Always (Spiral of Bliss #7)

by Nina Lane

  “We’ll send Bella out to scare them all away.”

  Nicholas chuckles. “What if Darth Vader and Lex Luthor and the Joker and Magneto and Voldemort attack us?”

  “Your mother will invite them in for tea and cookies, and next thing you know, they’ll all be good guys.”

  That brings a smile out of him. “Mom does make great cookies.”

  “Yes, she does. And she’ll make some again for you soon. Any kind you want.”

  His smile widens. The cloud around my heart lifts. I press my lips against his forehead.

  “That’s how much we love each other,” I say. “And that’s what you need to focus on. If you get scared, you come and tell me. We’ll figure out how to deal with it together, okay?”

  “Okay.” The worried expression on his face eases as he snuggles under the covers. “G’night, Dad.”

  “Night, buddy. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I wait for him to shift around and get comfortable before I turn off the light and head into Bella’s room to say goodnight to her. I go back downstairs, taking the baby monitor with me so I can hear if either of them call.

  Claire is in the kitchen, washing the mixing bowls and cleaning the counters. She glances at me over her shoulder.

  “They get to sleep okay?” she asks.

  “More or less.” I walk to the door leading to the spiral staircase. “I’m going to get some bills paid. You need anything?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  I climb the stairs to my tower office, sit at the desk, and turn on the computer. As it boots up, I check in on Liv. The nurse says she’s sleeping, but that her last blood counts were better. I hope to God that means she can come home tomorrow.

  I log into a few different accounts and pay bills, then stop just short of searching for information about infections during chemo. My eyes are heavy and itchy with fatigue.

  I look at the framed photos on my desk—pictures of Nicholas and Bella, of Liv with them in front of the Duomo in Florence, and one of Liv alone that I’d taken during our honeymoon. She’s seated at an outdoor café on the Rue Danton.

  Unlike the photo in my office on campus, Liv isn’t smiling at the camera in this photo. She’s looking out onto the street, her profile etched against the window behind her, a scarf wound around her throat. Her hair loose and messy. Just the way I like it.

  Ah, my Liv.

  I push away from the desk, strip off my T-shirt, and lie down on the sofa. I can’t stand the thought of sleeping—or lying awake—in bed without Liv there. Without the peaches-and-cream scent of her, the press of her body, the sound of her breathing.

  How many times has she woken when I’ve gotten into bed? How many times has she reached over to slide her hand across my chest, down beneath the waistband of my pajama pants? How many times have I turned to her in the middle of the night, waking her with the pressure of my hand on her hip, watching her eyelashes flutter open and her mouth curve with a smile?

  How many times have we fallen together, crashing into each other, our mouths meeting in a hot, hungry kiss that fired us with lust?

  Countless times. Countless.

  I drag a hand down my face, feeling my body tense as erotic thoughts push into my mind—Liv riding me, her beautiful breasts bouncing and her skin flushed pink. Her perfect ass in front of me, her legs open wide as she takes the thrust of my cock. The little moans and gasps streaming from her throat, the tightening of her pussy as she comes.

  My dick twitches. I slide my hand down to rub it. Aside from jerking off a few times for pure release, I haven’t given sex much thought in recent months.

  I’ve noticed it, though—the proliferation of ads with half-naked couples embracing, the busty models plastered over the windows of the lingerie shop at the mall, the free condom distribution on campus. I’ve noticed the pretty girls at the coffeehouses as they shed their coats to reveal fitted sweaters and low-cut shirts that display their cleavage, their long legs clad in wool tights beneath their short skirts.

  Yeah, I notice. Not because I want them, but because I don’t. I want my warm, gorgeous wife back with her soft body that fits so goddamned perfectly against mine. I want to scrape my rough cheek against her pale skin and hear her laugh. I want to run my hands over her hips, caress her breasts, squeeze her round ass.

  I want her.

  So, apparently, does my cock.

  With a muffled groan, I rub my growing erection harder. Somehow it feels disingenuous to jerk off while Liv is in the hospital. I force my hand away from my groin and close my eyes. Breathe.

  Tomorrow she’ll be home. And sometime this summer, she’ll be healthy. She’ll gain back the weight she’s lost. Her hair will grow back. She’ll wear her wedding ring again. Her voice, her presence, will fill the Butterfly House.

  Exactly the way it should be.

  “Oh my god, Dean…”

  She’s naked on the bed, all voluptuous and sexy with her arms above her head and her knees raised to open herself for me. Her moan combined with the look in her eyes—shocked, dazed, aroused—floods me with heat. I slide my dick into her sweet, warm pussy, like a key fitting into a well-oiled lock.

  “Oh, yes,” Liv gasps, bringing her hands to her breasts and twisting her stiff nipples. “Fuck me deep…Jesus, Dean, I can feel you pulsing inside me…”

  I press my hands against her knees to open her wider. Already I want to start driving into her as hard and fast as I can, claiming her, owning her. I want her to clench around me and beg for more. I want her to…

  “Dean?”

  My eyes snap open. I’m breathing hard. I might be sweating.

  “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you were…”

  The female voice trails off. It takes me a second to realize Claire is standing a few feet away, the office door open behind her. Her gaze darts over my face, down my bare chest, and then lingers on my obvious hard-on.

  Shit.

  I grab my discarded T-shirt and drop it over my groin. Claire blushes, taking a few steps backward.

  “Sorry, I…uh, didn’t know you were sleeping,” she says, gesturing vaguely behind her. “I knocked but you didn’t hear me, obviously. I’m…I’ll just go back downstairs.”

  She turns and hurries away. I drag my hands over my face and groan. Now our young nanny thinks her employer is a pervert. I take a few breaths and wait for my dick to calm down.

  I pull my shirt back on and go to the kitchen, where Claire is intently scrubbing the counter. I smother a wave of embarrassment as I wonder how the hell to tackle this one.

  “I came up to tell you I made coffee,” she says, pointing to the coffeepot. “And to see if you want some. There are also those butterfly cookies someone left for you.”

  “No, thanks.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Look, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  She blinks. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. You never have.”

  “Oh. Okay. Good.”

  I feel like I should say more, but what? An explanation will only make things worse. “So I was having a hot dream about my wife…”

  I go back toward the staircase.

  “Dean?”

  Claire sounds closer. I turn to find her standing behind me.

  “I figured I’d stay another night, if you want me to,” she says.

  “Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I can handle it.”

  “It’s really not a problem.”

  The air crackles with something strange. Something I don’t like.

  “Is the porch light on?” I move past Claire to the foyer. “Be careful walking out to your car. I noticed a couple of the flagstones are loose.”

  I stop to turn on the switch for the outside lights. Then I feel her hand on my back.

  My blood goes cold.

  “I’m really sorry for everything you’re going through,” she says.

  “Uh, thanks.” I step forward to get away from her, but the wall blocks my escape.r />
  “I don’t think many people realize that caregivers have it rough too,” she continues, and then her breasts nudge against my arm. “I just want you to know I’m here however you need me to be.”

  I’ve read enough books and articles. I know after a breast cancer diagnosis, some asshole men commit infidelity and/or walk out on their wives. I don’t know how often it happens, or who besides the lowest, most pathetic scum could conduct that level of betrayal, but it happens.

  Until this second, though, I haven’t consciously realized that other women are also guilty of the affairs. I especially haven’t considered they might even instigate them.

  “If you ever need someone to talk to or anything else, Dean,” Claire continues. “Just let me know.”

  Her hand slides under my shirt, and the touch of her fingers on my skin jolts me away from her. Rage boils through me.

  I turn, barely restraining myself from shoving her away. She blinks and takes a step back.

  “Get out.” My voice shakes with anger. “Get the fuck out of my house right now.”

  All the color drains from her face.

  “Dean, I was just—”

  “Get out!”

  The order fires out of me like a curse. Claire takes a step backward.

  “I…I need to get my stuff,” she stammers.

  “Then do it and get the fuck out.”

  She turns and hurries up the stairs. Not wanting her to go near my kids, I follow her. Anger and disgust burn like acid inside me. I stop in the doorway of the guest bedroom.

  “What the hell kind of person are you?” I snap, my fists clenching.

  She stares at me, stricken. Her eyes fill with tears. “I was…I just wanted to take care of you.”

  “I don’t need you to fucking take care of me.”

  “Yes, you do,” she cries, wiping her cheeks. “You…you’re so sad all the time, and everyone is paying all this attention to Liv, and no one is doing anything for you. But obviously you have needs. I just wanted to make you feel better.”

  “Everyone is paying attention to my wife because she has cancer, for god’s sake.”

  “I know! But you don’t.”

  “Damn right I don’t. And nothing you say or do will ever make me feel better.”

  Claire picks up her bag, choking back a sob. I step aside and point to the stairs. She goes past me to the foyer and takes her coat from the closet.

  “I’m sorry.” She sniffles, pulling a tissue out of her coat pocket and wiping her nose. “I mean, I’m not a home wrecker or anything. I love your kids, and I really like Liv, and I…okay, I guess I have a little crush on you, but I wasn’t trying to steal you or anything. I just wanted to…I really wanted to take care of you.”

  More tears spill down her cheeks. Some of my anger fades, but only because I’ve been angry for months now on Liv’s behalf—and Claire’s misguided schoolgirl crush isn’t worth more of it.

  I sigh and drag a hand over my face. “Look, you’ve been great with the kids and we appreciate all you’ve done, but you need to go.”

  She nods, her face reddening with humiliation. “Could you…uh, could you not tell Liv about this?”

  “I have to.”

  Claire’s chin trembles. “She’ll hate me.”

  “She’ll be disappointed in you,” I correct, reaching past her to open the front door. “She won’t hate you.”

  “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

  “All right, Claire.” Exhaustion hits me. “Get home safely. I’ll put your last paycheck in the mail tomorrow.”

  She hurries past me, wiping away another spill of tears. I close the door behind her and go upstairs, worried that the commotion might have woken the kids. Thankfully both of them are still sound asleep. I pull their covers up and return to the kitchen.

  I take out my phone and text Liv, even though I know she’s sleeping.

  Dean: I love you like eggs love bacon.

  I press the send button. My lingering anger fades at the thought that the message will be waiting for her when she wakes. Then a return message pings onto the screen.

  Liv: I can’t wait for you to have me over-easy.

  Dean: You’d better not be yolk-ing.

  Liv: Well, it’s been a while since I got laid.

  Dean: Now I’m getting hard-boiled.

  Liv: You crack me up.

  Dean: You’re eggs-quisite.

  Liv: You’re eggs-traordinary.

  Dean: I love you, beauty.

  Liv: I love you, professor.

  Chapter 35

  Olivia

  “Welcome hooome!”

  Bella and Nicholas dance around me like fireflies as we walk into the house, and their excitement infuses me with happiness and renewed energy. Bunches of multicolored balloons float like huge flowers from the backs of chairs, streamers curl from the doorways and windows, and big signs saying, “Welcome home, Mommy!” decorate the walls.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful.” I bend to hug my jumping children. “Thank you so much. I’m so happy to be home.”

  I thought I’d finally understood the concept of home over the years, but all this hospital and doctor business has given me a whole new appreciation for what it really means.

  Dean took both kids out of school early so they could come to the hospital to bring me home, and we spend the entire afternoon together. I’m determined not to let exhaustion and weakness interfere, so we play in the garden, have milk and cookies, read books, draw pictures, and settle in for the evening with our usual routine of dinner, baths, and bedtime. Never before had I known how much I would love such an ordinary ritual.

  Dean told me earlier that he “had to let Claire go,” and aside from demanding an instant assurance that she hadn’t done anything to Nicholas or Bella, I didn’t want to hash out the issue until we were alone. So I wait until after the children are in bed before bringing up the subject.

  “I don’t get it.” I set new bottles of lotion on the bathroom counter and return to the bedroom. “Why did you fire her?”

  Dean is sitting in the armchair in a corner of the bedroom, his expression unreadable.

  “She…uh, well, she had kind of a crush on me,” he admits after an uncomfortable silence. “She made that unfortunately clear.”

  I blink in surprise. “A crush on you?”

  “She apologized, but it would have been too weird to keep her here,” he continues. “And with the kids involved…no.”

  I fold the travel bag slowly, suppressing a surge of anger toward a girl who would make a crush on a man clear while the man’s wife is battling breast cancer.

  Dean pushes to his feet and crosses the room to me. He rests his hands on my shoulders and presses his forehead against mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s fucked up, I know. I went ballistic before I realized she had some sort of complex about me. So I just told her to leave. She won’t be back.”

  “What about the kids?”

  “I talked to them this morning,” he says. “I think they’re a little confused, but we’d told them already that Claire would only be helping for a short time, so I don’t think they’d gotten too attached to her. I know we still need help. I’ll figure it out, I promise.”

  I close my eyes. I’m angry Claire would do that to me, but it’s certainly not the first time I’ve had to contend with a young woman making an advance toward my husband.

  And now, of all times—I can’t help thinking, knowing, that if this treatment doesn’t work, or if an infection digs deep into my body, or if we discover the cancer has spread beyond my lymph nodes and I…well, women would line right up at Dean’s door.

  How would I feel about that? Selfishly, I never want him to be with anyone else, but more than that, I want him to live a rich, fulfilling life.

  Even without me, I want him to be happy. Not with someone like Claire, of course, but with…

  No.

  How could he ever be with another woman? He’s mine. Dean
West has always been mine, always will be mine. We’re Liv and Dean, not Dean and…someone else. He was waiting for me even before we first met. I hadn’t known how desperately I needed him, but then he was there. No one else can have him. Ever.

  The dark cloud threatens again, pushing against the bubble of happiness that has filled me over being home again.

  I turn away from Dean, blocking an unwanted image of exactly how Claire might have made her crush on him clear.

  Did she try to kiss him? Show off her cleavage? Touch him in a way she shouldn’t have? All of the above?

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—a turban wrapped around my bald head, my body too thin, my insides ravaged by caustic drugs, antibiotics, infection. I brush my hand unconsciously over my breasts, feeling the burn of the scar.

  I don’t like feeling vain, but I miss my hair. My skin is so dry it’s starting to crack, my left breast is misshapen from the surgery, and the weight loss has left me looking almost frail. My body feels alien, like it no longer belongs to me.

  I miss feeling strong, miss being able to walk long distances without needing to stop to catch my breath. I miss carrying trays through the café, picking up my children, fastening my hair into a ponytail to get it out of the way while I decorate a cake.

  And—I can admit now—I even miss the occasional glances of admiration that men used to toss in my direction. Before Dean, I did everything I could not to attract attention, but since I’ve grown and changed so much, become confident in myself and my abilities—well, I guess it shows.

  Or it did. Now the glances are pitying, curious, or sometimes even rude. And I wonder how long it will take before I’m able to feel good about my body again.

  The air behind me warms with Dean’s presence. He slides his arms around my waist, flatting his palms against my midriff. I let his body heat burn away the cold for a moment, but the distance between the memories of who we once were and the reality of now seems like an impossibly wide chasm to breach.

  I pull away from him and go into the bathroom to get ready for bed. The dark thoughts try to push into my mind—I’m defective, Dean deserves better, I can’t even be a proper wife to him right now—but I keep them at bay with the knowledge of how deeply it would upset him to know I was thinking such things.