For Better or Worse (27 page)

“Please understand, Heather.”

For long minutes they said nothing, and his heart twisted because he knew she was waiting. Giving him a chance to come to his senses and change his mind. To ask her to stay.

He didn't.

He saw the moment she realized it. Her eyes shut down first, turning from vibrant green to shadowy moss. Then her lips, pressing together in the age-old tell of someone trying not to cry.

And then finally, lastly, her hand slipped away. Her fingers releasing his one by one, her palm sliding away from him until her hand was limply at her side. They were no longer touching.

Heather picked up her purse, sliding it onto her shoulder as she stared at him.

For one terrible minute, he was afraid that this was how it ended. With her hating him. And if she did, maybe that was okay. Maybe it was better.

But then she stepped forward, bending at the waist until her lips were near his ear. “I love you. I'll always love you.”

She stepped back, holding his gaze for a heartbeat
before she turned and walked out of the hospital room, out of his life.

He waited until he could no longer see her. Until he no longer heard the click of her boots on the squeaky clean hospital hallway.

Only then did he close his eyes and do what he hadn't done once, not a single time since he'd first gotten his diagnosis all those years ago.

Josh Tanner cried.

Chapter Thirty-Two

H
EY, TWINNY, HOW GOES
the kissing disease?” Jamie asked, entering the hospital room just as Josh was buttoning up his shirt.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

“Strange,” she said, coming all the way into the room without knocking and plopping on the bed, just like she had countless times when they were kids. “I don't recall Dr. Rios listing
asshole
as a symptom of mono . . .”

Mono.

He had fucking mononucleosis. As in the “kissing disease” that went around high schools and colleges like wildfire. Not his high school, apparently. Or if it had, he'd somehow escaped exposure and never developed an immunity.

“I'm glad though,” Jamie said quietly, her voice turning serious. “I'm so, so, so, so glad.”

Josh felt a tickle in his throat that he knew had nothing to do with the mono. Jesus, was he going to
cry at everything now? He reached over and chucked his twin sister gently under the chin. “You and me both, kid.”

She held up a finger. “We've talked about this. Me being all of seven minutes younger doesn't warrant the kid moniker.”

“I'm taking a free pass today.”

“Yeah, it's been a rough one, huh?”

“I feel like a fool,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides after he finished with the last button.

“Because you let Heather walk away. No, I'm sorry . . . because you
shoved
Heather away.”

Pain tore through him at the reminder of what had transpired hours before. Hours? It felt like fucking days.

“Not about that,” he said gruffly. “I did what I had to do.”

“Hate to tell you, but I think she's already been exposed to your kissing disease,” Jamie said, deliberately misunderstanding him.

Still, she had a point. The doctor had said that mono, benign as it generally was, was wildly contagious. Spread through saliva, hence its nickname.

Josh didn't know where he'd gotten it from. Apparently it stuck around for weeks before showing symptoms, which meant Heather had most definitely been exposed. Chances were she'd be fine. The doctor had said most people were exposed to the virus as children, never exhibiting symptoms beyond the common cold. Most everyone else was exposed in high school or college.

Josh, apparently, was the rare exception.

Still, on the off-chance Heather was also an exception, he'd have to tell her.

Tomorrow. He'd tell her tomorrow.

Right now he wanted a shower, and to be out of the fucking hospital. Maybe a big-boy dose of NyQuil and a good night's sleep.

“Heather's not the reason I feel like an idiot,” he said, locking hands around the back of his head and looking up at the ugly ceiling of his hospital room. “I dragged you guys down here for nothing. Put you through hell—again—for nothing. For mono.”

“Stop,” she said quietly. “Don't forget that I was there when the doctor explained how closely mono can resemble the symptoms of something much more serious. You were right to worry. The doctor was right to insist you come here today for tests. And you were right to tell us. You were.”

Jamie was at least partially right: The symptoms of mono were easily similar to his early leukemia symptoms, the very ones he had originally dismissed as just a persistent cold. The sore throat, the fever, the persistent, weeks-long fatigue. Even more wily were the swollen lymph nodes and the tender left side courtesy of a swollen spleen. Symptoms of both leukemia and, apparently, fucking
mono
.

But while Jamie had a point about his worries being well-founded, calling his family had been ­premature. Calling them before he'd had the test results had been downright selfish, and his mom calling Heather on top of that had been downright disastrous.

Still, maybe it was for the best. He and Heather were going to end sometime, might as well be now. Granted, the ripping off of this particular Band-Aid had been horribly painful.

But it was off now, and he could go back to being . . .

What, exactly?

Alone
.

“Okay, don't bite my head off for saying this, but you look—”

“Like hell, I know, okay? Give me a break. I've got a fever, my head feels like there's a hammer rattling around inside, and it hurts to talk.”

“Not what I was going to say. I mean, yes, you look like you're ready to keel over, but I was going to say that you look lost.”

Lost.

Heather had told him the same thing once, and he'd written her off. Correction, he'd bitten her head off.

But here was another woman he cared about saying the same thing, using the exact same word to describe him.

Josh sat down hard on the stiff hospital bed. “How so?” he asked gingerly.

Jamie sighed and stood up, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her black pants before looking at him. “I know you've got the whole ‘live like you're dying' thing down pat. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me you'd literally walked on coals and skydived and sang karaoke naked. But Josh . . . you're also
living like you're dying
. You get the
distinction, right? The same phrase can have wildly different meanings, and you're heading toward the depressing one.”

Every single one of her words struck a painful chord, but he still resisted. “Didn't we just have this talk?”

“Yes!” she said, half shouting. “And you were in
love
when I last saw you, and you're in love now, but you let her walk away. No, you pushed her. All because . . . why?”

“Because I might be dying, Jamie! You got that memo, right? The cancer could come back at any time. I'm not going to leave Heather a”—he struggled to get the word out—“a widow.”

“We're all dying, moron. I could get cancer tomorrow. Or Heather could. Or Dr. Rios. Are you a little more likely to get it? Sure. Just like Kevin's more likely to have heart disease because it runs in his family, and just like Dad's more likely than Mom to get hit by a golf ball because he actually golfs. We're all dying of something, but only the cowards among us base their
lives
around that.”

Josh reached for his jacket and shrugged it on without responding.

“You can ignore me,” she said quietly, “but it won't go away. You are lost. You won't let yourself care about anything, and it's getting tiring. You're boring.”

After her whole speech—and it was a good one—for some reason it was that last line that gave him the most pause. “Boring,” he repeated slowly.

She nodded emphatically. “Yup. You're a cancer
survivor, but you're not being one of the cool ones who keeps on trucking, waving your ‘I beat it' flag and taking on the world. You're one of the scared ones who's letting it beat you. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally, the leukemia is
whipping
your ass.”

He let out a surprised laugh. “I swear to God, having a twin is the worst.”

But even as he said it, a strange sense of calm was settling over him. He wished that the self-realization would have come from within. That he could have figured shit out for himself. But having it come from the sibling he'd shared a womb with was probably the next best thing.

And Jamie was absolutely right. Josh had been patting himself on the back for being a survivor for years, but he'd only physically bested the cancer.

He'd let it mess with his mind. And definitely his heart.

A heart that absolutely knew what it wanted. And what it wanted was a certain curly-haired wedding planner with green eyes and a heart of gold.

But he didn't deserve Heather as he was now.

Heather was a go-getter. A firecracker. She deserved a man who knew he had his shit together. A man who did something more than amble through his day from breakfast to dinner with zero purpose beyond doing it all again tomorrow.

He rose from the bed and stomped toward his sister, wrapping both arms around her. He intended to lift her off her feet, but he settled for a bear hug instead. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She swatted the back of his head, then hugged him back. Hard. “You're welcome.”

He released her and stepped back before heading toward the door.

“You going after Heather?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “But there's something I have to do first.”

“Wait, you're not
leaving
,” she said. “I know you sweet-talked the doctor into discharging you as long as you monitored the fever, but mom's already been talking about how she's going to make your favorite chicken parmesan tonight. Let them take you home with them. Take care of you.”

Josh paused and sucked in his cheeks as he thought. It wasn't right to drag his family all the way out to Manhattan and then bail. Not to mention, it would serve his rapidly forming plan well if he avoided his own apartment for a few days.

“I'd love to,” he said, meaning it. “But I need to make one phone call first.”

Seven minutes later, Josh had made his phone call.

He also had received and accepted a job offer from Logan Harris.

His body would do what it wanted. He was dealing with that.

His brain though, he could do better by. With one phone call, he'd just taken the first step.

Now for the last, and most important.

It was time to do right by his heart.

“Actually, guys, is it cool if I make one more phone call?” Josh asked as he left the hospital with his family and headed toward the train station.

“Honey, you can make as many phone calls as you want,” his mother gushed.

Jamie rolled her eyes.

Josh pulled out his phone and made the call.

By the time he hung up, he was grinning. The girl in 4C didn't stand a chance.

Chapter Thirty-Three

H
EATHER FLIPPED YET ANOTHER
gossip magazine closed with a frustrated huff, tossing it on the countertop next to her drink with more force than was probably necessary.

She'd gotten to JFK a full hour before the customary two-hour window recommended by the airlines. It wasn't her usual MO. She was more of a run-up-right-before-last-call kind of girl. But when you were on a temporary hiatus from work, getting ready to board a plane to hide out in Nowhere, Michigan, while you licked the wounds of a broken heart, why not get to the airport earlier, grab a drink, and read guilty-pleasure magazines?

She'd been half-successful. The pear martini was a hit, the magazines were a bust. Every single one headlined the Danica Robinson wedding that hadn't happened.

Pass.

On the heels of Josh's earth-shattering rejection, Heather had wanted to lose herself in work, but
Alexis had refused, insisting that Heather take some time off.

It was an order.

And one Heather hadn't wanted all that much to push back against. She'd always thought that when she finally got that promotion, everything would change. That life would be better.

And though she was still ecstatic that the professional dream she'd been chasing for years was finally becoming a reality, it wasn't the game changer she'd thought it would be. The earth hadn't shaken. The heavens hadn't parted.

At the end of the day, it was just a job. A job she loved, but still . . . a job.

Her mom had been so devastatingly right. It wasn't the wedding-planner role Heather had wanted so much as the wedding.

The wedding with the right guy, and the right guy didn't want her.

She'd heard from Josh only once since he'd dumped her a week earlier. Could you be dumped by someone who had never really been your boyfriend to begin with? Whatever, it didn't matter. She'd been dumped by Josh and had heard from him only once via text.

A concise message that had informed her that his symptoms had been the result of mono rather than a cancer recurrence.

Her heart had soared. Really, it had. Josh wasn't dying. He was okay. He was alive.

But the text had hardly contained a mea culpa.

In fact, she was pretty damn sure that if mono
(really?) hadn't been a contagious virus, he wouldn't have contacted her at all.

Lucky for both of them, Heather had already had mono her sophomore year of high school, courtesy of a badly made decision involving several wine coolers she'd bummed off her unsuspecting mother and a willing accomplice by the name of Dylan Haven.

She texted him back that she was fine, and he hadn't written back.

Heart. Meet Break.

The airport intercom rambled something, and Heather leaned back slightly on her barstool to peek at her gate across the way. Her flight was starting to board.

Since Heather was reasonably sure that she could maneuver the shattered pieces of her heart into her seat at 24E without assistance, she was in no rush. But just to be safe, she signaled for her check as she drained the last sip of her rather delicious pear martini.

Heather paid her bill and gathered her bags as she made her way to the gate to wait for her section to be called. Normally going back to Michigan came with a little surge of bittersweet reluctance to leave New York, which she loved so dearly, combined with excitement to see her mother. Tonight though, she could have been flying anywhere. She just needed to get away. Needed a break from the hurt of the past week.

She'd told him she loved him.

So, that was big. And a surprise. She hadn't even realized it until the words were out there, but the
second they'd left her lips, she'd known the truth in them.

It was the first time she'd said the words to anyone aside from her mother, and he'd all but shooed her away, out of his hospital room, when she'd thought he'd had cancer.

No
wonder
people were hesitant about falling in love. Here she'd been all whiny about never experiencing it, when really, she should have been grateful.

It sucked. Big-time.

Heather opted to hover around the outskirts of the loading area rather than rush to get in line. She was in a middle seat, so there was exactly zero point of getting on the plane earlier than she had to.

Eventually, however, the line whittled down, the crowd shrunk, and it was last call.

Heather reached for the handle of her carry-on, preparing to wheel it forward, when a large male figure stepped in front of her.

“Excuse me,” Heather murmured by default even as the New Yorker in her bristled at the disturbance. Still, airports were crowded, people got oblivious.

She stepped to the side, and the man stepped with her.

Okay. Now she was annoyed.

She lifted her eyes, prepared to communicate her irritation with a proper glare.

Instead she froze.

“Josh?” Her voice wobbled. The man she loved—the man who'd rejected her—was standing in front of her in a New York City airport, wearing a tux of all things.

“Hey, 4C.” His voice was low, easy and casual, as though this wasn't the most absurd thing to ever happen to either of them.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Wanted to know if you were okay.”

“You mean did I catch your mono? No, I told you I'm fine,” she said, more than a little confused and pissed off at his sudden appearance.

“But how are you fine? Did you catch the kissing disease from someone else?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “A JV basketball center with braces who played the clarinet in our high school band during the off season.” She tried to push past him. “Now that we've got that all cleared up, if you'll excuse me, I have a flight to catch.”

But Josh blocked her path with one strong, muscled arm. “Names, 4C. I'm going to need a name, and address if you have it, so I can beat this motherfucker down.”

Heather gave him a quick once-over, wanting—needing—to make sure that he was okay.

He looked . . . great. A little tired, maybe, but mostly he was the pinnacle of health.

“I still have to take an afternoon nap,” he said, reading her thoughts. “And I wouldn't say no to a sponge bath. But I'm fine. Fever gone, yada yada.”

“I'm glad.”

She meant the statement to come out snippy and sharp, but instead it was softly uttered, like a wish.

Because she did mean it. This man had hurt her badly, but she still loved him. She was relieved that
the only thing currently ailing him was a brush with an adolescent virus.

She glanced back up at him, noticing for the first time the bouquet he held in his hands. “What's with the peonies?”

He glanced down, seeming to realize for the first time that he was carrying pink flowers, and shoving them against her chest. “For you.”

She barely caught them with one arm, since her other was still on her luggage. “Um, thank you?”

Wary as she was, she couldn't resist admiring them. She did love her some pink peonies.

“4C, there's something I need to say to you.”

Heather's gaze snapped back from the flowers to Josh's face, but all she saw in front of her was empty space.

Because Josh Tanner was on one knee.

In front of her. In an airport. In a tux.

And there was a ring.

Oh, the ring.

She stared down at him, and he smiled half-­nervously, half-cockily.

“I love you,” he said. “I had this whole speech planned out, and Alexis and Brooke and my sister proofread it with a red pen and everything, but as I'm kneeling here awkwardly, I realize it's all unnecessary. I love you. I love you more than is sane for any man to love any woman. All the way, to the ends of the earth. Damn, is that cheesy?” He shook his head slightly. “Maybe I should have brought the speech after all.”

“Josh.” She knelt down slightly, trying to tug him upward. “What are you doing? Get up.”

“Not until I get an answer.”

“I don't even know what you're asking!” But of course, she did. It was written all over his posture.

And his face.

Oh, and the ring.

“Marry me,” he commanded.

Heather's heart lifted and then fell and then did some sort of somersault.

“Josh—”

“I know it's soon. I'm probably rushing it. But if battling that damn leukemia taught me anything, it's that life is fucking short. And if recovering from cancer taught me anything, it's that a life spent thinking just about tomorrow, even if tomorrow's all there is, is a half life. I need you, Heather. I need you, I want you, I love you for always. For all the todays and all the tomorrows.”

She blinked. “You didn't really forget that speech your sister wrote for you, did you? There was a little bit of it in there just then.”

He grinned. “I have an excellent memory. And a pretty decent-sized package. Honestly, woman, you have to marry me.”

The moment was insanity. He was insanity. Proposing in an airport, dressed in a—

“Wait, why are you wearing that?” she asked.

“Oh my God, she still hasn't said yes,” someone whispered. Heather glanced up from Josh's gaze to see a rapt semicircle of airport dwellers gathered nearby, gaping. A few women were looking at her
accusingly, and Heather had to stifle a laugh. If they'd had to put up with Josh's shtick like she had, they, too, might be given some pause.

Josh, however, seemed unfazed as the pull of his hand tugged her attention back down. Minus the increasingly panicked look in his eye, and the way his fingers were slick with sweat beneath hers.

“Let's just say I meant that whole bit about life being short,” he said earnestly. “If you say yes—and by God, woman, you'd better—we're getting married immediately. Today.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I am not getting married today. You're proposing to a wedding planner. Have you forgotten that I live to build the perfect wedding?”

“And you have, haven't you?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“What are you—”

Everything clicked into place.

Heather breathed outward. “Oh, my God. The Robinson wedding.”

Her wedding. The wedding she'd planned. It was supposed to have been today.

“I talked to Alexis. Not a single thing has changed except for, like, four details. Maybe six, if you count the bride and groom.”

Heather's breath was shallow. Her wedding. Her dream wedding was a forty-minute drive away.

But that wasn't what was important.

The man in front of her was important.

And the man was
here
. And she loved him. Always.

For better or worse.

Very slowly, Heather lowered to her knees in front of him, ignoring someone's reference to Chandler and Monica from behind her.

“Yes,” she said softly, lifting her free hand to touch his face. “I'll marry you. I'll marry you yesterday, I'll marry you tomorrow, or five years from now, or in a barn or in this airport.”

Josh's mouth closed on hers, and the people who'd crowded around them finally got what they wanted. A chorus of clapping sounded as he slid the ring onto her finger without ever breaking contact with her mouth.

When they pulled apart, the crowd was still cheering, and the airline employee looked torn between being charmed and being frustrated that they were holding up her boarding process.

“Ma'am, are you Fowler, Heather? Are you boarding or not?”

“Oh gosh,” Heather said, the attendant's question jarring her back to reality. “I can't get married today. I'm all for a small wedding, but my mom—”

“Is already in New York,” he said, kissing her softly as he helped her to her feet. “Brooke and Jessie have her at the salon right now while Alexis gets everything else get coordinated.”

Her heart melted. She was marrying a man who'd proposed in an airport and had flown her mom into town.

And that meant her mom was in New York. Finally. All of her dreams were coming true, except . . .

Heather frowned. “You can't get through security
without a ticket, which means you had to buy one. And you bought my mom a ticket. And Danica's ­wedding—”

“Our wedding,” he corrected.

“—was crazy expensive.”

“Well then, good thing I'm loaded.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Seriously, 4C, don't be weird. Don't overthink this.” He picked up her left hand. “Look, big diamond. Swoon.”

She laughed. “Trust me, I will, and I am, I just—”

“I'm about to be more loaded,” he interrupted. “I signed on with Logan. I called him from the hospital and let him know I'd like to join him. We're probably going to take over the world, no big deal. But I'll tell you about it later.”

He offered her arm. “How about it, 4C. Marry me?”

“Absolutely, 4A.” She grinned, taking his arm.