“OK. In a nutshell, here it is: acute myeloid leukemia pushes out normal blood-making cells in bone marrow and replaces them with leukemia cells. Pretty much everything I’ve been experiencing lately – exhaustion, weight-loss, those weird fevers, all my bruising – is because the cancer has crowded out my healthy blood cells and taken over.”
“Red cells? White ones?” Jenny asked.
“Both. And my blood platelets too, so I’m at risk for excessive bleeding if I cut myself. A small nick with a knife can bleed for ages, for example, since my clotting abilities have been compromised.”
“Fuck.” Liv’s voice was soft.
“Yeah.”
“What do you do now?” Kat said, her dark green eyes very steady. “Chemo? What?”
“Yeah,” Emma said. “Doctor Fife has me booked in for chemotherapy starting from next week. That’s it for now, besides some oral pills and lots of rest.”
“Your job?” Jenny asked.
Emma shrugged. “I’ll work for as long as I have the energy to stay vertical and listen to my patients talk.”
They looked at her quietly.
“You sure, Em?” Kat said. “You sure you can handle listening to other people’s problems and trauma while you’re dealing with all of this?”
Emma nodded. “I think it’ll help me. It’ll give me something to focus on besides myself. But I will need to tell Doctor Granger about my diagnosis, since I’m going to need lots of time off and we’ll have to make arrangements for my patients. Plus, the HR department will have to fill in a metric ton of paperwork for my medical insurance.” She grinned wryly. “Helen will be thrilled.”
“And what do we do?” Liv said. “Tell us.”
She shrugged. “Just – just be here. That’s it.”
Jenny shook her head. “Not enough for me. When do you have chemo next week?”
“I go to the hospital and get all hooked up on Tuesday. I’ll have to stay for the first few times, then eventually, I may be able to take the chemo with me. It can be done with machines that are small enough to strap around your waist now. In future, I can do chemo at home, I hope.”
“I’ll be there on Tuesday.”
“Jenny, you don’t have to…”
Jenny cut her off. “Shut up. I’ll be there and I’ll get you home afterwards.”
“Thanks,” Emma said, tears stinging her eyes. “I’d – I’d be very grateful.”
“And after?” Kat said.
“After what?”
“After the chemo? Won’t you be sick? Vomiting and stuck in bed?”
Emma bit her lip. “Nobody can say… Doctor Fife told me that sometimes the reaction to chemo is worse than at other times. At worst, I could be in bed, puking my guts up for two or three days after. Or I could be totally fine, and able to go about my life like nothing at all is going on.”
“And that’s it? That’s the plan?” Liv said.
“What do you mean?” Emma said.
“Just chemo?”
“For now,” Emma said. “If that doesn’t work, then I have another few rounds with new drugs or combinations. Then we look at stem cell transplants to replenish my bone marrow.”
“What?” Kat said. “A transplant?”
“Hey,” Emma said. “That’s for us to worry about later, OK? Much later. Right now, the course of treatment is chemo and rest. Everything else can wait.”
She didn’t mention that she’d need a number of additional tests to make sure that the cancer wasn’t spreading to her spine or brain, or what it meant if the cancer did actually reach those parts of her body. She also didn’t tell them that AML was a cancer that was known to spread quickly, so treatment had to be aggressive. They’d see all that in their folders, when they got to them.
That’s enough reality for now, for all of us.
They nodded, trying to think of something to say.
“Have you called your parents?” Jenny said.
“Yeah. They’re pretty upset.”
“They’re coming back?”
Emma shook her head. “They can’t, at least not right now. They’re dealing with a serious outbreak of Marburg fever in Angola right now, so they can’t leave the hospital. And frankly, my immune system is shot at the moment, so I can’t risk being exposed to anything they might carry back to me.”
“That sucks, Em,” Kat said. “I wish your parents could be here.”
“I know. But this is the deal – humanitarian doctors are a unique breed. They can’t always drop everything and come.”
“Speaking of dropping everything and coming to you,” Liv said. “Where the hell were you last night? I called about ten times. Were you hiding out here drinking wine? You shouldn’t have been alone to deal with all this, Em.”
“Uh,” she said. “Well. I wasn’t actually alone.”
All three of then set down their cups of coffee, their eyes bright and sharp.
Oh, boy. Here we go.
“Not alone?” Kat said. “So who, pray tell, were you with?”
“Ummm. A guy.”
They blinked.
“Which guy?” Jenny said. “You don’t have a guy.”
“Yeah, well. I still don’t. He was just a – a casual thing.”
“Holy Christ,” Liv said. “You finally had a one-night-stand.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You went to Shooter’s, didn’t you?” Kat said. “I know you did!”
“I did,” Emma admitted. “And we went back to his place and spent the night.”
“Emma, that was dangerous,” Jenny reproved in a gentle voice. “Why did you go and get in to bed with some stranger instead of calling us?”
“Duh,” Liv said. “Hot man and mindless wild sex versus three distraught women asking loads of hard questions and gushing sympathy? No contest, Jenny. I’d have done the same thing.”
“It wasn’t a healthy response,” Emma said. “I totally know that and I knew that even when I decided to do it. But it was what I needed, you know? That – that kind of touch.”
“Who was he?” Jenny said.
She shrugged. “Dean.”
“OK, good start. Dean who?”
“Not a clue.”
Jenny blinked. “What does Dean do?”
Emma brightened. “Oh, I know the answer to this one. He owns a tattoo parlour.”
“Oh, my God,” Liv said. “A tattooed man?”
“A tall, muscled tattooed man who has extensive and intensive military training,” Emma corrected her. “Sexy as all get-out, let me assure you.”
They stared at her with a combination of fascination and disbelief.
“Holy crap,” Kat said. “When you decide to go for it, you go for broke, huh?”
“And?” Liv said.
“And what?”
“Jesus Christ, Em! How was it?”
She thought about Dean’s mouth on her pussy and her body’s helpless response to him being inside of her and she smiled. Her friends saw the look on her face and they grinned back, unable to help themselves.
“It was amazing,” she said. “I mean, amazing. The man has skills, ladies.”
“Uh-huh,” Jenny said, kind of dying to ask for more details but holding herself back. Briefly, she thought about bringing up Mark, but decided against it. “So, you going to see him again?”
“Nope. I don’t have any way to contact him. It really was just one night. An escape, you know?”
“Perfect,” Liv said. “Just what you needed.”
“Yep. He was a welcome distraction from reality, but now I’ve got to get on with things.” She sighed, a wave of sadness passing over her as she realized that the time had come to just go on and pick up the weight of what she had to do. She had to carry it somehow, so she might as well start now. “I ca
n’t avoid it anymore, guys… I’m in for one hell of a fight.”
**
Emma glanced at the clock on her desk. It was almost six o’clock on Friday night and she was ready to just go home and get in to the bath. She was exhausted. It amazed her that almost exactly one week ago at this time, she’d been standing in Shooter’s with Dean. Briefly, she wondered where he was and what he was doing right then.
Probably at Shooter’s, picking up some other eager woman. Lucky thing… whoever she is, she’s in for a good time.
There was a knock on her door and she looked up. Helen Carrow was standing in the door and she had a stack of papers clutched in her hand. Emma almost crumpled to the floor when she realized that she had more HR forms to fill in.
“Hi, Helen,” she said, trying to sound welcoming. “Come on in.”
“I need these filled in ASAP,” Helen said brusquely. She put them on the corner of Emma’s desk and backed away. “I need to send them to the insurance provider Monday morning at nine o’clock.”
Emma closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “OK. I’ll bring them home with me over the weekend and drop them on your desk first thing on Monday morning. Alright?”
“Fine.” Helen turned to go, her shoulders tense in her brown blazer. She had never been a particularly nice woman, not to anyone, but Emma was taken aback at just how rude and cold she’d been since Emma had produced her doctor’s note describing her diagnosis. It was like Helen believed that Emma had gotten cancer for the sole purpose of inconveniencing Helen, and increasing her workload.
Thankfully, Helen the exception in the office: every single other person had been nothing but supportive and helpful. Emma’s boss, Dr. Ned Granger, had been shocked and horrified and had immediately offered to farm out her clients so she could take several months off, if needed. She’d gently refused, but had said that time off would be required for chemo and she’d provide him with a schedule as soon as she had it from Doctor Fife. Ned had looked at her a while and then nodded.
“Anything, Emma.” His face had been anxious and worried behind his glasses. “Anything at all. You know you have excellent medical insurance here, and we have more than enough staff on hand to divide up your client list. Take as much time off as you need, and when you’re ready to come back, we’ll hand hours to you as you can handle them. For right now? Just focus on getting well.”
She had smiled at him with tears in her eyes, and he had reached out to take her hand.
“Hey, Emma,” he said softly. “You’re going to be OK.”
Helen left her office now and Emma looked at the papers. God almighty. More of the same questions, and it looked like these forms needed to be updated every month. She sighed and stuffed them in to her purse, resolving to forget about them until absolutely necessary.
Her cell rang and she glanced at the caller ID. Kat. Emma hesitated, then shoved the phone back in her bag. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now.
The truth was that it was just one week since she had come clean about her cancer, and Emma was already getting a bit weary of being handled with kid-gloves. Her friends were great – concerned and sweet – but they just couldn’t seem to think about anything except her AML. They jumped to their feet to get things for her, and even when Emma pointed out that she was perfectly fine to walk across a room to refill her coffee cup, they told her to sit still, then they asked her if she was sure that coffee was OK to drink when you had cancer. They took turns calling her every day and then again in the evening, checking on her. Emma often caught them looking at her with worry and fear and when she met their eyes, they’d start and chatter about nothing much.
And it wasn’t just her friends, either. All week at work, people had stopped talking when she’d entered a room or walked past. They forced smiles on to their faces, offered jokes, brought her cups of green tea. It was wonderful to be so supported, but already Emma was aware of the fact that to everyone in her life right now, she was the woman with an aggressive form of cancer. Every relationship that she had – both personal and professional – was colored by that fact. She was going to have to figure out how to adjust to this new reality, she knew. But right now, she was too damn tired.
Tomorrow. I’ll be grateful for all the love and concern again tomorrow. Tonight? I want to be alone and quiet. Order Chinese food and watch ‘Legally Blonde’ and paint my toe nails. Not talk about cancer. Pretend that I’m healthy and fine. Just one night off from being the sick girl, that’s all I need.
**
At Shooter’s, Dean tried to look around casually, but the boys had eyes on him.
Fuck, they’re like goddamned hawks.
“No sign of her?” Jim asked.
Dean took a deep swig of beer and played dumb. “Who?”
They rolled their eyes. Dean had been referring to Emma all week, off and on, and he had insisted that they come back to Shooter’s that night. They knew what he was up to: he wanted another go with her. She must have been quite something, they figured.
“Who else?” Dallas said. “Your pocket angel.”
“My – what?”
“That’s what my Dad always called women like Emma. Short, curvy little angels that could damn near fit in the back pocket of your jeans.”
“Huh.” Dean thought about that. “I kind of like that.”
“Anyway,” Chris said. “She’s not here?”
“I have no idea.” Dean shrugged. “I’m not looking for her.”
They rolled their eyes again, harder this time.
“Why are you lying to your brothers?” Dallas asked in an injured tone. “You think we don’t know exactly what you’re doing every time you look around the room?”
“Maybe I’m looking for that hot blonde from last week that I passed on.”
“Are you?” Jim said.
“Yeah.”
“Well, then,” he said. “You’re in luck, ‘cause she’s right over there.”
Dean followed his gaze and sure enough, there she was. Every bit as stunning as he remembered and wearing even tighter clothing than the Friday before, which Dean hardly thought possible. Her body was fucking amazing, her face exquisite.
But she’s not Emma.
Annoyed at himself now, he tried to shake off thoughts of her. He’d been trying to shove her the fuck out of his head all week, and he’d had no success at all. That little brunette had just crawled in to his headspace as easy as she had crawled in to his bed, and he was pissed off about that.
It was one fucking night, Jessop. Get over it.
He couldn’t figure out just what the hell was happening here. Emma was a nice girl, sure; she was funny and smart. They’d had shockingly hot sex, also true, so good that she’d wept afterwards. It hadn’t been the first time that a one-night-stand had cried in his arms after orgasm, and he’d always been considerate when he held them, but something about Emma’s vulnerability had stayed with him.
He had so many questions about her. Why hadn’t she had sex in almost five years? Why had she decided to break that long period of abstinence with a total stranger picked up in a bar? And of all the strangers, why did she choose him? Dean was touched and humbled by the faith she had shown in him when she made that choice, but he couldn’t even begin to understand it. And if she’d trusted him, why did she sneak out in the morning? Had he scared her after all? Was she OK?
There were no answers to these questions, and even though he was hoping that she’d show up here and he could take her back to his place and keep her in his bed for the whole weekend, he knew in his heart that it wasn’t going to happen. She was gone.
He looked back at the blonde. She was staring at him, her gorgeous eyes bold and telegraphing her desire loud and clear. She wasn’t Emma, not even close, but she was here and Emma wasn’t.
She’ll have to do.
Dean got
to his feet and crossed the bar. His friends watched him go, knowing that she wasn’t what he really wanted. They exchanged glances, but said nothing. They all had their own empty distractions sitting in their laps or standing at the bar catching their eyes. Anything at all to avoid the gaping voids in their own beds; anything at all to have a warm body next to them offering comfort and oblivion from their demons and ghosts, even for a few hours.
Later, back at his place, Dean thought about Emma again. Just for a few seconds. He remembered how her face had looked as she came and how it had felt to hold her afterwards. The blonde was on top of him now, her perfect breasts bouncing as she ground his cock inside of her and she was so practiced and confident and good – no actually, she’s fucking great – that he came hard and more than once.
So, it was all OK. It was pretty good. But it wasn’t what he wanted, not at all.
Chapter Four
Three weeks later, Emma was sitting on a chair inside the hospital, trying to get up enough energy to go home. She had spent the whole day at the hospital, getting her blood tests done, seeing her doctor, arranging her next round of chemo for two weeks from then, and – of course – filling in yet more paperwork. She hadn’t eaten at all and she was exhausted.
I think I’d better call one of the girls. I’m not in any shape to get myself home. God, the fatigue is bad today. I’ll try Jenny… I think she said she’d be finished at the restaurant around three o’clock today. Maybe she’ll even bring me some food, if I ask.
She was just reaching in to her purse for her phone when she saw jean-clad legs stop right in front of her.
“Emma?”
She glanced up and dropped her phone in shock. It was Dean.
He was standing there, as huge and achingly gorgeous as she remembered him. His green eyes were bright in his hard face, his hair still a bit too long. He was staring down at her, and she couldn’t read his expression at all.
Emma had thought about him over the previous month; she’d thought about him far more often than she wanted to. Flashes of their one amazing night would come to her at odd times – when eating breakfast or ironing her blouse – and she’d have to stop and catch her breath as she remembered that muscled chest rising above her or those large hands carefully stroking her clit. She remembered his face when he came, his face when he touched her cheek and asked if she was OK.
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