The Bottom Line (12 page)

“Then what’s wrong with her?”

“We’ll have to talk about it later, Amber. Okay?”

“I guess… But she really takes drugs? That’s not good.”

His daughter had a bad habit of leaping to the wrong conclusion, always assuming the worst. Of course, after living with her flighty mom, he understood. “She’s a teacher, ladybug. She wouldn’t take illegal drugs.”

“Phew. Had me worried,” she said in a teasing tone of voice as she continued to watch Mallory. “She’s pretty.”

“I think so, too.”

“No, I mean
really
pretty. Wears her hair awful short, though.”

“Is really your word of the day?” He’d have winked at her if he thought Amber could see it.

“What’s making her feel so rotten? She doesn’t act like she’s got the flu or anything…”

“She was sick. She’s better now, but I think she should be the one to tell you about it.”

“Did she have cancer or something?”

The moment he’d dreaded had arrived. The concern in Amber’s voice said it all. He was going to have to be honest with her whether Mallory wanted him to or not. He owed his daughter that much.

She had as much at stake in this new relationship as he did. If he and Mallory moved forward as he hoped they would, this woman was going to become a part of Amber’s life. Amber deserved to know exactly what they were getting into. He just hoped Mallory would understand why he had to share the news.

“She had cancer.” Needing to see her reaction, he chanced a look. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Mallory.

“What kind?” Amber asked.

“Of cancer?”

“Yeah. What kind?”

“Breast cancer.”

His daughter’s gaze fixed on Mallory’s chest.

He could only imagine what was flying through her mind. Did all women worry about losing their breasts to cancer? Was that fear even half as terrifying as ball cancer was to guys?

When Ben had heard about Lance Armstrong’s battle with testicular cancer, he’d thought that was as bad as it could get for a guy—to lose his nuts. But did women feel that way about their boobs?

Since Amber obviously wanted to know but seemed afraid to ask, he told her what he knew. “She had a mastectomy on her left side.”

“That’s the side I hurt.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh God. Did she just have the surgery?”

“No. Nothing like that,” he replied, hoping to allay her worries about causing Mallory’s pain. “She’s getting ready to have that side reconstructed. The pain has something to do with that.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When’s her surgery? I mean… if she’s getting things put back together, it’ll be soon?”

“Yeah. Over Christmas break. I might have to help her out.”

Amber nodded. “I can help, too.”

What a wonderful woman she’d be one day. She barely knew Mallory, yet she was willing to lend a hand to help. “That’d be nice. I’m sure Mallory would like having another girl around.”

“She’s not sick now, right?” Amber asked. “I mean… she’s not gonna die on us or anything is she?”

The fright in her voice cut him to the bone because he shared it. Niggling in the back of his mind was the concern that he could easily learn to love Mallory. And if he handed her his heart, he’d have to live with the fear of her cancer returning, threatening to take her away.

Could he handle that?

God help him, he wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure he wanted to put his daughter through the type of ordeal.

“Dad?”

“No, ladybug. She’s not gonna die on us. Sit back and put your seat belt on. Okay?”

With a nod, Amber did as he asked. “I like her, Dad.”

“So do I.”

“I know.”

He tried to see his daughter’s face in the review mirror, but it was too dark to make out what emotions were taking hold. “Is that a problem?”

“Nah. I just… Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For promising you’ll tell me before things get too serious.” She shoved her earbuds back into her ears, dismissing him.

Ben picked up Mallory’s limp hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. In going to Chicago despite her overwhelming pain, she’d proven something to him.

She cared.

A lot.

A good thing, because so did he.

“Are you sure she won’t mind if we stay over at her place?” Amber had asked the same question from the moment he turned left instead of right off the interstate.

Mallory was in no shape to drive. The mere thought of her trying to get home and to bed without him was untenable. “No, Amber. She won’t.”

“But you could drop me off at home first.”

“She wouldn’t want you to be home alone. I wouldn’t want you to, either.” Ben glanced at Mallory. “I can’t leave her alone. She needs me.”

“I know, but… I could just stay home by myself.”

He shook his head.

“I’m thirteen, Dad. I can be home alone. I won’t smoke dope or anything…”

“I know that. I just think it’s better if you come with us.”

“Dad…”

Pulling into her driveway, he dismissed the argument. “Too late. We’re here.”

Amber let out an exaggerated yawn as she checked her watch. “It’s past your bedtime, old man.”

“Past yours, too. I’ll open the door.” He punched the remote opener. “Go on in. Guest bedroom is at the top of the stairs on the left.”

“Need any help with Mallory?”

“We’re fine. Go to bed. It’s late.”

After opening the door, she glanced back at him. “Theresa’s supposed to pick me up at nine.”

As if she’d actually show up for visitation. “I know. I’ll have you home in time.”
In case she actually appears.
Snatching his cell phone off his belt, he punched in a new alarm time. “I’ll get you up by eight.”

“Ugh, too early,” she said with a frown before her gaze shifted to Mallory. “Just yell if she needs me.”

His daughter never ceased to amaze him. “When did you get so grown-up?”

“When you weren’t looking.”

She disappeared into the house.

The drive to her house was so familiar now he could have made it blindfolded. He pulled her Escape into the empty side of the garage.

Most of his tools were there since the new job with the homebuilder provided tools. He’d even started storing them in the cabinets and on the pegboard that her ex had left behind.

I wish I could work on her house more often.

Mallory was infinitely patient, and she probably knew he needed the money from the new job. But he hated that she might feel he was putting her last on his list of important things. Far from it. As soon as the construction job ended, he’d throw himself wholeheartedly into making this place beautiful.

Mallory didn’t even stir when Ben opened her door.

Her face was soft in the dim light of the streetlamp. She looked younger when she was relaxed, although she wore her age well in general. Having cancer probably aged a person rapidly, but her face didn’t show the wear.

Amber was right. Mallory was
really
pretty.

Should he carry her inside? Only fear that he’d hurt something if he lifted her kept him from scooping her up into his arms. Hell, he still wasn’t sure what exactly was causing her so much pain.

He brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek. “Mal? Baby?”

She wiggled her nose but slept on.

Since he had no idea what she’d taken, he didn’t know how long it would be before the drug wore off. He would have popped her seat belt, but she’d tucked the shoulder strap behind her, probably because it would’ve pressed on her left side. If he unbuckled it, he’d have to work it over her left side.

As he rubbed her upper thigh, he tried again with a louder voice. “Mallory. We’re home.”

Thankfully, she stirred, her eyes slowly opening. “Ben,” she murmured, laying her right hand against his cheek. Her fingers were cold as ice.

“We need to get you inside.” The tone of his voice was the same he’d used with Amber. When Theresa first left, she’d been afraid to fall asleep alone. Most nights she’d dozed off on the couch. As he’d carried her to her room, he always made sure he woke her enough that she wouldn’t be afraid later when she realized she was someplace different.

His gut was rapidly tying itself into knots. It was far too easy to picture himself doing this for Mallory if she was sick—if her cancer returned. He hated himself for thinking about something so chilling, but he was a realist. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t pretend she hadn’t had cancer inside her. And cancer had a nasty habit of returning.

How many stories had he heard of people who rallied, fighting the disease until it reasserted itself? Was anyone truly cured, or was it only a matter of time before they had a recurrence?

“Can I help you take off the seat belt?” Ben asked.

“Seat belt?” She blinked her eyes and knit her brows.

“You’re in the Escape. We just got back from Chicago. Remember?”

“Hmm. Yeah.”

“Can I help you get your seat belt off? Then we can get you to bed.”

“Bed. With you.” She hummed. “I’ve been looking forward to that.” She hummed a little more as a smile lit her face.

Damn if he didn’t blush. “To sleep, baby. Just to sleep. You’re still groggy from—what did you take?”

“Vicodin. Makes me sleepy.”

He found a smile. “I can see that. If I pop the buckle, will it hurt you if I lift it over your left side?”

“No. No, I’ll get it.” Evidently his question helped her return to the land of the living. She didn’t flinch when she took it off, but she kept her left arm clasped close to her. “Where’s Amber?”

“In the guest room.”

Mallory’s gaze searched his. “You told her.”

“Yeah, I did. You’re not mad?”

“No. No, she should know.”

“Are you still hurting?” he asked.

“Not too bad.” She tested her words by gingerly touching her chest. “Nope. Not too bad. That Vicodin’s good stuff.”

“Want me to carry you upstairs?”

“I’m fine.” Her gaze fixed on the open garage door. “Where’s your truck?”

“At home.”

“But… how are you going to go home?” She was thinking hard about that simple dilemma, which meant the drug was still holding tight. “I guess I need to drive you back.”

She wasn’t going anywhere. He blocked her path when she stepped toward the back of the SUV. “You’re not driving.”

“But…” The fact she swayed on her feet probably didn’t even register with her.

“No way. You’re not in any shape to do anything except sleep.” He came up on her right side and put his hand on her back. “I’m gonna pick you up.”

“Ben, you can’t—”

As gently as he could, he lifted her into his arms. She didn’t wince or flinch, but she did pull her left arm close, cradling it over her stomach. “This is good? I’m not hurting you?”

Although she didn’t answer, she nuzzled her face against his neck. Her warm breath brushed over his skin, sending heat shimmering through him. She smelled sweet; the lingering scent of the perfume she’d worn at the mixer clung to her skin.

Twirl.
His little spin at the dance helped him remember.

He made his way to the master bedroom, grateful to see she hadn’t bothered to make the bed. After he laid her down, he took off her shoes and set them on the floor. When he looked back at her face, he was surprised to see she was still awake.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” Her clothes were loose and comfortable, so Ben saw no purpose in trying to help her get into pajamas. He pulled the fuzzy blanket up over her legs and middle. “Do you need any more pills or anything?”

“No. I’m not hurting now. I think the skin finally stretched.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “That or the Vicodin’s still working well.”

“What do you mean about the skin stretching?”

She patted the spot next to her, so he sat down. Then she took his hand in hers. “It’s something the surgeon has to do to get me ready for the reconstruction procedure.”

“Stretch your skin?”

“Yeah. He put this sort of balloon under the left side of my chest. Every so often, he pumps more air in to help the skin expand enough that it’ll cover the implant.”

Things finally made sense. No wonder she hurt so much. He hated the idea of her putting herself through that kind of pain for something cosmetic. “You think you have to have the breast done?”

She nodded.

Although she’d told him she wasn’t doing this for him, Ben couldn’t help but think things weren’t that cut-and-dried. “You know it doesn’t matter to me. Right?”

She gave him no reply, save the thinning of her lips into a tight line.

“I mean it, Mal. You don’t have to put yourself through this if you’re doing it for me. I don’t give a shit if you’ve only got one breast.”

Her scoff caught him off guard. “You say that now, but… you don’t know, Ben. You have no idea.”

“No idea about what?”

“How…
ugly
it is.”

“The scar?”

This time she let out a haunting laugh. “A couple of stiches leave a scar. I’m a—a
horror movie
.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I look like some piece of meat carved up by Freddy Krueger.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “It can’t be that bad. Why don’t you show me?”

* * *

“No way.” Mallory was wide-awake now. Meds or not, she was meeting this confrontation head-on.

And that was exactly what this was: a confrontation.

Ben had no idea what he was getting himself into. She’d been lying to herself when she thought she’d ever have a chance to be anything more than a “date” with him or with any man. No one could find her desirable now. Shit, she couldn’t even stand to look at herself in a mirror.

Even when her breast was reconstructed, it would have scars running across the top and the middle. Dr. Dowell had shown her the pictures of other reconstructions. Mallory had stared at each, telling herself the scars would fade over time, lying to herself that the fake nipple wouldn’t appear all that different from the real one.

No, he had no idea.

“I wouldn’t care, Mal.”

“Trust me, you would.”

Not only would he run away if he saw her hideous chest, Ben wouldn’t want to face the five-year ticking clock. Why would he put himself through that? Why would he want to hang around, waiting to see if the cancer was hiding somewhere in her cells, looking for the right moment to come out and start attacking her body again?

Who would want to put himself through that kind of nightmare?

“I—I think you should go,” she insisted.

The frown he threw at her was fierce. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Go home, Ben. I’m tired. I need some rest.” Once he was gone, she’d ignore his calls. There were other contractors. Robert would help her find someone else to fix her house.

Fuck the house.

Who would fix her heart?

Ben wouldn’t let go of her hand, even when she tried to pull it back.

Mallory bordered on a panic attack. Her heart was pounding a rough rhythm, roaring in her ears. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid—some relationship that exposed her emotions, leaving them blistered and raw. “Please. Just… just go away. I want you to go away.”

She hadn’t realized she’d started crying until Ben wiped a tear from her cheek. “No, you don’t.”

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” The question came out in a nearly breathless sob.

His shrug sure wasn’t what she expected.

What exactly did she expect? Did she want Ben to drop to his knees and declare his undying love? Did she want him to swear it didn’t matter if she looked like some grotesque Frankenstein project? Did she want him to promise it didn’t matter if the cancer returned, that he’d still be at her side?

The tears came in earnest, so she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Mallory jerked her hand away, rolled to her right side, and pulled her knees up. “Go away, Ben.”

The mattress shifted. She prayed he was finally doing as she asked.

God, she hated crying. Not only did the sobs make her chest ache, but she loathed the indulgence of self-pity. But she couldn’t seem to stop.

Suddenly, the blanket was pulled away. The mattress dipped behind her before an arm snaked around her hips, pulling her close.

Her eyes flew open and she glanced over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Holding you.” He tugged her closer, molding his thighs to the backs of hers. His broad chest pressed against her back.

“Why?”

“You ask some silly questions, Mal.” He nuzzled his face against her neck. “I love that perfume.”

“I—I want you to leave.”

“No, you don’t.” Ben’s hand left her hip to smooth down her cheek. “You need me.”

“I don’t!”

“Bullshit. Now hush up and get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Part of her wanted to shove him away, to demand that he leave right now. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.

He rubbed soothing circles down her hip and thigh. Then he dragged the blanket over them, letting his arm rest over her waist.

When she realized he was being careful not to touch the left side of her chest, she almost burst into sobs again. She swallowed hard a couple of times, willing away the threatening tears.

His warmth quickly surrounded her, drugging her almost as effectively as the Vicodin. He was banishing the cold that had been a constant companion since her first chemo treatment.

Needing to borrow more of his wonderful heat, Mallory put the soles of her feet against the tops of his. She wished for a moment he’d taken off their socks, too, so she could feel his skin against hers.

“Your feet are like ice cubes.”

She would have jerked away if he hadn’t locked his ankles around hers, anchoring her.

Anchoring me.

That was what Ben Carpenter was rapidly becoming: an anchor in the storm.

He brushed his lips against her neck before kissing her earlobe. With no warning, his tongue traced the shell of her ear.

Mallory shivered.

“Get some sleep, baby.”

He was breathing deep and even in a matter of moments.

Since she had no strength to fight him, she surrendered, letting sleep scatter her thoughts.