Infinity: Based on a True Story (3 page)

M
y head spins
, my body going through the same routine every morning. Aching bones, fatigue, breathlessness.

Sometimes the treatments make me forget where I am until I allow myself time to remember. In a hospital on a hallway full of other sick patients.

It’s depressing as hell, waking up to a plain white ceiling or hearing someone cough so hard it seems a lung might pop.

It sucks that mentally and physically, it hurts.

I groan, annoyed at just how much of a pain in the ass it is to wake up and get comfortable.

My ass is numb.

My fingers are numb.

The IV in my arm digs deeper and I turn a bit, relaxing it.

Yesterday’s round of the OPX treatment isn’t going in my favor. It’s pointless anyway. The only reason I’ve continued it is because John wants me doing everything I can to stay alive.

If that means sitting for almost an hour while I allow the OPX to swim into my veins and suffering unbearable body aches and skull-splitting headaches the next day, just to give him a little hope, then so be it.

Sometimes it helps (or at least doesn’t make things worse) and I get no side effects at all. Sometimes it wreaks havoc on my body and I feel doomed to not only death but suffering to the end.

I already know it’s too late. The OPX isn’t working like it should and soon the doctors will stop wasting it and reserve it for someone that might actually be saved.

After all, this treatment is incredibly expensive, mainly because Onyx Pleura Disease is rare and not much of the OPX has been made. Think of OPX as chemotherapy.

It doesn’t matter how much money John pours into my treatment. Money can’t stop death.

I hate the treatments.

They can keep them for all I care.

It’s destroying me. It’s caused me to lose a lot of weight and for my hair to shed—so much that Sonny had to take me to get it cut short just to look acceptable—and I’ve lost my warm, caramel complexion.

My hair is growing back, but it is brittle and dry. I’m nearly as pale as a ghost, with dry lips, and tired eyes with deep, dark circles beneath them.

Could it be any more obvious that I’m dying?

Onyx Pleura Disease.

It is definitely not my best friend, yet it’s been with me every day since the age of twenty-three. Never had I touched a cigarette.

I might have had some weed here and there, but that surely wasn’t the cause of the diagnosis.

They say, for people with this disease, that it is formed in our lungs when we are born, but it is so rare that doctors don’t check unless there are symptoms of it.

It gets worse as you age, especially when you partake in a lot of strenuous activity—more than our bodies can handle.

I guess all of the stressing, working three jobs at once, and keeping up with Sonny had finally caught up to me.

To this day I wonder why it has to be me.

I loathe it.
No
, I hate it—hate it so much for ruining my life. Without a lung donation, there is an 8% survival rate. And it can’t just be any donated lung.

Besides matching blood types, there is a certain section of the lung that has to be taken in order for it to be replaced. We are on a long waiting list. It’s been years. I’ve given up hope.

A knock sounds on the door and Leah walks in, singing “Good morning” as she makes her way for the window. She draws them open dramatically, like the moms do in all the teenage movies, sighing as the rays of sunlight hit her face.

“Why are you still trying to sleep in on this glorious day?” she questions, spinning around to look at me. “All that rain last night… you should be happy we have this. Are you hungry?”

I sit up groggily. “Hell no. I feel like I’m about to hurl.”

She rushes for the purple bucket beside the bed. “Here,” she places it on top of my lap. “Take it out on the fuck-it bucket.”

I shake my head, pushing it away. “I think I’m okay. Some water would be nice, though.”

Her head nods and she goes for the pitcher, walking to the door. “I’ll go get some.” She takes a look around the room as if something is missing. When it finally registers, she asks, “Where’s John?”

I look around as well, realizing he’s not on the couch. “I think I’ve convinced him to go back to work for a few hours.”

Her brown eyes expand, the sunlight highlighting her chocolate skin. It reminds me of my father’s.

Leah is perfect and so highly underestimated as a nurse. They all take her for granted but when it comes down to staying at the hospital, she is the woman I want taking care of me. Not Vickie, not Ronda, but Leah. Because she’s almost like a sister.

Only no cat fights or arguing included, like Sonny and I tend to do.

“Are you serious? He actually listened?” she asks, placing a hand on her hip.

“Well,” I shrug, “I told him he has to live before I stop living. He can’t keep putting his life on hold for someone that won’t last.”

Leah’s smile fades rapidly. It’s clear she doesn’t like that response.

She grips the door handle a little tighter, knuckles whitening, and her eyes glisten.

She blinks, ridding herself of the tears I know she wants to shed.

“I’ll… go get the water.” She’s out of the door in less than a second.

I sigh.

Leah and I are close. And she hates when I speak negatively but I hate it most when she tries to coddle me or show sympathy.

To me, sympathy equals pity.

This is my life—what I’ve been served—and I’ve finally accepted it. Although it hasn’t been long I’ve tried making the most I can out of it… almost.

My phone buzzes on the stand and I look over, Max’s name appearing again. He’s calling this time. I don’t answer.

Leah walks in again with the pitcher, pouring me a cup of water as she nears me. That moment of sadness we shared less than two minutes ago has passed because a full smile is on her lips again, her mood lively and rich.

This is the way I want it to be and the way it should remain.

“
F
ine
.” I stepped up to Maximilian Grant, one eyebrow cocked and one hand on my hip, the other slamming down on the countertop.

His body turned in my direction as he adjusted himself on the barstool, his warm, natural scent making me a little weak in the knees.

“What’s that now?” He put on a smug grin, eyes widening as he lowered his phone.

I narrowed mine, stepping forward. I was almost between his legs. I wanted to step closer, but I had to keep the boundaries in place. Showing any sign of weakness while around him was
not
an option.

“I will give you one night. But
only
one, Max,” I say, holding up a single finger. “And we have to go to a place that I really want to go to.”

“All right.” He sighed, running a hand over the top of his head. His hair was wavy, like the ocean at night. “You name the time and place.”

“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock at Craves on West 5
^th
.” I stepped back, tucking my hair behind my ear. “And please,” I said over my shoulder as I turned away, “don’t be late.”

I gave him a faint smile. To me, this was a game of cat and mouse and he’d finally caught me but he hadn’t tried to eat me just yet. I had to tamper with his ego. Get under his skin just a little bit.

Only… it didn’t work.

The legs of his stool screeched across the floor, creating an obnoxious noise. Max hopped up, catching me before I could make a break for it out the back door. I spun around, landing between his warm, bulky arms, breath catching, my lips parted as I met his warm brown eyes.

His olive skin, up close like this, looked like it was made of satin. I wanted to touch his face, trace my fingertips down his firm, chiseled jawline. But I held back.

“You think you’re fucking with my head, don’t you?” Max asked quietly, his voice a murmur beneath the music.

“Not at all,” I challenged.

“What made you give in?”

“Nothing. I just think I owe you this much…”

He frowned. “You don’t owe me shit.”

“I kinda do…”

“You don’t owe me anything, Little Shakes. You don’t have to do this. I’m not forcing you.”

“Whatever,” I said, deliberately maneuvering out of his arms and pulling my satchel on top of my shoulder, “it’s just one night. Can’t do too much harm, right?”

Max scoffed, which made me frown. “Shakes, when I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for more.” He stepped forward, holding onto my wrist and reeling me into him. I bumped softly against his rock-solid body, my head tipped up, our eyes bolting. “I don’t fuck around,” he said, leaning forward to place his lips near the shell of my ear. “I want you.
Bad
. And now that you’ve given me this chance, I’m going to make it the best night of your fucking life. I am going to make sure this one night turns into infinity.”

I could hardly breathe. I heard every word and believe me when I say my panties were beyond wet. I was drenched for him and he’d hardly touched me. His voice, so orgasmic and deep. His body, so hard and smooth and warm. So near. So motherfucking perfect. Max knew what he was doing. And I shouldn’t have tested his ego, considering I hadn’t been laid in five months.

I admit I was a little desperate for him. I mean, he was the finest man I’d been around in months, I saw him almost every night, and he was into me. Really,
really
into me.

The way he held me, his hand on the small of my back and purposely near my ass, exhibited more than enough proof of how much he desired me. He was silently teasing me and slowly but surely unraveling every sensual fiber in my body.

I wondered why, however. I was the dullest girl working at Capri. And I admit I wasn’t the cutest of them all. What was it about me that made him want the chase?

I straightened up, smiling softly as I pulled away from him and walked to the door. I felt him watching me walk away, and when I looked back a hint of a smile was tugging at the corners of those perfectly sculpted lips. As I pushed the door open I casually said, “We’ll see about that
infinity
thing.”

Then I walked away, glad the door shut behind me quickly. It made my exit that much more dramatic and me, serious Shannon, even more enticing to him. But what topped it all off was the text I received from him later that night.

W
hich meant
he couldn’t stop thinking about me—having his way with me, that is. A part of that thrilled me. To be running around in the wild mind of Maximilian Grant was a great way to end the night.

So before I fell asleep, I sent him this:

Yeah, I was still testing his ego.

I got a thrill out of it. For the first time in a while I felt somewhat alive. Flirting didn’t come naturally to me, but for some reason he liked that. And I liked that he liked that.

My corniness.

My goofiness.

My weirdness.

We liked where this one night thing was headed already.

I
would like
to go deeper, show everyone exactly how I ended up falling for Max.

Although he was cocky, arrogant, and so full of shit sometimes, there was so much more behind him.

Our story ran deep, and I hate that I’m even telling it because for one, most of it is not my story to tell and two, John would hate that I’m thinking about another man while I’m slowly fading away.

But I have to.

Why?

Because it was probably one of the best years of my life.

I lived, and not in the corny sense where people constantly party and travel and act unbelievably idiotic. No. That’s not living.

Living is being around someone that can make you feel things you never thought possible. Living is cherishing every small moment, even the bad ones. Living is feeling your heart beat madly as you watch the approach of the person you love.

That someone lights your soul on fire. That person ignites you—makes you see the good in yourself as you look in the mirror. And as you do you just... shine.

You shine bright and bold like the rays of sunlight on the first few days of summer. You’re beautiful. You feel like you can take over the world. Your mind is free, vacant for that person to fill it with wonderful memories.

Perhaps I shouldn’t just call it living. Maybe I should call it happiness as well.

Max made me happy without a doubt, but sometimes things happen that are out of our control.

Sometimes things change and before we can work hard to get it all back, it’s too late. It’s done, and deep down we regret not fighting for what we utterly desired.

The night I agreed to go on that date with Max, I knew what I was in for. I knew I would most likely get hooked, start texting or calling every day, look forward to seeing him at work.

I’d think we had something serious going on but, instead, he’d change and act like it never happened, leaving me ripped wide open and a little ashamed of myself.

But that didn’t happen.

In fact, that entire night caught me by total surprise.

I
t was nearing
eight the night of our “date” and Max still hadn’t shown up.

I stepped in front of the mirror, plucking the clumpy pieces of mascara off of my eyelashes and cursing beneath my breath.

Emilia, my roommate, walked into my room, flipping her wrist and checking her waterproof watch.

Yes, she was old school. With silver braces, pigtails in her hair, and rainbow pajamas. I loved her for it, though. She was unique, the very reason I allowed her to become my roommate.

“Wow… you finally score a once in a lifetime date and he doesn’t show? That burns.”

I looked at her reflection in the mirror, thinning my eyes as she hissed through her teeth. “He’ll show. He has to.”
Because he would be stupid to miss the opportunity of having one night with me.

“He’d better.” Someone knocked on the door as soon as she said that. I already knew who that
someone
was. Emilia stood tall, eyes wide as if she had some big idea. “Hey, I’m gonna peek around the corner to see him, all right?” It was funny how she could ask a question and be serious but also completely oblivious of how corny she sounded.

“Em,” I laughed, “you don’t have to sneak to see him. Just come out.”

“Looking like this?!” she shrieked. “Nah-uh. Fuck that. I’m wearing my mom’s favorite pajamas every night until Aunt Flo passes. I’m bloated and craving nothing but sweets—oh and make sure you get my chocolate cake, too!” She rushed to her room, cracking the door and I shook my head as I grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open.

Max had a hand pressed on the wall outside the door, towering above me with a subtle smirk on his lips. His nearness caught me off guard and I took a leap back, brows furrowing.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Eavesdropping.” He looked around the room. “Where’s your friend?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He shrugged, pulling his hand down and sliding his fingertips into the pockets of his black pants. “Tell her there’s nothing wrong with a woman in pajamas on a Friday night.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, picking up my satchel off the table, “keep it in your pants, playboy.”

He chuckled, stepping back and allowing me out. As I pulled out my keys and started to close the door, I spotted Emilia rushing to the living room and mouthing the words,
“Oh. My. Fucking. God!”

I fought a sneer, shutting it rapidly before Max could see her.

“So,” I sighed, looking at him. “You ready?”

“Been ready.”

I walked to his side and we took the stairs down. “Yeah, I don’t think you were ready. It’s five minutes to eight.”

“I’m not late.” He pressed his lips and shrugged. “I was sitting in my car, watching you mess with your face, check your phone, sigh as you looked into the mirror, and then check your phone again.”

I stopped walking, frowning up at him. “You have a lot of nerve watching me, Maximilian.” I was hesitant as he fought a laugh. I wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or thrilled that he was. “So you were purposely late?”

“Just wanted to see if you were prepared for tonight.”

My lips pressed thin.

He continued, “And don’t think anything of it. Your curtains were wide open. Kinda hard to miss a woman that looks like you walking back and forth.” He laughed. “Trust me, I’m no stalker, Shakes.”

I gave him a look full of doubt. “Could’ve fooled me.” I went for the passenger side of his black and silver 2015 Dodge Challenger.

Seriously, how many cars did he have?

I waited for him to unlock the doors but he stood a few steps away from the vehicle, looking sexier than ever.

I hadn’t paid much attention before, but he wore a casual white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his pants not too loose or too tight of a fit.

He’d gotten his hair shaped-up and cut.

The sight of him made my mouth want to gush like a waterfall. He was gorgeous, and I was sure he knew it. So casual and still so goddamn beautiful.

I fidgeted. “We’re going to be late, Max.”

He watched me, taking a step closer. “Maybe. But I don’t think it’s Crave you’re really looking forward to.” He continued his steps, slowly diminishing the gap between us.

“How would you know?”

“Seems you want what comes
after
it.” He was right there. Right in front of me. “Me, right?”

He gripped my face in his hands, taking one final step forward and pushing my back against the passenger door.

“You’re such a cocky bastard, you know that?” My voice had betrayed me. It didn’t come out in the condescending tone I wanted. It came out feeble and husky instead. “I told you what I want…”

“Yeah? What’s that?” His face came closer.

“Carrot. Cupcakes…”

His body vibrated with laughter. “For dinner?”

“After dinner…”

“And what else do you want after dinner?”

He was trying to trap me. The answer was right on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t want to give in… at least, not yet.

“Answer me, Shannon.” God, the way he said my name. The way his voice changed from low and deep to gruff and demanding made my knees quake.

“You already know what you’re getting after dinner,” I responded.

“But is dinner what you want right now?”

I bit into my bottom lip, feeling the heat of his mouth radiating above mine. “Maybe.”

“All you have to do is tell me what it is you want and I’ll give it to you…”

“What are you talking about?”
Yeah, that’s right, Shannon. Play dumb.

He used my words against me. “Don’t kid yourself. You already know what you’re getting.” His mouth crashed down on mine, causing me to stumble sideways. He caught me, holding on tight. In that exact moment, it seemed he held his breath, wanting to capture every small feel—that electricity, that spark. The fireworks bursting around our heads.

He wasn’t the only one clinging to the sensation. My entire body caught in a blaze— burning, hungry, demanding more. And more is what I got. His tongue danced with mine when my lips parted, allowing him access to a place that hadn’t been shared with anyone else in months.

He groaned, pushing against me even more, my back arching against the window. My arms came up and hugged around his neck and he picked me up. Immediately, my legs snaked around his narrow waist and a soft moan traveled from me to him.

I melted into a puddle of warm goo in his arms, feeling every frenzied sensation, every ounce of need, and most of all, how much he wanted this to happen.

He strained in his pants, the thick hardness thrusting between my legs, creating a wetness that couldn’t be prevented.

“Fuck,” Max breathed as our kiss broke momentarily.

Our lips reunited once more, molding, but then the kiss broke again when I asked, “What?” in a breathy whisper.

“You are damage, Shakes.”

“Damage?”

“You are going to destroy me. I can already feel it.”

I laughed as he tipped his head back to meet my eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“Look at us,”—he laughed and took a glance around the parking lot. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. At least not yet.”

“Says the man that started it.”

“Trust me, I will finish it. But I owe you a carrot cupcake, remember?”

He carefully placed my feet on the pavement and I adjusted my navy-blue maxi dress, giggling as I looked up. “How about you owe me a fruity drink instead. I could use one… no, actually let’s make it two.”

He nodded, his right cheek tugging upwards. “You got it, Shakes.”

I groaned, facing the passenger door. “I swear that name is gonna kill me,” I muttered as he walked to the driver’s side.

He unlocked the doors and after we climbed in and he brought the engine to life he said, “Get used to it. You’ll be hearing that a lot from now on. As a matter of fact…”—he reached forward, turning the volume of his radio up and pushing a button on the screen to get to satellite radio—“Do a little dance for me. Right now.”

I burst out laughing, looking at him as if he were insane. “Why?” I squealed.

“Come on! You want those drinks, don’t you?”

I tried giving him the evil eye but I couldn’t. I was too busy grinning like a dazed idiot. “You’re serious? Right now?”

“Yes. Come on! Give me life, Little Shakes!”

I released another uncontrollable laugh, which caused him to do the same. I lowered my head, shaking it, but he brought his forefinger forward, tipping my chin. Our eyes met, his soft and smiling. “All right. Fine. But this is for the drinks.”

He nodded, anxious.

I raised my hands to the roof and shook my hips to
L.A. Love
by Fergie. Why he was listening to Fergie, I don’t know, but I wasn’t embarrassed to dance for him.

Don’t get me wrong, he did laugh his ass off at me, stating that the dance I was doing was nothing like the ones I did at the bar, but that was okay.

Joking around with Max seemed special. It was natural and an instant thing between us. We weren’t taking anything too seriously because we knew seriousness would only hurt us in the end.

I wish it could have stayed that way.

I wish we could have kept the jokes high and the seriousness at bay.

It would have made things a hell of a lot easier later on.