by Nina Lane
What if I lose those sensations completely? What if I never experience this kind of pleasure with my husband again?
I try to block such thoughts, but it’s impossible.
Dean bends to slide one arm beneath my legs. He lifts me against him, his muscular chest warm and damp. I wind my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder. He carries me to the bedroom.
I don’t let go of him as he lowers me onto the bed, and then he stretches out beside me. We look at each other for a long moment, tension and heat still coloring the air between us. Dean brushes my hair away from my face and presses his lips against my forehead, then down to my eyelids, my cheeks, my nose, my mouth.
He moves his hands to my breasts, stroking my body with warm gentleness. He lowers his head to kiss my neck and the hollow of my throat.
I watch him, my anxiety slipping away at the lovely sight of my husband worshipping my body. He slides his hands over the curves of my waist and hips, down to my thighs, and then follows the path with his mouth.
I sink into his touch, letting him ease my fear, absorbing the sensation of his lips on my skin, the fine-grain sandpaper of his stubble, the assured, smooth glide of his palms. I reach out to press my fingers into his thick hair and stroke my hand down the side of his face. Comfort and love flood me as our eyes meet again.
Dean moves back up to enfold me in the protective circle of his arms. I curl against him, settling my head on his chest as our bodies fit seamlessly together. And then it’s like a cool breeze ruffling through floral curtains, like the scent of fresh morning mist, like dipping your feet in the lake on a hot summer day, like finishing a really good book.
I need you to breathe.
I close my eyes and breathe in time with the rhythm of my husband’s heartbeat.
CHAPTER TWENTY
DEAN
December 19
SURGERY. LIV’S SURGERY.
I try to tell myself that in the grand scheme of surgeries people can have, a lumpectomy is not that horrible. The reason for it sends me into a rage, and the unknowns still lurk like monsters, but the actual surgery isn’t as invasive as many others.
“I can still go with you,” Nicholas offers, as he watches Liv making a sandwich for his lunchbox.
Liv smiles and bends to press her lips against his hair. “Thank you, sweetie, but I’ll be fine.”
Her comment eases my own tension. She’ll be fine. Of course she will. There’s no other option here. No other ending.
Kelsey stops by the house at six to pick up the kids, even though neither one is ready to go. She’s carrying a wicker basket overflowing with violets. Nestled in the greenery are a dozen silk butterflies, the wings so delicate they move as if they’re alive.
“Found it on the front porch,” Kelsey says.
“Oh, how lovely.” Liv’s expression softens with pleasure as she turns the basket around to look at the flowers from all sides.
“A butterfly present.” Bella hurries over from the sunroom and climbs onto a stool. “Are they real?”
“No, they’re made of silk, Snowbell,” I tell her.
“Maybe we’ll get real butterflies,” Nicholas says. “And we could build the greenhouse.”
He looks at me pointedly, not having given up his quest to revive Leonard Morris’s butterfly garden.
“Maybe one day,” I tell him, not wanting to dash his hopes entirely.
“Do you know who’s sending them?” Kelsey asks.
I shake my head, though increasingly I suspect either Florence Wickham or one of Liv’s mom friends have something to do with this.
“It’s a mystery.” Nicholas grabs a spoon, pretending to use it as a magnifying glass as he peers at the bouquet. “We need to start dusting for fingerprints.”
“Come on, Sherlock.” Kelsey ruffles Nicholas’s hair. “Go get dressed. I’m taking you and Bella to breakfast at the Pancake House.”
“Really? Woot!” Nicholas does a little celebratory thing that looks vaguely like the chicken dance. “Can I have chocolate milk and chocolate-chip pancakes with whipped cream?”
“Sure, but don’t tell your mom.” Kelsey flashes Liv a grin.
“Sprinkles,” Bella shouts.
“Is Uncle Archer coming with us?” Nicholas asks, still flapping his arms victoriously.
“He’s meeting us there.”
“Let’s go, kids,” Liv says. “Don’t want to miss out filling up on sugar before school. Lucky teachers.”
Nicholas and Bella rush upstairs ahead of her. Kelsey pours herself a cup of coffee and joins me at the table, her laser-blue gaze seeing right through me.
“You want me to come to the hospital to wait with you after I drop the kids at school?” she asks.
“No, I’ll be okay.”
Kelsey takes a sip of coffee, still eyeing me with too much perception.
“Do you remember when I went a little nuts after my father died?” she asks. “Partying too much, bad relationships, cursing the world.”
“I remember.”
“You dogged me like the stubborn ass you are, refusing to let me push you away no matter how hard I tried,” Kelsey continues. “And when you realized you couldn’t get me through it alone, you called in the cavalry.”
I almost smile. “Your mother.”
“No way could I battle both you and her,” Kelsey says, shaking her head in amusement. “It was a great thing you did. I didn’t think so at the time, but if it hadn’t been for you and her, I might never have straightened out.”
“Yeah, you would have.”
“I know I’m amazing, but this isn’t about me.” She nudges my leg under the table. “My point is that you’ve asked for help before, Dean. You can do it again.”
Though I know she means well, irritation crawls through me. I’m not the one who needs help right now. Not even close.
“Dean—”
“We hired a nanny to help with the kids.”
“I’m not talking about the kids.”
I shake my head, blocking her concern. “Forget it, Kelsey. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” She leans closer, her eyes flashing with determination. “You’re acting like you’re fine because that’s what you do, but you’re angry and scared and you don’t want to put the burden of all that on Liv. So you’re going into full action mode to deal with this. And Liv is struggling enough as it is, so between that and the kids, she can’t figure out how to help you too. So I’m here to tell you that you can’t give her another reason to worry. You need a cavalry too.”
“Look.” Every muscle in my body tightens in defense—not because of what she’s saying but because she has to say it at all. “I’m fine. If I need your help, I’ll ask.”
“I’m just saying that—”
“Jesus, Kelsey.” I drag my hands down my face. “Why the hell does Archer want to marry you?”
Regret stabs me the second the words are out of my mouth. Snapping at my best friend sure as hell isn’t going to make anything better. Then Kelsey laughs and reaches out to squeeze my arm.
“Touché,” she says. “All right, I’ll leave you alone. But please, for the love of God, don’t run yourself into the ground trying to be the hero.”
I push away from the table and go into the kitchen, smothering another wave of frustration. I can’t run myself into the ground trying to be the hero because I can’t even be the fucking hero at all. I can’t do anything. So what the hell do I need help for?
There’s a clatter on the stairs as the kids come hurrying down, dressed and ready to go.
“Okay, rug rats.” Kelsey rises to put her mug in the sink. “Grab your stuff and let’s go before Uncle Archer eats all the pancakes.”
Bella and Nicholas barrel toward the front door to put on their shoes and coats. Kelsey turns
to Liv, her expression sobering. They reach for each other at the same time.
“It’ll be okay.” Liv tightens her arms around Kelsey. “I can handle it.”
“Yeah, you’re a tough girl.”
“I learned from the best.”
They hold each other for a minute before Liv detaches herself slowly. Kelsey takes hold of the sides of Liv’s head and looks into her eyes. She whispers something, too low for me to hear.
Liv nods, her eyes glassing over before she manages a tremulous smile. She wipes her eyes and turns, taking a deep breath before going to help the kids finish getting ready.
Kelsey looks at me. “We’re a phone call away, Professor Marvel.”
“I know. Thanks.”
I walk with her to the front door. The tightness in my chest intensifies as Liv and I hug Nicholas and Bella goodbye. Liv’s embrace is so prolonged and tight that eventually both kids squirm a little to be released.
They trot out the door on either side of Kelsey. Bella’s ponytail swings behind her. Nicholas jumps over a puddle on the way to the car.
As soon as they drive away, Liv takes her coat from the closet. “Let’s do it, professor.”
Despite her ready words, nervousness simmers in her eyes as she buttons her coat and winds a scarf around her neck. We drive to the hospital, and the nurse lets me stay with Liv as she is prepped for the surgery.
I sit beside the bed. Everything that happens tightens the cold knot of tension in my throat.
The flimsy hospital gown. The check of Liv’s vital stats. The IV needle sticking into her vein. The nurse telling her to take off her jewelry.
Liv unclasps the Fortune Favors the Brave necklace from around her neck. She gives it to me and reaches for her wedding ring. Her hand is shaking.
I lean closer and take her hand, slipping the ring off her finger. I enclose her ring in my fist, the silver band warm against my palm.
Dr. Turner stops by, and his reassuring calm seems to alleviate some of Liv’s anxiety.
Doesn’t do a damn thing for mine, though.
“Mr. West, we’ll be taking her in now,” the nurse says, putting her hand on my shoulder.
I get to my feet. The nurse leaves us. Liv lifts her head and gives me a faint smile.
“You want to feel me up one last time, professor?” she asks.
I slide my hand to the back of her neck and lower my head to kiss her.
“I plan to feel you up countless times for the rest of our lives, Mrs. West,” I say, resting my forehead against hers. “We’re years away from any last time. You go in there and get this done like the warrior you are. When you come out, I’ll be waiting for you.”
She curls her hands around my wrists. “I love you.”
“I love you, beauty. My heart goes with you.”
“Mine stays with you.”
There are a thousand other things I want to tell her—don’t be scared, everything will be fine, I will not let this evil hurt you anymore—but then the nurse is speaking again, and an orderly approaches to take my wife away.
I watch her go, the IV attached to her arm, the wheels of the hospital bed creaking. My vision blurs. A combination of helpless anger and pain tighten my throat. I would give anything to be in her place.
Take me, dammit. Take me in there, cut me open, rip out my insides—do whatever you want to me, but leave her alone. Christ in heaven, leave my wife alone. Don’t make her go through this.
The door closes behind her.
I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and inhale a few hard breaths before I walk slowly down the corridor. I’m still holding her ring in my left fist. I slip it into my pocket, and my fingers touch a piece of paper. I pull it out to find a drawing:
I manage to smile—because even now, Liv will know if her note made me smile—and put the drawing back into my pocket.
I stop at the entrance to the waiting room. Archer is sitting in a chair, one work boot propped on a table, his head bent as he checks his phone.
“Archer?”
He glances up. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I approach him. “What are you doing here?”
He points his chin toward the sign that says Waiting Room. “Waiting.”
“Oh.”
“They get Liv in okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, putting my hand on the outside of my pocket to feel the circle of Liv’s wedding ring. “They also have to check her lymph nodes, so the surgery should take a couple hours.”
“Figured you might need something to keep you busy.” Archer reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out a deck of cards. “Remember how to play Old Maid?”
“Are you kidding?” I sit across from him. “I play Old Maid with Nicholas at least once a week. I’m a pro.”
“Yeah? Prove it.” Archer moves aside some magazines on the table between us, then shuffles and deals the cards.
I try to concentrate on the game, grateful for the distraction. After a few games, we switch to War and Go Fish. The clock ticks with excruciating slowness. Every second past the one-hour mark feels like an eternity, and I fight the fear that it will take longer because something else is wrong.
Archer and I take a break from cards and walk to the vending machine. We get a couple of coffees and return to continue waiting. The clock ticks past the two-hour mark. I watch Archer as he gets out his phone to text someone—likely Kelsey.
“Liv tells me Kelsey is still saying no to your marriage proposal,” I say.
“Yeah.” Archer gives me a half grin as he stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “But she’s not saying no to me.”
I shake my head. “Man, I don’t get it. You love someone that much, you get married. What’s her problem? Liv said yes right away… well, even though my first proposal was lame.”
“We’re not you and Liv,” Archer reminds me. “You didn’t go through what we did. And you didn’t have a fan club and producers trying to ratchet up your ratings for a TV show.”
“What’s that got to do with marrying your girl?”
“Nothing. That’s the point. But Kelsey still needs to figure that out.” Archer shrugs. “No matter what else comes along, it’s always been about me and her, you know?”
I do know. More than I can even say.
“Dean?” A male voice comes from the corridor.
Archer and I look up as the surgeon enters the room. I can’t read his expression. A knot tightens in my chest, every nerve ending jumping to full alert. Time stretches and expands as Dr. Turner crosses to where we’re sitting.
“The surgery went well,” he says, sitting in a chair beside me. “Liv is in recovery.”
My heart is beating too fast. I have that panicked sense of imminent danger.
Something is wrong.
“Are there any results yet?” I ask.
“The pathologist did a quick assessment of the sentinel node.” The doctor’s expression doesn’t change. “The preliminary results did show the presence of cancer cells, so I removed more lymph nodes for testing.”
My blood freezes. The walls close in on me from all sides, the floor and ceiling compressing and crushing the air from my lungs.
“And?” Archer asks the doctor.
“Three of the nodes tested positive for cancer,” Dr. Turner says. “The last three were negative.”
“That… that means it’s spread,” I manage to say.
“To three nodes. They’ll undergo more testing along with the tumor itself. Then we need to make a decision about further surgery and treatment.”
I lower my elbows to my knees and pull in a ragged breath. I’ve done the research. I know that lymph node positive breast cancer means a worse prognosis.
Past the roaring in my ears, I hear Archer’s voice again as he speaks to the doctor.
“Can he see her yet?”
“Yes.” Dr. Turner pushes to his feet. “Dean, I’ll take you in to her. The pathologist will give us a more detailed report as soon as possible.”
I start to follow him out, then turn back to Archer. His expression is grave. I try to say something, but the words stick in my throat as if they’re choking me. Archer shakes his head.
“Go on, man,” he says. “I’ll call Kelsey and see you later.”
I manage to get the word “thanks” out before following the doctor to the recovery room. There are a dozen questions I need to ask in response to what he just told me—but right now, I only want to see my wife.
She looks impossibly vulnerable lying against the stark white pillows of the hospital bed, her eyes closed. There’s an IV still stuck in her arm, an oxygen cannula under her nose, and a white bandage visible beneath her gown.
I pull a chair up to the side of the bed and touch her hand. Her eyelashes flutter. She opens her eyes and turns to face me.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi.” I cover her hand with mine. “How do you feel?”
“Lighter,” she says wryly.
I manage a hoarse chuckle and rest my forehead against her hip. She winds her fingers into my hair.
“Really, though,” she says, “it does feel like he took something bad out of me.”
“He did.”
Her fingers tighten on my hair. “Do we know anything about the lymph nodes yet?”
I curl my fist into her cotton gown. I almost don’t tell her. If I don’t tell her, maybe it won’t be real. Maybe it will just go the fuck away.
“Dean?”
“They… they had to remove six lymph nodes.” I force my fingers to spread over her thigh, feeling the warmth of her body beneath the hospital gown. “Three of them tested positive. But only three.”
Liv doesn’t respond. I lift my head to look at her. Her eyes are closed. I straighten, reaching out to brush away the tear trickling down into her hair.
