Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” I grunt. Not years, months. The doctor’s office called me again this morning, but I let it go to voicemail. I’ll have to face this at some point, just not right now. “So what?”
“So … is your head in the game? I don’t need to use the M-word with you, do I?”
He says it in his usual bantering way. For a couple of years, that has been our catchphrase. Whenever we’re working late nights or frantically trying to get our next task done, we’ll look at each other and say, “Millions, brother, millions …” That’s what we’re dealing with these days, but it seems so hollow suddenly. Or maybe it always did, and this news dragged my true feelings out. Still, I’ve got a responsibility. I can’t leave him in the lurch.
I force a smirk on my face. “Nah, no need. Let’s do this.”
He smiles, clearly relieved.
I take out my phone and shoot off a quick text. What are you doing tonight? I won’t be able to meet until around 8, but I have some news about The Bear.
Her reply comes quickly. That makes me even more confident she’s got no clue about the romantic angle—the desire that initially triggered my texting. If this were even a bit romantic, surely she’d wait before texting me back as petty revenge for me leaving her on read for so long.
Instead, she writes, News about The Bear? I can’t wait to hear it!
And I can’t wait to see her. I’ve got months, not years. Months to follow my desire. Months finally to seize what I want instead of thinking, “There’s always tomorrow.” Not for me anymore.
I can pick you up, I reply.
“You sure you’re good?” Ethan asks me toward the end of the day as we’re both getting ready to leave.
“I’m fine,” I grunt. “We did everything we needed to.”
“I know.” He sighs. “Two years we’ve been working on that settlement. We finally get the all-clear today and then nothing.”
The phrase all-clear brings to mind my other news.
“You know we can talk,” he says as he packs things into his briefcase. “If something’s wrong …”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Really. Let me know if I seem off in meetings, and I’ll make adjustments.”
He sighs again. I’m purposefully looking down at my desk so he doesn’t read me, but I can feel him staring at me from across the office. I can sense all the things he probably wants to say. I’m not usually the most cheerful guy around, but I’m never a buzzkill. I’m always able to hide any bad moods which grip me.
“Okay, brother,” he says. “Well … see you tomorrow.”
Walking out to the parking lot, I listen to my latest voicemail. “Mr. Cross, it’s of the utmost importance that we schedule this specialist appointment as soon as possible.”
I end the voicemail, gritting my teeth. I don’t want to learn all the different ways my body has turned against me. I don’t want to hear the case the cancer is making against my life. Tomorrow, I promise myself. I’ll call and make arrangements tomorrow, do the mature thing, and make a reasonable choice.
But now, I want to see Lily.
As I drive through the city, I don’t overthink this desire. It’s difficult to remember her as the small, shy girl she was anyway. Mostly, I can recall the desperate look in her eyes, the way she stared at me with saucer-wide eyes as if I was the only person who could save her. She had that glint of determination even back then.
I pull up outside her new apartment building in a superior area of the city. After shooting her a text letting her know I’m here, I lean back and compose myself. I have to remember that this is a business meeting, sharing info. Two warriors in the fight against the darkness this city can inflict on people.
When I spot her walking across the street, an alarm goes off in my head. Now-or-never-now-or-never. I push the thought as far down as I can get it. It’s that damn C-word. It’s that damn doctor. He has me feeling on edge, like I have to act now. Yet even if I did, where would it lead? What would it mean? So much for not overthinking.
I climb out of the car and walk to the passenger side, trying not to take too much notice of her outfit. She’s wearing a casual dress with a light sweater over her shoulders. Her hair is down today, framing her face in an endearing, beautiful, impossible-not-to-note way.
“Thank you,” she murmurs when I open the door for her.
“No problem …”
As I return to the driver’s seat, I try not to notice her bare legs, the thickness, how perfect they look. I want to grab them, massage them slowly, and make her feel every subtle movement until she’s gasping and moaning right on the edge of a release.