good.

  “Cause you’re amazing just the way you are.”

  I wanted to cry but I didn’t want him to see me. I had to wonder if he really felt that way about me. Did he really think I was that beautiful? Would he still think so if I had to go through harsher chemo and I lost my hair again? What about when I’m puking in that pretty pink bucket; would I still be amazing? I opened my eyes as he finished the song. He was looking at me intently again. I didn’t like that. I preferred the amused look.

  “That was pretty, thank you,” I told him.

  “You’re pretty,” he said. It was so hard to breathe when he was in the room. Grandma came back then, thank God.

  Brock jumped out of the chair and Grandma said, “You don’t have to get up. I heard you singing when I got off the elevator. You have a beautiful voice.”

  He blushed. He actually turned red. It was so damned cute.

  “Thank you,” he told her. He looked back at me, and I had the feeling that he wanted me to tell him to stay. I didn’t want him to though. The blood was almost empty, and the nurses would be in soon, and Dr. Harris would be back. I moved my leg and felt the catheter. Oh God, I have a tube in my bladder and the hottest guy in the world is standing here looking at me.

  “It was beautiful, Brock. Thank you. Hi, Grandma.” She had two big bags of stuff. “What’s in the bags?” I asked her.

  “I just got you some things you might need. A couple of nightg
owns, a robe and some slippers…toiletries…”

  “Grandma, I have all of that stuff in my dorm room. It’s five minutes away and Megan would have brought it to me. You shouldn’t spend more money on me.”

  “It’s my money,” my grandmother said, “I’ll spend it how I like.” I could see Brock grinning out of the corner of my eye. I wondered again what they had talked about when I was sleeping. My IV pump started beeping then. We all looked at the same time.

  “It’s empty,” Brock said. “I’ll get the nurse.”

  When he left the room my grandmother said, “He’s a nice boy.”

  “Yeah, he is,” I said. “Grandma when the nurses come back in, I don’t want Brock to be here, okay? Will you please ask him to go?”

  My grandmother laughed. “Me?” she said. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  “Have you seen those blue eyes?” I asked her. “I can hardly remember my own name around him sometimes. Please Grandma.”

  She shook her head at me, but I knew she would do it. She went out into the hall, and when Brock came back in he said that he had to get going.

  “Do you need me to go by your dorm and get anything for you?” he asked.

  “I’m alright,” I told him. “Grandma bought me everything I needed I’m sure. Thank you for being here Brock, and for the song.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “You’ll call me if you need anything…right? Even some company?”

  “Yes,” I lied again. “Bye.”

  He said bye, and as I watched him go, my heart physically ached.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brock

  My head was reeling as I walked back out to my bike. I woke up this morning with the most beautiful girl in the world in my arms, on top of the world. Now suddenly, I find out that she has the same affliction as me…kind of. How did I not know? I guess the answer to that is as simple as how she doesn’t know about me; she didn’t want me to know. Probably, I’m sure for the same reasons that I didn’t want to tell her about my own cancer. It just gets weird for people, and new relationships are the worst.