She laughed. “You think you can influence fate with your tattoos?”
“I have no idea, but last week this eighteen-year-old girl came in and wanted a tattoo of Tweety Bird with her boyfriend’s name—which is Rocky—and the words ‘You’re my tweety pie’ underneath it. I did not want that on my conscience.”
“Yikes. Did you do it?”
“Hell no. I told her what I told you. Tattoos are forever. Love, not necessarily. Especially not at eighteen.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But I hope you’re wrong.” She lay down again, her head on my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her. We were silent for a few minutes, and I tried to commit every detail about holding her this way to memory. The scent of her hair. The softness of her skin. The sound of her breath. The memories would have to carry me through.
“Dallas?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to ask you about something.”
“Okay.”
She took a deep breath. “I overheard you on the phone with Finn. Outside my bathroom window.”
My pulse began to pound. I swallowed with difficulty. “Yeah?”
She sat up again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you say something about an appointment with a surgeon, and I’m worried. Are you okay?”
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Tell her, said a voice in my head. Tell her everything. Tell her now.
“I know it’s personal, and you probably don’t want to—”
“It’s for my dad,” I heard myself say out of nowhere. “He was having some, uh, short-term memory problems, and his CAT scan revealed something abnormal. A small mass in the parietal lobe.”
She gasped. “A brain tumor? Oh, no.”
Oh, fuck.
But I kept going. “Finn got him an appointment with a neurosurgeon next week, but he can’t be there. So he asked if I would go with my dad. My mom can get a little hysterical in those situations, and she’s been very upset.”
“Of course. That’s so scary. I’m sorry, Dallas. You must be really worried.”
Yeah, that a lightning bolt is going to strike me. “I am.”
“So he needs surgery?”
“It’s an option. But it’s risky.” And since I was already in this far, I waded deeper. “Apparently that’s the part of the brain that controls upper right side mobility … guess he doesn’t want to lose his advantage on the golf course.”
My joke fell flat.
“But what happens if he doesn’t have surgery?” she pressed.
“They’re not sure. Apparently it’s acting benign right now. But eventually it would probably … cause some seizures and other problems.”
“So you need to convince him to have the surgery, then.”
“That’s what my brother wants. But my dad doesn’t want to be forced into it. He doesn’t like being told what to do. And he’s not crazy about the idea of having chemo or radiation. He doesn’t want anyone to have to take care of him. He doesn’t want anyone’s pity.”
She made a frustrated noise. “God, men can be so stubborn sometimes.”
“Yeah.”
“Think you can talk him into it?”
“We’ll see. It’s, you know, complicated. Because of my relationship with my family.”
“Sure. I can understand that.” She rubbed a hand over my chest as if to comfort me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” What I wanted to do was shut the fuck up. I’d just made things a thousand times worse for myself.
“Okay. Well, I’m here for you. And I’m a good listener.”
God, she was so fucking sweet. “Thanks.”
“I was really scared it was about your headaches. I mean, I’m sorry about your dad and I hope he’ll have the surgery, but I’m glad to hear it’s not you.”
“Thanks.” Was there a place in hell low enough for me?
Smiling, she put her head back down on my chest and held me close. “Night.”
“Night.”
She fell asleep pretty quickly and rolled away from me, but I lay awake for hours with a pounding head, a churning stomach, and a tightness in my chest. I was scum. Lying, despicable scum. Every shitty thing that happened to me from now until the day I died, I would deserve.
I closed my eyes in agony. How was I going to face her tomorrow? How was I going to face myself? Was there any way out of this?
Tell her the truth, my conscience pricked. Tell her the truth or give her up.
I was trying to decide which one would be best for Maren when she began to murmur in her sleep. A moment later, she started fidgeting restlessly beneath the blankets. I reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Maren?”
She stopped moving and quieted down. But soon it began again, and within seconds she was writhing and weeping helplessly like she had been last night. I tried my best to wake her, but she resisted. Then she suddenly sat up, gasping for air.
“Shh,” I said, putting my arm around her. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
She put a hand on her chest. “Oh my God.”
“The nightmare again?”
She nodded, a sob escaping.
“Breathe.” I rubbed her upper arms. “You’re okay, baby. I’m here.”
She took some deep breaths. “Thanks. I’m just so tired of this.”
“I know.”
“Why do you think it’s not going away?”
Because I’m the snake that’s going to bite you and your mind knows it? “I’m not sure. The mind is a mysterious place.”
“Yeah.” We stayed like that for another minute or two, and then she yawned.
“Think you can fall back asleep?” I asked.
“I think so.”
We lay down again and I held her close. Soon her breathing was deep and even, and I thought she’d fallen asleep until she spoke, drowsily, like she was half in a dream.
“Dallas?”
“Yes?”
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
I swallowed hard. My head was killing me. “Me too.”
Twelve
Maren
I woke up the next morning to the sound of rain beating on the windows. The clock on my nightstand said 9:05 a.m., and for a second, I panicked that I’d overslept and missed teaching my Sunday eight a.m. class. And why was I naked?
Then I remembered I’d taken the weekend off. And the lack of pajamas—as well as the soreness in my muscles—was due to the man sleeping next to me. I rolled over and looked at him, unable to keep a smile off my face.
We could get it right this time, couldn’t we? It might not be easy, and it might take a lot of travel or even a move eventually, but we were too good together to be apart. Whatever it took, we could make it work.
Dropping a quick kiss on his chest, I left him sleeping in my bed, slipped into a short white robe, and tiptoed out to the living room. Along the way I saw random pieces of clothing that we’d stripped off each other last night on our way to my room. His jeans, my shorts, my bra, his T-shirt, my blouse, our shoes. Finally, I spotted my purse on the floor near the front door. I pulled my phone out of it to check my messages and saw that I had one from Allegra saying all was well at the studio and she hoped I was resting peacefully, and a ton from my sisters.
I was supposed to be meeting them for brunch at eleven, like we did every Sunday. Part of me wanted to cancel on them since I had a gorgeous, sexy man who adored me in my bed and it was pouring rain, but long ago my sisters and I had made a pact that we wouldn’t skip out on each other unless it was absolutely necessary. Plus, I was dying to tell them about my weekend.
How insane that my life had taken such a sharp turn in only two days!
I quickly scrolled through the messages, which were mostly them going back and forth about where we should eat and both of them wondering why I wasn’t answering my texts.
Me: Sorry guys, I’ve been busy.
Stella: Everything okay? We were getting worried.
Me: Yes. I’ll tell you all about it at brunch. What did you guys decide on?
“I have no idea, but last week this eighteen-year-old girl came in and wanted a tattoo of Tweety Bird with her boyfriend’s name—which is Rocky—and the words ‘You’re my tweety pie’ underneath it. I did not want that on my conscience.”
“Yikes. Did you do it?”
“Hell no. I told her what I told you. Tattoos are forever. Love, not necessarily. Especially not at eighteen.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But I hope you’re wrong.” She lay down again, her head on my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her. We were silent for a few minutes, and I tried to commit every detail about holding her this way to memory. The scent of her hair. The softness of her skin. The sound of her breath. The memories would have to carry me through.
“Dallas?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to ask you about something.”
“Okay.”
She took a deep breath. “I overheard you on the phone with Finn. Outside my bathroom window.”
My pulse began to pound. I swallowed with difficulty. “Yeah?”
She sat up again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you say something about an appointment with a surgeon, and I’m worried. Are you okay?”
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Tell her, said a voice in my head. Tell her everything. Tell her now.
“I know it’s personal, and you probably don’t want to—”
“It’s for my dad,” I heard myself say out of nowhere. “He was having some, uh, short-term memory problems, and his CAT scan revealed something abnormal. A small mass in the parietal lobe.”
She gasped. “A brain tumor? Oh, no.”
Oh, fuck.
But I kept going. “Finn got him an appointment with a neurosurgeon next week, but he can’t be there. So he asked if I would go with my dad. My mom can get a little hysterical in those situations, and she’s been very upset.”
“Of course. That’s so scary. I’m sorry, Dallas. You must be really worried.”
Yeah, that a lightning bolt is going to strike me. “I am.”
“So he needs surgery?”
“It’s an option. But it’s risky.” And since I was already in this far, I waded deeper. “Apparently that’s the part of the brain that controls upper right side mobility … guess he doesn’t want to lose his advantage on the golf course.”
My joke fell flat.
“But what happens if he doesn’t have surgery?” she pressed.
“They’re not sure. Apparently it’s acting benign right now. But eventually it would probably … cause some seizures and other problems.”
“So you need to convince him to have the surgery, then.”
“That’s what my brother wants. But my dad doesn’t want to be forced into it. He doesn’t like being told what to do. And he’s not crazy about the idea of having chemo or radiation. He doesn’t want anyone to have to take care of him. He doesn’t want anyone’s pity.”
She made a frustrated noise. “God, men can be so stubborn sometimes.”
“Yeah.”
“Think you can talk him into it?”
“We’ll see. It’s, you know, complicated. Because of my relationship with my family.”
“Sure. I can understand that.” She rubbed a hand over my chest as if to comfort me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” What I wanted to do was shut the fuck up. I’d just made things a thousand times worse for myself.
“Okay. Well, I’m here for you. And I’m a good listener.”
God, she was so fucking sweet. “Thanks.”
“I was really scared it was about your headaches. I mean, I’m sorry about your dad and I hope he’ll have the surgery, but I’m glad to hear it’s not you.”
“Thanks.” Was there a place in hell low enough for me?
Smiling, she put her head back down on my chest and held me close. “Night.”
“Night.”
She fell asleep pretty quickly and rolled away from me, but I lay awake for hours with a pounding head, a churning stomach, and a tightness in my chest. I was scum. Lying, despicable scum. Every shitty thing that happened to me from now until the day I died, I would deserve.
I closed my eyes in agony. How was I going to face her tomorrow? How was I going to face myself? Was there any way out of this?
Tell her the truth, my conscience pricked. Tell her the truth or give her up.
I was trying to decide which one would be best for Maren when she began to murmur in her sleep. A moment later, she started fidgeting restlessly beneath the blankets. I reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Maren?”
She stopped moving and quieted down. But soon it began again, and within seconds she was writhing and weeping helplessly like she had been last night. I tried my best to wake her, but she resisted. Then she suddenly sat up, gasping for air.
“Shh,” I said, putting my arm around her. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
She put a hand on her chest. “Oh my God.”
“The nightmare again?”
She nodded, a sob escaping.
“Breathe.” I rubbed her upper arms. “You’re okay, baby. I’m here.”
She took some deep breaths. “Thanks. I’m just so tired of this.”
“I know.”
“Why do you think it’s not going away?”
Because I’m the snake that’s going to bite you and your mind knows it? “I’m not sure. The mind is a mysterious place.”
“Yeah.” We stayed like that for another minute or two, and then she yawned.
“Think you can fall back asleep?” I asked.
“I think so.”
We lay down again and I held her close. Soon her breathing was deep and even, and I thought she’d fallen asleep until she spoke, drowsily, like she was half in a dream.
“Dallas?”
“Yes?”
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
I swallowed hard. My head was killing me. “Me too.”
Twelve
Maren
I woke up the next morning to the sound of rain beating on the windows. The clock on my nightstand said 9:05 a.m., and for a second, I panicked that I’d overslept and missed teaching my Sunday eight a.m. class. And why was I naked?
Then I remembered I’d taken the weekend off. And the lack of pajamas—as well as the soreness in my muscles—was due to the man sleeping next to me. I rolled over and looked at him, unable to keep a smile off my face.
We could get it right this time, couldn’t we? It might not be easy, and it might take a lot of travel or even a move eventually, but we were too good together to be apart. Whatever it took, we could make it work.
Dropping a quick kiss on his chest, I left him sleeping in my bed, slipped into a short white robe, and tiptoed out to the living room. Along the way I saw random pieces of clothing that we’d stripped off each other last night on our way to my room. His jeans, my shorts, my bra, his T-shirt, my blouse, our shoes. Finally, I spotted my purse on the floor near the front door. I pulled my phone out of it to check my messages and saw that I had one from Allegra saying all was well at the studio and she hoped I was resting peacefully, and a ton from my sisters.
I was supposed to be meeting them for brunch at eleven, like we did every Sunday. Part of me wanted to cancel on them since I had a gorgeous, sexy man who adored me in my bed and it was pouring rain, but long ago my sisters and I had made a pact that we wouldn’t skip out on each other unless it was absolutely necessary. Plus, I was dying to tell them about my weekend.
How insane that my life had taken such a sharp turn in only two days!
I quickly scrolled through the messages, which were mostly them going back and forth about where we should eat and both of them wondering why I wasn’t answering my texts.
Me: Sorry guys, I’ve been busy.
Stella: Everything okay? We were getting worried.
Me: Yes. I’ll tell you all about it at brunch. What did you guys decide on?
