Infinity: Based on a True Story (8 page)

I
t was late
the night I met John Streeter. Like, two hours away from midnight late. The kind of late when a twenty-three-year-old woman shouldn’t have been out alone.

I’d blown a tire coming off the freeway ramp. The rain poured down, thunder clapping, lightning striking the sky, the silver streaks frightening. It was bad timing.

I was late for work. I hated being late. That night I was tending bar by myself. Eugene was going to kill
and
fire my ass this time.

I whipped out my phone, dialing Max. He didn’t answer. I wasn’t surprised. We’d had it rough. I had a spare tire and I remembered my father showing me how to change one once, but as I sat inside my beat up Punch-Buggy, I had no clue where to start.

Instead of sitting around waiting for Emilia, Quincy, or even Max to answer, I hopped out of the car and rushed to the trunk, clutching the neck of my jacket.

Popping the trunk, I bent down to take a look inside. I had a lug wrench, a spare tire… but I wasn’t sure what the hell else I needed. Some kind of bolts, right? Lug nuts.

I stepped back, watching as cars zoomed right by me, the helpless girl stuck in the rain, cold and fucking pissed. I tried Emilia once more. No answer. I knew she was asleep. It was after ten. She was an early bird, plus she’d been stressed and overloaded with studying and finals.

“Damn it!” I shouted, and as if things couldn’t have gotten any worse, a large gush of water hit my face, soaking the entire front half of my body.

I gasped, helpless, as I stood on the side of the road, dumbfounded. I watched the white Mercedes Benz keep driving.

I would never forget that snazzy car. One I could never afford. It sped up the ramp and I cursed after it, yelling every bad name in the book as if the person could hear me. I was sure they had no clue I was even there.

To my surprise, after my ranting and waving a fist in the Mercedes’s direction, I saw brake lights through damp eyelashes. When the car came to a stop, my eyes expanded.

Soon, the reverse lights came on and the car zoomed back, swerving to the right and stopping a few yards in front my car.

I stood in place, slowly reaching for the wrench in my trunk. I couldn’t make out the person, but they were tall and sporting a black coat. The person was mysterious and walked with a slow stride… the stride of a killer, I was convinced.

The closer he got, however, the more I realized how absolutely beautiful he was. Raindrops coated his long eyelashes, dampened his messy mop of auburn hair. Beautiful blue eyes narrowed as he came closer, stepping around the passenger side of my car, his hands in the air, proving he wasn’t coming to harm me.

“Hey!” he called over the noise of the passing cars and rain. “You all right!?”

I nodded, taking a step back, tightening my grip around the metal. “Fine!”

He noticed my anaconda grip on the wrench and his eyes squinted with doubt. “Do you need some help?”

“No.” I shook my head, shooing him away. “I’m fine,
sir
. Please, just go back to your fancy car and soak another person standing on the side of the road.”

He laughed, scanning me with his eyes.

I pressed my lips, slightly insecure of his glare.

“I sincerely apologize.” He stepped forward. I stepped back. He stopped in his tracks. “I’m not here to hurt you. Here—” he lurched forward, reaching for the wrench in my hands.

Defensive, I held it up, warding him off. “I told you I’m fine! I have friends coming to help me!” What a lie. All of my friends were clearly too busy ignoring my calls. His hands shot up to the air quickly as he backed away, stunned. But in a matter of seconds, he was shaking his head and walking away, back towards his Mercedes. “Yeah,” I called after him. “Just go!”

Only, he didn’t go. He popped his trunk, dug some items out, and then rushed back. I gasped, my heart racing, the rain making my flushed face feel like it was sizzling.

In that moment, I thought I was going to die. I figured he had anger issues. Or maybe he hated rejection. Either way I’d just gotten on his bad side and was bound for a terrible death.

I wouldn’t have been able to make it far if I tried to run, and he seemed fit enough to catch me if I chanced it. Open roads with fast cars surrounded me and I’d seen enough horror movies to know that going for the woods was a definite no. I stood still, stuck in my tracks as he met up to my car again.

I watched as he dropped the objects and bent down on one knee. I was shocked. He wasn’t coming back with a gun or a knife. He had his own lug wrench, a jack, and extra lug nuts. Once he cranked the car up a few levels with the jack, he took the wheel off with the wrench and then stood, digging in my trunk for the tire.

He glanced at me as he took it out, shaking his head before returning to the job. In a matter of minutes he was finished, collecting his tools and making his way to his car again.

Flabbergasted, I walked around my car, watching as he dropped his tools in his trunk and then slammed it closed.

“Hey!” I called, rushing after him.

He stopped before getting inside the car, looking back in my direction. The rain had transitioned to a light drizzle.

When I finally met up to him, I cleared my throat and drew in a breath. “Umm… thank you. For that back there.” I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder, pointing back at my car.

Rain trickled down his chiseled face, making the stubble around his mouth sparkle. It looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Up close he looked different. Still hot, still beautiful, but different.

There was sadness in his eyes—a sadness I assumed was unexplainable. It seemed to have been buried deep in them for years.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he informs me.

“I… well, you never know with people these days. This world is crazy, ya know?”

“That, I know.” He put on a boyish smile.

“Well… Thank you, again. As you can probably tell, I’ve never changed a tire before.”

“Yeah.” He got a kick out of that one, grinning like a schoolboy. “I can definitely tell.”

It was then that I noticed he had stains on the white shirt underneath his jacket. It didn’t quite fit the car he drove, and neither did his food-stained black slacks and sneakers.

“Just getting off work?” I asked.

He looked down at his attire, sighing as he tugged on the hem of his shirt. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m a chef. Explains the dirtiness, huh?” He gave me another goofy, crooked smile.

“Yes. A lot.” I giggled.

“Well, anyway you’re welcome. But I advise you to go online and learn how to change a tire. It’s not as hard as you think. There are tons of videos out there.”

I nodded, completely mesmerized by the way his lips moved, how straight and perfect his teeth were. He was tall and slender. He could’ve been a Hollister model. I couldn’t help but wonder what he held beneath that stained shirt.

“I will.”

He turned for his car, sliding in. “Have a good night, strange girl.”

My lips pressed as he started the car, shutting his door behind him. I turned around, walking back to mine and scooting in, starting the ignition.

The guy sat on the side of the road for a while, way too long for me to wait for him to pull off. My car was fixed and I was already late for work. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through my shift with wet clothes on but I had to make do.

I pulled off and went up the ramp, going down another freeway until I was uptown. It wasn’t until I parked in the back and gathered my things that I noticed that same white Mercedes parking a few spots away.

“What the fuck?” I breathed. Did he really just follow me? Now this guy was really creeping me the hell out.

What was it for him? Change a girl’s tire and then kill her whenever he was ready? No, it had to be: change the tire, pretend to be nice, follow her, and then slaughter her ass as soon as she thinks she’s safe. What a sick fuck.

I hurried for the back door of the club, but he called after me.

I stopped, but I opened the door, just to make it easier for me to escape if I needed to.

“Are you following me?” I asked, narrowing my brows at him.

He came closer, holding his hands out. The rain was gone, but it still drizzled, droplets collecting on his leather jacket.

“I… well, don’t laugh,” he said, laughing himself, “but I thought when I stopped on the highway to be a good Samaritan, that I would end up helping some feeble old lady…” He paused, eyes turning serious. “But when I saw you… I… well…” He hesitated several times and I looked at him, doing my best to contain laughter. Running his fingers through his wet hair, he said, “I just didn’t think you’d be
this
damn beautiful, is all.”

Wow.

Okay. So, I admit that although he was corny about it, it was the sweetest thing I’d heard in a very long time. He wasn’t too forward like Max, but he also wasn’t afraid of letting me know either.

“I know you think I’m crazy for following you here, but if I could just have your name it would really put my mind at ease. A name with your face will make my entire night, and then I swear I will leave you alone.” He held his hands up in an innocent plea before dropping them gradually.

Releasing the door, I walked forward with my arms crossed. “My name? You sure that’s all you want,
crazy man?
”

He nodded, smiling. “That’s all I want, strange girl.”

I bit into my bottom lip, taking a look around the parking lot before meeting his sparkling aqua irises again. “Alright. It’s Shannon.”

“Ehh,” his nose scrunched up, “I think I like Strange Girl better.”

I giggled, and it was natural and it felt amazing. I hadn’t laughed so naturally in so long. He was teasing me, joking around. It was cute. Still corny, but cute. “Take it or leave it, bucko.”

“Well, I’m John. Jonathan Streeter.” He extended his arm, his hand held out for me to shake.

I reached forward and shook it firmly. “It’s nice to know the name of the man that saved my Punch-Buggy. I don’t have a name for my car but maybe I’ll start calling it Streeter now.”

“That’s hilarious. You should try and get a new one… doesn’t seem like Streeter back there will last you much longer. Eventually it’ll be more than just a tire that needs fixing.”

“Yeah, well,” I sighed, raking my fingers through my hair, “I’m working on that.”

“Hmm.” He made a noise, his face inquisitive, almost like he had an idea but didn’t want to say it out loud. I wasn’t going to make him. He was probably thinking up cornier things to say.

Silence fell between us and, seconds later, when I looked up, he was already looking at me, his gaze soft. Beneath the streetlights I could really see him. There was so much damage in his eyes.

A world of chaos.

Pain lay deep within them but he did his best to cover it up. Don’t get me wrong, his eyes were beautiful but I knew pain. I knew hurt. I could spot it from a mile away.

Other than the sadness there, he was utterly breathtaking. I wanted to hold him, tell him that whatever it was, it was okay. I, of all people, knew how hard life could be. In that moment, I realized we had similarities.

John Streeter wasn’t just some random guy that changed a helpless girl’s tire. He was there that night for a reason.

We met accidentally but there turned out to be a greater reason behind it. To help one another cope with pain that no one but us could understand. To heal each other. Protect…and eventually love.

That night, anything could have happened. But
he
happened.
We
happened. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I invited John into the club for a drink, on me, as a thank you for the rescue. He had no plans the rest of the night so I did my best to make sure he had a good time.

He had even offered me a spare black T-shirt to wear. I’d knotted it in the back to attempt a smidgen of feminine appeal, but my jeans were still a little wet.

It didn’t matter though. He wasn’t the best-dressed thing there, either, getting dirty looks from girls in slutty dresses. He couldn’t have cared less. He hardly paid them any attention.

He was okay with chatting with me over the bar, bantering with me, laughing about how I thought he was coming back to kill me with a handful of tools and even how he soaked me with a random ass puddle.

He was okay being around me and, while he was, I saw some of that sadness slowly fade from his eyes.

I saw… light. Joy. It was rare for him. I wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy that deserved misery, and I wasn’t the type of girl that deserved it either.

In some strange way, we were a match. We were incredibly undeniable together.

From that moment forward, John Streeter was no longer just a stranger. He’d become a friend. Then a best friend. And then a boyfriend. And finally, my husband.

I had no clue while at the bar that night that he would be the man I ended up marrying.

A great man, he is.

God, I still can’t believe he’s mine.

Of course our relationship wasn’t steady. Nor was it easy.

We faced challenges, him with his job and not spending much time with me, and me with my past… the past I never settled or came to good terms with.

Max was still there somehow. It was hard to cut him off—get rid of him—but I finally did. At first, I couldn’t because I had no excuse, but when I was diagnosed I had the biggest one.

It was bad to use my disease as justification, but Max had hurt me. Max went off the grid and John made me forget about the man that broke my heart for just a little while—that is, until he returned.

I
’ve been
awake for hours as my new doctor, Dr. Vivek Barad, tampers with my new device.

As he checks vitals, marking things off his clipboard while also asking me questions about my levels of comfort, I’ve been practicing his name in and out of my head.

“Vi-veck Bar-odd,” I pronounce, rolling it off my tongue.

“That is correct.” He smiles down at me.

Dr. Barad is a very young and handsome Native-American man. He has shoulder-length black hair and clear brown skin. His round glasses make him seem older than he really is. I’m sure he wears them purposely. For people like me to take him seriously.

No one takes younger doctors seriously these days. That’s one thing I learned during my stay at the hospital. Dr. Barad can’t be too much older than I am.

It’s a good thing, though. I like him. He respects my wishes, unlike Dr. David, who mainly respected John’s.

“Okay,” he sighs, his accent heavy. “I’ve thrown out the old bag of OPX and have inserted a brand new one. You should change the bag out every six to eight hours.” He lifts up my new device, the one I now have to carry everywhere with me. “John and your sister, Sonya, have mentioned that you are tired of being in bed all day and would like to walk.”

I nod. “Yep. I’d like to at least go downstairs without someone having a heart attack.”

He laughs. “I understand, but you must realize this is a disease that can’t be taken lightly, Shannon. I had to go through hula-hoops just to get this device. No one believes the small doses will work for you, but I do. They’ll shoot into your lungs every few minutes to keep the lungs stable. The pills I’ve prescribed should give you plenty of energy to get through the day. But remember, any kind of extreme activity could damage your lungs even more. You are doing a lot better but you’ve hit a critical level. You are lucky that you are even breathing right now—that the OPX is even working.”

“I understand.” I drop my head.

“Trust me, I am not here to scold you,” he reminds me for the third time today, “I am simply here to make sure my patient is comfortable and happy.” I look up at his bright white smile, watching as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his large, narrow nose. “Now, this can be carried in a backpack.” He picks up the silver, jetpack-looking device, twisting it around for me to get a good look. “Or just carried like this. But, regardless of how you decide to carry it, you must have it with you at all times if you don’t plan on taking bags of OPX to last throughout the day.

“It makes a small noise, but can be easily ignored. This was designed to be lightweight and personable for the patients to manage. That way you can go up and down the stairs and not feel as if you’re carrying a two-year-old child.” He places the device on the ground again. “The OPX will keep your lungs functioning properly as long as this device is running. It will beep when it needs a quick battery charge. I’d say it needs at least thirty minutes.”

“Okay,” I say, “Thirty minutes I can do.”

“Good. Now, you must remember to keep this tubing free from pinches and bends. Always keep an eye on it. If you can’t, have someone else be on the lookout. We don’t need the airways blocked.”

I nod, looking down at the clear tubing running from my nose to the device. “Got it.”

He nods. “So, what will you call this thing? There is some long name for it, but I won’t bother with pronouncing it.” He laughs, placing his clipboard down on John’s dresser and then folding his arms.

“Um… I think I’m just going to call it my jetpack. With it, I can walk around again. Feel the sun. Go to the lake. Have a little fun at least. To be able to walk now is like being able to fly. Not all OPX patients can afford this thing, right?” I lift it up off the brown rug, resting it on top of the mattress.

“That is right. Consider yourself lucky. John is a great man. He wants nothing but the very best for you, no matter the price.”

I sigh. “I know.”

“Well, anyway,” Dr. Barad blows out a breath, unfolding his arms and grabbing his clipboard, “I will be on my way and back in another three and a half hours. Remember everything I said and please do not get carried away. It can be easy to work your body more than necessary. Try walking down half the staircase out there, sit for a few minutes, and then go back up. If that feels like too much then stop and call me. The OPX should help you maintain control of your lungs but anything could happen.”

He walks toward the door and I watch him, calling “See you later,” as he drifts down the hallway.

I sit with my legs on the edge of the bed, turn forward, and grin at the window across from me. I get to walk on my own again. I get to live a little…
again
. This thing will be annoying to carry around with me, but it’s better than sitting on my ass in this bed, watching cartoons and reading books all day long.

I push up with the strength I have in my arms, carrying my jetpack with me to my walk-in closet. When I walk in, I sit in front of the black chest, fold my legs and after collecting a few breaths, I open it, digging around and searching for my old black
Jansport
bag. When I come across it I smile so hard I feel my face might break.

“There you are, old friend.” I unzip it, dumping out random sheets of paper, pens, empty water bottles and even snack wrappers. When it’s empty, I straighten out the tan leather on the bottom and then I tuck my jetpack neatly inside of it. I start to zip it, but then I realize the zippers might cause a pinch or bend.

I dig in the chest again, looking for the hand-me-down pocketknife given to me from my father. As I search, I hear footsteps in the bedroom.

Moments later and Sonny’s voice screeches, “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Looking for something,” I tell her, completely ignoring her overreaction.

“Well, let me do it. Looks like you’re struggling. Stop.” She swats me away, taking over my scavenger hunt. “What are you looking for?”

“The old blue and brown pocket knife dad gave me.” I tuck the loose strands of my hair behind my ear. “It’s in there somewhere.”

“Oh God.” Sonny’s eyes stretch, full of horror. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to kill yourself, sis!”

I narrow my eyes, pushing her away from the chest and getting on my knees to search again. “Suicide and Shannon don’t mix.”

“Hmm… I guess.” She looks down at my backpack, fingering the levers and knobs on the jetpack. “So this is the thingamajig John spent an arm and a leg on, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Is it working?” She looks up.

“Yep. Breathing better than ever. It feels ten times better to get smaller doses than having to sit and let a full bag stream into my veins.”

She gives an inconspicuous look. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, seriously,” I say, pulling out the knife and flipping the blade, “I feel great. Kind of like how I did before. I think the moving around is actually helping, not making it worse.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t walk at all—at least, not so much, Shannon.”

“Sonny,” I mutter, “I need to. Why can’t you guys realize that I’m not in denial but that I actually need this?”

“If I was given the opportunity to lay in bed all day I would take it!”

“Of course you would,” I laugh, sticking a hole above the label. I quickly take off my tubing, slide it through the slot and then put it back on, inhaling quickly.

“How neat,” she says, fiddling with the hole.

“Dr. Barad said no pinches or bending the tube. The zippers would’ve caused trouble.”

“That’s true. Well, anyway, I came up to tell you that I went down to that bakery you like so much and got you a gluten-free bagel and donut. The donut has chocolate icing on it.” Her smile is mischievous as she stands and holds her hands out for me to grab.

I take them and she pulls me up to a stand. “Ohh, good. I’m so glad John decided to go to work.”

“Me too. I swear, Shanny,” Sonny groans, leading the way out of the closet and bedroom, “I love John like a brother, but I don’t know how you do it. He’s trying so hard to control everything with you. I know it’s all love, but
come on
.”

“Well, that’s John for you.” I shrug. “I can’t do much about that. He is who he is.”

“An overbearing prude?”

I smack her shoulder. “He’s only looking out for me. At least he doesn’t sneak me chocolate.”

Her jaw drops as she pretends to be shocked by my statement. “Are you saying I’m bad for you?!”

I burst out laughing as she spins around, walking backwards. “I’m not saying that at all. Keep bringing the chocolate. A few bites of it won’t hurt.”

“Right.” She trots down the staircase. I stop before taking the first step down, realizing just how many steps I have to take before getting to the first floor.

Sonny reaches the middle and starts to say something as she turns at an angle, but when she realizes I’m not behind her, she frowns, looking up. “Shannon? You okay?”

“Yeah.” I hold up my hand, giving her reassurance. “I’m fine. It’s just been so long since I’ve walked down any stairs.” I force a laugh. It’s winded. I can’t believe this.

I haven’t walked down any of the stairs and I’m already breathless. The crazy part about this is I’m not even afraid of the staircase, I’m afraid of my lungs racing, trying to catch up with an activity I haven’t done in months. Isn’t it sad that I haven’t walked in two months?

“You don’t have to come down, sis. I can bring the pastries up. It’s fine—”

“No.” I cut her off, head shaking. “I got this. I can do it.” I take a step down and make a mental tally.
One down, at least twenty-more to go.
I take another, Sonny stuck in place as she observes me. When I’m four steps down I beam at her. “See,” I breathe. “I got this.”

“Shannon, I don’t know…” her voice is uncertain, “you sound tired already. You don’t have to do this. Maybe you should start with walking down the hallway.”

“No, Sonya. I can do this.” I take another step down and it’s then that I realize I’ve used her real name.

I only use her real name when I’m serious… or showing a little too much pride.

Her lips seal tight. I know she will no longer say anything until I’m down those steps. I look down at her sad eyes, the way she pities me, and I hate it.

She shouldn’t feel sympathy for me, the older sister. It should be the other way around. She should be looking up at me, wondering just how I do it. But instead she worries. She fears losing me over a fucking staircase.

Stupid fucking house.

The doorbell rings and Sonny takes that as an opportunity to break the tension.

“I’ll get it,” she calls softly, scurrying down the rest of the stairs. Glancing over her shoulder, she begs, “Just
please
be careful.”

She walks down the hallway and I stop for a second, gripping the railing and collecting my breath.

I’m already exhausted and feel like I’ve broken a sweat. My heart is racing. It’s been so long. I can’t believe how weak I’ve become.

Sonny’s voice rings through the hallway. Though I can’t make out what she’s saying, she’s clearly upset.

Several seconds later the door slams shut, shoes scuffle down the hallway, and right below the staircase is…
Max?

And holding onto his grey, sweat-dampened T-shirt, trying her hardest to drag him back down the hallway, is Sonny. She grunts and growls, but there’s no use. He’s a brick wall. He’s not going anywhere.

My heart catches even more speed as he looks up at me with those beautiful brown eyes, rimmed with long eyelashes. His face evens out as he looks me over, focusing on the hands I have tightly wrapped round the railing.

“You okay, Shakes?”

“I’ve been better,” I admit.

Sonny releases him, rushing for the stairs to get to me but Max, like a cheetah—swift and agile—beats her to the punch, picking me up in his arms and scooping up my backpack in the process.

“Watch out for the tubing,” I tell him.

He nods.

Sonny smacks him on the back. “I had her!”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t carry her, little sis. Nice try, though.”

She growls at him.

I shake my head.

“Going up or down?” he questions, looking me in the eyes.

“Up,” Sonny says before I can respond. “Back to her bedroom.”

“Down,” I murmur.

“Down it is.” A soft smile graces those plump, pink lips of his and he walks around Sonny, taking each step one at a time. Slowly. Carefully. Just for me.

“This is insane,” she sighs. “I’ll be in the bathroom scrubbing the grime off my fingers. Can’t believe I actually touched you. Why in the hell are you so sweaty anyway?”

“Long game of basketball and working out,” Max calls over his shoulder, drifting down the hallway. “Your sister is crazy, you know that?” he says when she makes a gagging noise.

“I’ve been told.”

“How are you feeling? Seemed a little stuck up there…”

“I’m good. It’s just my first time using the stairs in a while. I had to prepare my body for the task.”

“I can understand that. Sonny told me you got something new to help you get around. Is that what’s in this bag?” He gestures over his shoulder with his eyes.

I nod. “I call it my jetpack. The thing’s like magic.”

He laughs. “Glad it’s working for you, Shakes.”

When he’s a few steps away from the door, I realize that he didn’t take the turn for the den.

“Max, where are you going?”

“Outside.”

“No. Why? Put me down,” I say hurriedly.

“Is that what you really want?”

Honestly, no. But I can’t leave the house with him right now.

“Max.” I struggle to get out of his arms. Realizing this will only cause harm to me, he stops walking and sets me on my feet immediately. “What are you trying to do? Kidnap me?”

He cocks his head. “Can I? Just for an hour?”

“An hour?” I reach for my backpack, sliding my arms through the straps. “Where will we go?”

“Wherever you want to go.”

“Paris?”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, trying to fight a laugh. “I still want to take you there one day.”

“And you’ll get me a French bike?”