K. Bromberg - Slow Burn

If he didn’t keep trying after five days, he sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around for months of chemotherapy and radiation. The proof’s in the pudding.

It wasn’t until last night that I realized subconsciously I was testing him. Waiting him out. Making him prove the love he had professed to me.

I thought he’d given up, that his words were bullshit, until I got the text last night and the voice mail. And then it just blew my carefully constructed false front to smithereens. I sit in my car remembering it, resting my forehead on my hands overlapped on the steering wheel.

Maybe it was the mass quantities of wine. Maybe it was having Ry sleeping in her old bedroom again. Maybe it was the emotional overload of everything about to happen. Whatever it was, when I read the text, a small thrill went through me, tearing through my resolve, which was already hanging on by a thread.

Huh. Thread. Strings. Can’t get the hell away from ties when it comes to Beckett Daniels.

All the text said was: I’m calling you in two minutes. You don’t have to pick up. But please listen to the voice mail. B.

Something was different to me with his text this time. I’m not sure if it was because of me or because of something in his tone, but it had my fingers itching to answer when my phone started ringing a minute later. Instead I fisted my hands and waited it out until the minute the phone alerted there was a new message.

When I heard his voice, my heart squeezed with ache and loss. “Had … I don’t know if you’re just deleting my messages or actually hearing them, but I want you to hear this one. I want you to listen to my voice, hear the determination in it…. Nothing’s changed. You’re worth the goddamn fight. Gloves are on . I’ll go every damn round with you to prove it. All you’ve got to do is step back in the ring with me. You’ve already knocked me out, but I’m still fighting. Take the chance. Bell’s about to ring.”

I think I listened to it over and over, tears sliding down my face as I wanted to pick up the phone and call him back but was so scared to do it, to invite him in. My gloves are on for a different type of fight, so how can I have the strength to go at it with him too?

I fought my subconscious telling me that I didn’t have to put the gloves on if I just opened the door and let him in. Then I wondered if the slight slur in his speech meant he was just bullshitting me and was drunk and lonely. And after that, I sat in bed contemplating whether he knew … if Colton had told him.

Sleep came in short bouts because every dream was filled with him, or about him, so that I’d wake up longing to hear his voice again, feel his touch, see his smile. I was so exhausted and restless by six that I got up, left Ry a note, and came here to be close to the one person who understands this more than anyone.

It’s so peaceful here, so beautiful, and a tad cold, so I lean back in my seat, which I’ve reclined, and close my eyes for a moment, allowing the serenity of being near her to pull me under.

The noise of the trash truck in the distance pulls me from sleep. I startle awake when I come to, immediately realizing where I am and that the sun is higher in the sky. Next I move my seat back upright, take a sip of water from the bottle in my console, and check my phone, which I’d set to silent as it rested in the console.

I note the missed calls from Rylee and a few from Becks and squeeze my eyes shut, throwing my phone onto the passenger seat. I have to talk to her first. Sort my shit out so that I can figure out where to go from here. That sudden fluttery feeling returns to my chest as I climb out of the car and start walking across the green grass dotted with stone markers.

Guilt mixed with sadness weighs heavy with each step. I haven’t been here since my diagnosis. My head’s been screwed-up enough that I feel guilty that I haven’t been here to tell Lexi that I let her down. That I have cancer now too.

I don’t want her to worry. I know it’s silly because this is just a place when technically her spirit is all around me, so I know she already knows, but at the same time, I feel guilt nonetheless.

I smile softly when I reach her spot beneath the large oak tree, the branches giving her special spot shade and prolonging the life of flowers here from the harsh California sun. “Hey, sis,” I tell her as I lower myself to the ground, running my finger over the engraving of her name, before leaning my back against the tombstone like I used to sit for hours those first few months after she died.

I swear I hear her voice, can feel her when I’m here. And I know it’s all in my head, but I don’t care. It’s all I have left, and so it’s enough for me. At least I tell myself it is.

I talk to her for a bit, filling her in on miscellaneous things, telling her little things about Maddie that a mom would want to know, stalling telling her about the diagnosis. I inform her that the Scandalous event went flawlessly, and our company has officially secured its first huge client. Ridiculous really that when the admission of my diagnosis is finally off my chest and no lightning bolt strikes me dead, I sigh in relief.

I explain to her through my tears that I’m going to keep it from Maddie as long as possible. Protect her from the memories and the devastation. I tell her how Mom and Dad are handling it, the charm on mom’s necklace getting constant use as it’s worked back and forth on the chain.

And then I fall silent again, wanting to tell her the rest, but I know the minute it’s out of my mouth I’m going to realize just how stupid I’ve been. Testing him, pushing him away, making decisions for him that he should get to make for himself.

I rearrange the flowers in their urns, buying time, and even that sounds ludicrous because it’s not like she’s going anywhere. A cool breeze floats across the cemetery, and I settle cross-legged facing her marker, hands picking at the grass and separating the blades mindlessly.

“I met someone, Lex,” I finally say in a whisper. “You might have even heard me mention him before. His name is Becks.” I laugh, knowing she would because it’s so cliché to fall for the best man. “Yeah, the one with the nice ass from the Las Vegas trip.” I explain to her about the wedding night and the constant push and pull between us since then. About his confession that he loves me and my lie to protect him.

“I can’t ask him to go through this with me, Lex.” The tears start again as I think of how brutal this will be, going at it alone. It’s not what I really want, but I know it’s for the best in the end. “He’s thirty-two. He should be out at clubs and meeting hot women and living his life, not stuck with a woman with scars instead of tits. Having to hold me up so I can puke because I’m so weak and sick from the chemo. He deserves a woman who has the time to take care of him, not a bald, bloated, boobless woman who is so tired from being sick, she doesn’t want to go out.”

I push the tears off my face. Knowing my words are so true but so desperately wanting to be selfish and ask him to stick it out. Deal with all the crap because I’m so damn worth it. But I can’t. He may be in the ring, but I’m just not sure if I can force him to fight for something that’s going to devastate him.

“I know what I’m doing is right, Lex. If you could see what you leaving has done to Danny … it’s …” I squeeze my eyes, trying to shut out the images of him broken and crying so hard, he couldn’t speak. Of him looking like a zombie to the point my parents took Maddie for a bit so that he could get himself together enough not to scare her.

And then I realize I don’t want to push the thoughts away. I need to remember them, use them as a steadfast reminder of why I can’t drag Becks into this.