Goodbye to You (32 page)

I, on the other hand, with my hair popping out of the French braid Bennie did for me a couple days ago, appear less like a hot model and more like a hot mess.

Bless this man for not saying a word about it.

“Fred thinks I’m moving out. He’s busy penning the perfect Craigslist ad, a cross between Sheldon on the
Big Bang Theory
and Schmidt from
The New Girl
.”

I shrug. “It’s a couple days’ worth of clothes and stuff. No big deal.”

Totally a big deal, but I won’t tell Fred.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” He squeezes my hand.

“The usual—staying overnight at Daddy’s and waking up with the kids.”

“Do you think they could do without you this year?”

“Hmmmm. What would I be doing instead?”

“Christmas in Key West is a sight to behold. I’d love to share it with you. Liam will be home too. He’s got leave, and he wants to meet you. He won’t believe his awkward, less attractive brother nabbed a hottie like you.” Shay slings his arm across my shoulder, careful not to exert too much pressure since I complained the skin across my collarbone is tight and tingly.

“You e-mailed a picture of us, right?”

“He’s convinced I Photoshopped you in.”

“Wait, you’re the less attractive brother? Can I see a picture of Liam? Did I pick up the wrong brother at Paddy’s last summer?” I wrap my arm around his waist, enjoying the warmth radiating from him.

He stops walking. “What? I’m speechless. I thought our connection went beyond physical.”

“Now, yes. One hot summer night, though, all I wanted was a hot piece of tail. You fit the bill even though it took a few days for you to give it up. If Liam’s better-looking than you though . . .” I tease.

We turn around to head back home.

“Ha. Liam
thinks
he’s the better-looking twin. Let me know if you’ve changed your mind when you meet him next month.”

I laugh. “Are you sure you want to put me in that situation? Things might not work out for you.”

“Your loyalty inspires confidence, McBride.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm since he knows I’m kidding. I’d never do any better than the one I have. “Besides, you’re not his type. He likes slender blond girls. Agreeable ones. Not feisty or temperamental. A remnant from his days as captain of our high school football team. He was the stereotypical jock who dated cheerleaders.”

“Hmmm, I guess I shouldn’t hook him up with Bennie.”

He shakes his head. “Things heading south between her and Enrique again?”

“North one day, south for a few. Worse than a roller coaster.”

“Sorry. Besides, she’s way too disagreeable, I mean opinionated, for Liam’s liking.” He cracks a smile, and those dimples make him look so young, even through the stubble.

“Ha. She has an opinion or two. That’s what makes things with Enrique weird. She doesn’t take shit from anyone but him. I guess love makes you do silly things.”

“Like this?”

Shay holds my face between his hands and kisses me deeply in the middle of a residential street, in plain view of anyone peering from their windows.

“Please tell me, as soon as you get those drains out, you’ll ask Dr. J. how much longer before you can have sex? Because you are rocking that hoodie, and I can’t wait anymore. I’m about to explode.” His sweet, impish smile melts my insides.

Yeah. Silly. Exactly like that.

I never want those silly, beautiful things to stop.

Who thinks getting medical devices removed from your body could amount to one of the most exciting days ever?

My girlfriend is such a weirdo.

I guess I’d be the same though.

She had those things in for over two weeks. She’s been a trooper. The fluid output needed to be below thirty ccs in a twenty-four hour period, but it kept fluctuating. Then clumps came out, and we had to wait a couple more days for those to dissipate.

Despite her frustration, though, she’s kept a positive attitude, trying to be as self-sufficient as possible, but not afraid to ask for help. Finally.

She’s on the table in her cloth exam gown waiting for Dr. Jacoby, and she keeps giggling. So not like her. She’s either giddy from the diazepam or the possibility of getting the drains out.

Probably both.

Dr. J comes in and goes over the log with me. Everything is in order, so those bad boys are coming out.

She slides her exam gown over her shoulder, sucks in a breath and waits. Dr. J pulls the first tube out, a slight squishing sound echoing through the small exam room.

“Ahhhhhhhcchh.” She shudders, and I don’t blame her. I’m used to the weird noises from emptying the bulbs for the past couple weeks, but the sound bothers her, and she doesn’t have her ear buds in today. Bandage on, one side done.

Other side, same reaction. Done.

“That’s it?”

“For the tubes, yes. You need to come back in two weeks to get the expanders filled, and again every week to ten days. In a few months, we’ll do the exchange surgery.”

She cries. Dr. J’s probably seen patients cry dozens, even hundreds, of times.

But Thea’s not my patient, and I hate to see her cry for any reason. I pull her gown around her and hold her tight. Over her head, I mouth “Thank you” to Dr. J. He nods and leaves the room to give us privacy.

She holds on to me, and a fierce protectiveness settles in my chest. “You did it, babe. You saw the cancer coming, and you went all ninja on it.”

“I’ll never get breast cancer,” she mumbles into my chest.

I shake my head. We both know there is a minuscule chance it could happen, but less than one percent is better than average. Phenomenal compared to the eighty percent chance she had prior to the mastectomy.

She pulls away, sits up straight, and her smile widens.

“I’m never getting breast cancer.” She sings the words.

“Not a chance.” I grin like a fool.

“I’m never getting breast cancer!” she shouts.

The joy in her voice makes me shout right along with her. “You’re never getting breast cancer!”

The staff outside the door must think we’re crazy, but delirious is more like it.

“You know what this means?” I ask in all seriousness.

She sobers. “No. What?”

“You’re stuck with me.”

She frowns. “Seriously? I was thinking once I get my new implants I’d go trolling for hot guys in Florida. You know, upgrade. Is Liam still single?”

She shines her silly, lopsided grin on me.

My heart skips a beat. “I’m not letting him anywhere near you. And admit it, you can’t do better than me. I am a drainage-bulb-emptying rock star. My brother won’t do that for you.”

“I don’t think anyone would. Thank you for getting in my way, for not taking no for an answer, and for being a general pain in my ass the last couple months.”

I lean over and press my forehead to hers. “You’re welcome. And you’ve been a pain in the ass too. You know what that makes us?

“What?”

“Perfect. For each other.”

The fuchsia bag crinkles when I reach inside, and the silky red nightie and robe slither through my fingers as I pull them out. I hope the nightie fits. Leesh picked out lingerie at her second job and dropped it off this afternoon.

I slide the gown over my head and swipe a towel across the foggy mirror to analyze my reflection.

Not good.

The sensuous fabric flatters my nipped-in waist and flared hips.

My gaze travels to the top, and my heart sinks to my toes.

My barely A-cups are lost in the folds of the voluminous bodice.

I miss my boobs.

I thought I’d cried out this wretched feeling-sorry-for-myself-ness.

Nope. Still there.

A sob shakes my shoulders.

Stupid tears flow again, and I bang my fist on the wall, bottles from my make-up shelf clattering on the floor. I collapse to the cool vinyl, unable to look at myself.

“Thea? What’s wrong?” Shay rattles the door handle. If I don’t open it, he’ll pop the lock and come in.

I pull myself up, throw on the matching robe, and turn the knob.

“Oh.” He wasn’t expecting the sexy lingerie. Sexy being a relative term. “You’ve never been more beautiful.”

I whack him on the chest. “Don’t patronize me!”

His voice is low. “I mean it.”

“I’m hideous!” I push past him and run to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Another futile effort because I didn’t lock the door.

He follows. I turn my back to him.

“Thea, look at me.”

I turn around, but don’t look at him. His toes curl into the worn tan carpet at the end of the bed. Heat creeps into my face.

“I can’t.” My throat is so dry my voice cracks.

“You can’t what?”

“Look at you. Have sex. Anything!”

“That’s okay. We’ll only do what you’re ready to do.” His fingertips graze my jaw, turning my face to his.

I
do
want him. It’s been six weeks, and he’s been nothing but good, even when I screamed and cried and threw tantrums. The physical pain was sometimes overwhelming, and despite the weeks and weeks of therapy sessions, the emotional trauma is worse than I expected. The strange body reflected in the mirror haunts me, and I itch to find the body I belong in. Because it’s not this flat-chested one.