Erica's Choice (13 page)

“About us, Corey. The phone calls—they have to stop.”

“Uh-huh. You rang to tell me this?”

Erica wasn’t in the mood for his gentle teasing. “I won’t do it again, and you can’t call me anymore either.”

“Erica, we’ve been through this.”

“No, we haven’t, not really. I realize I haven’t been clear enough with you. I’ve sent you mixed signals and that isn’t fair.”

“There’s nothing unclear about the way we affect each other,” Corey countered calmly. “You want me as much as I want you. Why can’t you admit it?”

“Because what I want doesn’t matter. My life is more complicated than you realize, and it’s not something I’m able to talk to you about right now. You have to trust me on this—getting in deeper with you is out of the question. You have to stop phoning my house. If you do it again…” Erica pushed against the bubble of pain that had formed behind her sternum, “…I won’t pick up. I won’t call back.”

“Right.” A tense note had found its way into Corey’s voice. “So what’s to stop me dropping by? How long do you think you can hold out if I set up camp on your doorstep? Because I’m telling you, Erica, I’m willing go that far.”

“For God’s sake, Corey,” she huffed. She knew what it was going to take to stop him, and Erica barely hesitated before she employed the biggest weapon in her arsenal. “I slept with someone else.”

The ringing silence on the other end of the line told Erica all she needed to know about how accurate her aim had been. She felt like the worst person in the world. She’d intentionally hurt the nicest man she’d ever met because she didn’t want to admit the truth and have him reject her for that instead, the way Doug had. She couldn’t have handled it.

She shouldn’t have been surprised by Corey’s question, but she was. It took her breath away. “Was it Griff?”

“Yes,” she admitted in a threadbare voice.

“So I was right.” His words were more sad than angry. “You like him better, you always have. You didn’t want to share, you wanted him to yourself.”

Erica remained silent, unable to adequately explain the effect they’d both had on her, how impossible it was to apportion her feelings in percentages like slices of a pie chart. After a moment Corey went on. “When did this happen?
How
the hell did it happen?”

“This morning. He came over.”

“
He
went to see you?”

Realizing too late the trouble she’d inadvertently caused between the two men, Erica implored, “Please don’t blame him, Corey. It was me. I wanted it. I needed him.”

“You needed him, but not me. I get it. I’ve made an idiot of myself. I thought you wanted the both of us, but those fantasies were all about Griff, weren’t they?”

It wasn’t true, but denying it would only muddy the message she was trying to get across. “Corey, I’m sorry. He told me I ought to be straight with you and I want to do that. That’s why he came over this morning, because he was concerned about you. The rest just…happened.”

“Right.”

Erica was ashamed of herself for using such a lame excuse. Sex didn’t simply happen, like an act of fate. It was an act of will. She’d willingly let Griff into her body. She’d willingly hurt Corey, let him think she’d used him to get to his friend. Was there any end to her sins?

“I have to go,” Corey eventually announced. “I’m at work and can’t chat on the phone all day.”

“Corey, I’m…”

He hung up on her before she got the chance to apologize again. Feeling nauseous, Erica braced her weight on the brick wall behind her with one hand while she bent at the waist, waiting for the bile in her throat to eject itself. Fortunately she’d barely eaten all day, or she might have made a mess right on the pavement.

“Miss Shannon?” Erica lifted her head to see the receptionist regarding her with a concerned expression. “Are you all right?”

Erica nodded, the gesture making her dizzy. But she remained steady as she straightened. “Is Dr. Singh ready?”

“Yes, you can come through now.”

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Dr. Mariana Singh began as she ushered Erica into her office and closed the door behind her. “I know you must be anxious.”

“I have to know. What am I dealing with?”

“I received your results from the lab.” The doctor took a seat opposite Erica and indicated the file on her desk. “You’ll be relieved to know the biopsy identified no abnormal cells.”

Erica’s breath suspended. She didn’t think she could have been more shocked if the news was bad. “What?”

“They could find no indication of cancer. The lump you discovered was a benign cyst.”

Benign cyst.
Those two words might as well have been
lottery winner
. Erica was as shocked and disbelieving as she would be had someone rung to say she’d won a million dollars. “Benign? Are you sure?”

“I had the lab double-check the results. In fact I phoned them again before I called you in here. Yes, the cyst was benign. You don’t have cancer, Erica.”

Dr. Singh had guided her Aunt Claire through the process of her own discovery, one which had an ending not nearly as elating as this one. Her familiar, faintly accented voice washed over Erica, soothing her distress like the tide smoothes out a rough stone. “My God, I can’t believe it.”

“You are a healthy young woman.” Dr. Singh smiled kindly. “Believe it.”

Healthy young woman.
It seemed such an alien concept. She’d spent the past year mired in her aunt’s medical issues and her own genetic misfortune. It seemed she’d been focused on cancer for so long it had shifted her attention from anything good or healthy that might exist in her life.

A burgeoning euphoria quickened Erica’s breath, but it was tempered by another harsh reality. She caught the doctor’s gaze. “This is just the beginning. It wasn’t breast cancer this time, but what about next time?”

Dr. Sing inclined her head. “There are no guarantees in life, and your risk is very real. We both know that. But with continued regular checkups, a good diet—
”

“My chances of getting some form of cancer at some point are around eighty-seven percent,” Erica interrupted. The stress of the past week had taken a massive toll on her. She couldn’t go through it again. “I can’t simply wait around and hope for the best, not anymore. There are other ways to deal with this, and I think I need to start seriously looking at them.”

“Of course, you do have several options at your disposal,” the doctor agreed. “Your genetic abnormality need not be a death sentence. Let’s discuss what we can do in terms of preventative measures.”

Dr. Singh provided Erica with a wealth of information, most of which Erica had already familiarized herself with online over the past year. She knew what her options were, and for the first time they started to seem like exactly that—options. Not invasive surgeries, not disfiguring procedures, but realistic alternatives to the life of fear and dread she’d been living. There were methods of thwarting this disease. Many others did it, and right now in Dr. Singh’s office, Erica decided she could do it too.

She wouldn’t let cancer win. She would take control of her fate.

The impact jarred Corey’s body as he slammed into his opponent. Steve Waller landed on his back on the dew-damp grass, the air rushing out of his lungs in a gasp.

It took a moment for Steve to catch his breath. When he did he sounded pissed. “Fucking hell, Corey. You got your period tonight or what?”

Corey offered him a tight smile. “Trying to stay in shape for next year’s game, that’s all.”

Every man at the evening’s footy practice knew there was more to Corey’s zealous performance than an attempt to perfect his tackling technique. The annual Guns and Hoses rugby league stoush, where the fieries challenged local law enforcement to a grudge match, had already been played, and won. Tonight’s post-season practice was more an excuse for some rowdy exercise and male bonding than anything.

Not that Corey was in much of a bonding mood tonight.

As he got back into position, fully prepared to take on the next man who tried to pass him with the football, Erica’s words rang in his head.

…getting in deeper with you is out of the question. You have to stop phoning my house. If you do it again, I won’t pick up. I won’t call back.

She’d punctured his lung with those words, but what followed was worse
.
More than twenty-four hours later Corey was still prone to bouts of breathlessness that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

Steve Waller came running at him with the ball, and Corey made a beeline for him. The other man shook his head and quickly offloaded. Corey pulled up just before he slammed into Steve again.

Too bad. Corey really wanted to body slam someone.

Admittedly, Steve wasn’t his preferred target.

I had sex with someone else.

“Here he is now. You’re late.”

Steve’s greeting made Corey whip his head around. Sure enough there was Griff, dumping his duffel by the sideline and giving the team an unapologetic shrug. “Stuff to do, Waller. It’s called a life.”

“Funny. For that, you can take my spot for a while. Wachawski’s broken my spine.”

Corey took little notice of the mock-filthy look Steve sent him as he pretended to limp off the field. He had eyes only for the man’s replacement. He tracked every step Griff took as he moved into the vacated position. Griff didn’t look him in the eye once.

Coward.

Corey continued to stare at Griff, until he finally looked up. What he saw in his golden eyes knocked the wind out of him.

Not regret, but defiance.
The bastard.
All that talk about standing aside so he could have Erica, about how the three of them could never work. He hadn’t meant any of it. He’d been waiting for his moment to waltz in behind Corey’s back and steal her.

His blood pumped with impatience as the game got going again. Corey took a pass and ran straight for his mark, not bothering to sidestep or feint, even when Curly called for the ball. He ran straight for Griff, who came equally hard toward him.

At the last minute, Griff ducked, grabbing Corey around the waist instead of meeting him chest to chest. The surprise caught Corey off-guard and he was propelled backward. He fell onto the earth like a sack of cement, Griff landing with an
oomph
on top of him.

Grinding his teeth, Corey pushed at Griff’s body weight until the other man stood. Griff offered his hand to Corey, but Corey ignored it, standing on his own with a glower. He bent to play the ball through his legs. When he straightened, he was still glaring.

Griff faced the look levelly and came to a simple conclusion. “She told you then.”

The cavalier words made Corey so mad his blood burned like acid. “Told me what?” he spat. “That you fucked her or that you told her to dump me?”

He thought he saw Griff wince but he couldn’t be sure. His vision was a little blurred from that body-shaking tackle. Griff turned his attention back to the game, and Corey barely resisted the urge to push the other man into the dirt.

The game proceeded. Penalties were awarded, scrums conducted. Griff’s team scored two tries, Corey’s three. All the while Corey grabbed every opportunity to slam his opponent into the ground. Most of the time it could be chalked up to legitimate score-line defense.

Sometimes not.

“I thought you wanted to share her with me,” Griff drawled after one such incident had them both sprawled flat out on the field.

Rage gave Corey the energy to stand again. “Not like this,” he hissed.

“So only on your terms. Anyone else have a say in how this plays out?” Griff pondered, standing too. “Obviously not me. What about Erica?”

“Fuck you.”

Mitch, who acted as referee on account of a recent knee injury, blew his whistle. “You guys need to sit out for a while?”

“No,” Corey denied immediately.

He wasn’t done hurting Griff yet.

Never one to admit he might be bested in a matchup, Griff let Corey see his lips twitch. A few minutes later when Griff was passed the ball and started making a run for it, Corey flew straight for him in top gear.

Griff showed no fear as he hurtled forward. He had opportunities to offload, guys in position and yelling for the ball. But he held on to it and kept running.

Bring it on
, Corey thought, a second before they collided.

Griff had more speed but Corey had the size advantage. Griff hit the ground with a loud thump and Corey followed him down.

For a second he panicked, thinking he’d actually caused Griff damage. He sat up and surveyed Griff’s body. “You okay?”

“Do I fucking look okay?” Griff wheezed.

The shrill of Mitch’s whistle was ear piercing. “Wachawski! Griffin! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mitch lit into them in a diatribe fit for the occasion and ended it with a screamed instruction. “Both of you, off! You’re sin-binned for ten!”

“There’s only eight minutes to go,” Corey pointed out.

“I know,” yelled Mitch. “Both of you out of my sight now.”

“Fair enough.” Griff staggered to his feet. “I’m too old for this shit anyway.”