Goodbye to You (25 page)

He pulls off his windbreaker and hangs it on the hook in the entryway.

“Please, sit.” I point at the couch. Duh. He’s been here before. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea? Pop?”

A shot of vodka? Because I need one.

“No, I’m fine, thanks. Thea, we need to talk.”

It’s like a movie where someone says something ominous and the camera zooms in on the other person. I am not ready for my close-up.

“I’m sorry. Do you mind if I go change?” I tug on the bottom of my ratty gray North Carolina University tee shirt.

“No, go ahead. I’m not going anywhere.”

Unlike the last time when he wanted to be anywhere
but
here.

Once in my bedroom, I find a pair of comfy, worn jeans that still fit. Thank goodness they’re clean. I pull off the threadbare shirt and put on a real bra, instead of the wire-free sports bra I sleep in.

I find a three-quarter-sleeve, fitted tee shirt, casual but not frumpy.

Like I’m not trying too hard. In reality, I am putting way too much thought into this. Especially if he’s come to get a few things off his chest before leaving for good this time.

My hair is matted from lying in bed and resting my head on the arm of the sofa. I tear a brush through the tangles and manage a simple braid. I step into the bathroom and brush my teeth, which I am ashamed to admit, I’ve skipped the last few days.

When your heart is breaking, oral hygiene may be the last thing you worry about.

I steel myself and walk out. Shay set plates on the de-cluttered kitchen table and pulled two beers out of the fridge.

The pizza’s here. I missed the pizza guy. Too preoccupied with putting together the perfect outfit, so I don’t appear too put-together.

The hot sausage and onion scent makes my stomach growl. I’d eaten mostly sugary junk for the past week, and my mouth is watering.

I scratch my chin, covertly checking for possible drooling.

All clear. Phew!

I serve us each a slice and sit at the table. He sits across from me, his out-of-character stubble lending his face an ominous cast.

His forehead wrinkles like he’s thinking.

But this expression is accompanied by a frown, instead of his usual devil-may-care grin.

I’m famished and had forgotten there’s serious talking about to happen.

I eat, chewing and swallowing and drinking in silence, keeping my eye on him for any changes in his face.

Nope. Still the same.

I eat one more slice and finish the beer.

He balls up his paper napkin and tosses it on the plate. “Thea, I . . .”

His voice is firm at first, and I assume he’ll rail at me for lying. But then it softens, and guilt bubbles in my throat. “No, Shay, oh my God, I am sorry I—”

He holds up a hand. “Please, let me talk. Please.”

“O-okay. Sorry.” I stand and walk to the couch, curling into the corner, surrounding myself with throw pillows and crossing my arms over my chest.

He follows, sitting on the other end, legs open, elbows leaning on his knees, hands clasped together.

He’s not sitting too close. Good for me, because the sharp, pleasant scent of his soap can be distracting.

A tad disappointing, though because he’s avoiding me.

I’m a walking, talking, breathing mess of contradictions. No wonder he’s frustrated. I frustrate myself.

“Do you trust me?” He stabs a hand through his hair.

A large knitting needle pierces my heart. Will he trust me again?

“Of course. We haven’t known each other long, but I think I trusted you right away. I can’t explain why, I just did.” I let go of a shaky breath I’d been holding on to, and my stomach settles.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He rubs the worry line on his forehead.

“Because I didn’t want this perfect, new-relationship thing to be tainted by reality?” A question more than a statement. Yes, and more. “Because in Key West, I never thought I’d see you again. There was no reason to tell you.”

He tilts his head to one side. “Fair enough. Why not tell me when we met again?”

“The look you gave me after you found the pamphlet. I wasn’t a woman anymore, but a patient. I never wanted you to see me like that, be so analytical, clinical. I wanted you to remember me as I was on vacation. Relaxed. Happy. Whole.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I shut my eyelids to block them from falling.

The cushion next to me sinks beneath his weight. His fingers on my shoulders burn through the thin fabric of my shirt as he turns my body to face him.

“Open your eyes.” I comply, and tears glisten in his eyes too. “Don’t ever think of yourself as less than whole. I never once thought otherwise.”

I nod, unable to speak for fear of sobbing.

“The choices you’ve made are beyond comprehension for most other people. I’ll never understand the full measure of the stress this caused you. I respect you for making this decision. You chose life above everything else. I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah?” My voice cracks.

“Yes. Because you’ll be in my life for many years to come.”

“Really? You still want me?”

“Still want you? Do you understand why I was angry?”

“Be-because I lied to you like your family did about your mother.”

He nods. “Yes, but the thing that kicked me in the nuts was you cheated me out of the choice.”

Like Dr. Luther said.

“Relationships are hard work. I’m overstressed with classes.”

“I-I am sor. . .” He covers my lips with his forefinger.

“I worked my butt off to get into med school. The responsibility of taking care of a girlfriend after surgery is immense. If you told me earlier, I might have bailed. I can’t say. If that makes me a jerk, I’m sorry.”

He may have bailed. A boulder settles in the pit of my stomach.

“You believed I would run. None of it matters. I’m not in love with your breasts, Thea. I’m in love with you. A surgical procedure doesn’t change my feelings.”

In love with me.

Is he for real?

I pinch his arm to find out.

He jumps at the unexpected contact. “Owwww! What the heck?”

“I’m making sure you’re real. My sister’s husband, her ex, is a total asshole. When Jen was diagnosed with stage two earlier this year, her doctors recommended mastectomy. The ex told her if she got the surgery, she would be less than a woman. She went against the doctor’s advice and started radiation, but the tumor didn’t respond. She got a lumpectomy and started chemo. Asshole, as he’s known in the McBride clan, bolted because he couldn’t hack the side effects of her treatment.”

“Wait, he couldn’t hack it? He wasn’t the one vomiting and losing his hair.”

“No kidding. But she’s getting better. Anyway, Asshole’s words started echoing in my head after I met you. ‘Not a real woman.’ I was afraid you’d think the same.”

“I’m not him. Your family history—I get the risks. I assume you tested positive for one of the brca gene mutations.”

“brca1.” It’s refreshing to talk to someone outside of group who understands.

“Your risk is sixty to eighty percent? Smart money is on the prophylactic mastectomy.”

Seriously? Any other guy would flip the fuck out.

Not Shay, not this time. I mentally kick myself for not telling him sooner.

I crawl into his lap, and he squeezes me until I can’t breathe. He kisses my head and says, “One more thing, Thea. Please don’t hold back again. I’m all in. The good, the bad, and the post-op ugly. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I mumble against his strong chest. “And Shay?”

He kisses my hair. “Mmmm hmmm?”

“I love you too. Since the night we met, I think.”

He pulls me closer. I sleep more soundly than I have in a week.

Even though my breasts will be cut out soon, life couldn’t be any better.

This. Is. Awesome.

Things will work out fine.

I mean, it sucks my girlfriend is getting a mastectomy.

Huh. My girlfriend.

I like the sound of that. As far as girlfriends go, mine is the prettiest, funniest, and bravest, ever.

I wasn’t kidding, though, when I said if surgery means I get to keep her around for a long time, it’s all good with me.

Breasts can be replaced.

Thea is irreplaceable.

Exhaustion kicks in. Thea slept on me for hours. When we moved to the bed, all I wanted to do was lie awake and admire her in the pale silver moonlight filtering through the blinds once the rain subsides.

I need to get home and study. I’d bring my books over here, but there are too many distractions for me to get my work done.

This cold shower is doing the trick at waking me, that’s for sure.

My eyes are closed tight against the scented shampoo streaming into my face when the rings of the shower curtain scrape against the rod.

The water warms up, and steam rises. The tub creaks.

I rinse my hair and open my eyes. She sneaks in under the water.

“Ah, you’re a water hog?” I flick my fingers at her, splashing water in her face.

“I’d rather share.” Her arms snake around my waist and pull me closer. Water streams through her hair, pulling the curls loose. She presses into me, everything on her soft where I am sinew. She has no idea how hot she is.

My hands move from her waist to cup her butt. I’ve paid so much attention to her breasts, I’ve never noticed how gorgeous she is from behind.

Of course, I’d noticed. I’d always been a breast man, but I could learn to love butts.

Her butt.

She turns up her cute nose. I kiss it, then trail more kisses from her chin to her eyelids, which flutter closed as my lips approach.

Her fingers massage my triceps, and her groans of approval make me happy I stay fit.

If it pleases her, I’ll keep doing it.

I capture her mouth with mine, drinking in her kiss, her tongue darting out to massage mine.

She moves my hands to her chest in a frenzy. I hesitate.

She wants me to pay attention to them, but I don’t want her to think I only care about her breasts. I linger for a few minutes there as I knead the pliable flesh. I turn her around, pressing her into the wall, and kneel. My hands splay across her hips, her lush curves inviting me to kiss them.

My lips touch the skin where one thigh meets glute, and she sighs. I kiss the back of each leg, behind each knee, working my way back to the rounded curves. She giggles when I lick at the small of her back, and shivers when I trace my tongue along her spine.

She startles when I pull her near, my erection pressing into her.

I can’t wait to enter her this way—bend her over, squeezing her butt as I watch myself move in and out . . .

Like a bucket of ice on my head, it hits me.

No condoms.

“Did you bring anything?”

She leans over the wall of the tub and retrieves the packet from her robe pocket.