Petite Madeleine: Drew's Story (Meadows Shore Book 3) (9 page)

“Deal,” he whispered, and she relaxed and drifted off almost immediately.

He’d gotten very little sleep, lying awake for hours, trying to get his head around everything she’d told him. Desperately trying to sort through his emotions. He wanted to know more, to understand more.

He wanted to know if she still felt sick, or if she’d lost her hair, and a small part of him wondered what her breast would look like, what it would feel like. But what he wanted to know more than any other thing, was if the cancer would come back and take her from him, or if it was really gone. He shoved the thought somewhere in the back of his head, because it was simply too scary to think about.

Instead, he focused on his brother Cole, and how he was going to rearrange his face the next time he saw him.

After he finally nodded off, he’d woken up once or twice wrapped around her, forgetting about everything that had happened the night before, enjoying every sensation of her against him until reality came crashing down, crushing his chest and leaving him in agony.

When she woke up the next morning, she pretended not to notice the bulge in his pants, the one that had been pressed against her for most of the night. For him, it was a welcome normality. Probably for her, too. When she moved to get out of bed, he held her tighter.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“The bathroom.”

“Only if you promise to come right back.” He kissed the back of her head.

She came back fifteen minutes later, after showering and brushing her teeth. She had on yoga pants and an oversized, button-up shirt. “Why don’t you shower and I’ll make some breakfast?”

“Is that a nice way of telling me that I stink? I was hoping you’d come back to bed and we could talk a little more.”

He pulled her back into bed. “
Mmmm
, you smell delicious. I don’t need breakfast, I have everything I need right here.” She stiffened in his hands. “We’re just going to talk. I’m going to hold you, and you’re going to tell me some more about what happened while we were apart.”

She entwined her fingers in his.

“Tell me what happened with that douchebag you were engaged to.”

“Ned. His name is Ned.”

“Whatever. I like my name better.”

“He’s a nice man. We had a nice life.” She took several breaths before continuing. “I’d told him about the cancer right away—but in the end, it was too hard on him. Too much. It had only been a couple of years since the last surgery, and it was still a precarious time. His family never thought the marriage was a good idea. Anything can happen in life, but it’s risky to get involved in a relationship with someone who has cancer. That’s what his parents were always telling him.” She shrugged. “The uncertainty can be debilitating for some people, and they wanted something better for their son.”

He squeezed her. “There’s no one better than you, baby.”

“A few weeks before the wedding, it got to be way too much for him, especially, especially…” The phone rang, and Cassie reached for it. “It’s my mom.”

She sat up, and Drew got out of bed and went to take a shower. He stood under the water for a good long time, letting it wash off some of the stress. Between the cancer and the douchebag, his body was as tight as a drum.

When he went back into the bedroom, she was gone. He could smell coffee and hear the clanging of pots and pans in the distance.

He was barefoot when he strolled into the kitchen in a pair of jeans with no shirt, and he caught her checking him out pretty boldly from near the stove.

“What are you making?”

“Waffles and an omelet.”

“
Mmmm
,” he said, leaning down for her mouth.

She placed her hands on his chest to keep some distance between them, but her fingers had a mind of their own and curled into the muscle, giving them both more of a charged sensation than they bargained for. He wondered if she could feel his heart pounding in her hands.

“Help yourself to some coffee. The mugs are in the cupboard above the pot.”

Her voice was low and husky, and he let himself linger for a minute on her hips, before cupping her face in his hands. “One day soon, I hope you’ll let that kiss go where it might.”

Flustered, she turned away. “Peppers and onions okay in the omelet?”

“I’ll love whatever you make Cassie, I always have,” he said, splashing some milk into his coffee.

“You never finished telling me about breaking up with
Ned
.”

“He broke off the engagement, not me. Are we always going to have to talk about the cancer now?”

“It’s not about—” But then it occurred to him that it
was
about the cancer. That’s exactly what it was about. That’s what had turned all her fears into reality, cementing them, destroying the quiet self-confidence of the woman who had once brought birthday cupcakes to a college class without a second thought.
Son of a bitch.

“He was an only child, like me, and he wanted kids.” She was whisking the eggs in a large bowl, and they were taking quite a beating. “I might not be able to have children.” She paused, breathing deeply. “I won’t know for sure until I stop the Tamoxifen. And even if I can get pregnant, it might not be a risk I’m willing to take.”

* * *

She could hardly believe she’d said the words out loud to him without collapsing into a heap on the floor.

“What about adopting kids?”

“He was an only child, and felt a responsibility to carry on the family lineage.”

“Lineage? Like a prized racehorse, or does he have royal blood? A distant relative of Henry VIII, maybe?”

“Stop being so smug.”

“Good thing I’ve got five stud brothers to carry on the Harrington
lineage
.”

“It’s easy to joke about now, standing in my kitchen, with children so far off in the distance they’re not even a gleam in your eye. But people feel differently when it hits close to home.”

“Not me. I won’t feel any differently. And I was right all along: he’s a first-class douchebag.”

“Don’t be so judgmental. Children were an important part of the life we imagined for ourselves a long time ago. I’ve always wanted them, and so have you.”

“I still want them. But I don’t care whether we raise babies we make, or babies someone else makes. I only care that we raise them together. If you think you’re going to chase me away because of that, or because you don’t want me to see your breasts, you’re going to be sorely disappointed, because I don’t care about any of it.”

“Well, I do. I care about my breasts, because they’re connected to my sense of being a woman … to my sexuality. I know it seems silly and vain, but it’s true. And I care about having a baby growing inside me, feeling those little kicks and pushes. Don’t discount the importance of having children, Drew. Don’t.”

“Cassie. You want me to grieve for children I don’t have, children I won’t have. That’s silly.”

“You’re smarter than that. How are you going to feel when Cole brings home a baby from the hospital, one with that Harrington chin, or when all your nieces and nephews are playing on the beach, gifted with their fathers’ athletic grace. It’s not silly. Children are blessings that, after careful consideration, we sometimes choose to live without. But none of this is silly—premature, maybe, but not silly.”

“I’m just saying that none of this matters to me, and it shouldn’t to you, either.”

“Don’t tell me these things don’t matter. It’s my breast that’s scarred, my womb that’ll be empty. If these things don’t matter to you, it’s only because you haven’t given them enough thought.”

“Cassie. We can work this out. I don’t mean to be insensitive, but this is all new for me. It’s completely unfamiliar territory. I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster since last night. I don’t know what to think about what you’ve told me, or even how to think about it. But I am sure of two things, I love you, and I never stopped loving you. And I’m sure we can do this. I’m as sure about it as I am that the sun will rise in the east tomorrow.” He wrapped her in his arms.

“That’s at least four things you’re sure of,” she said softly against his chest, and he lowered his lips to hers with an intensity that ended the conversation.

* * *

After his parents died, after he fell apart, he’d spent months learning to make peace with the life he longed for, and learning to embrace the life in front of him instead. A life that didn’t include his parents or his aunt and uncle. Yes, he’d always imagined having kids, but he knew how to create a life that didn’t have everything he wanted. Everyone he wanted. He’d done it once, and he could do it again.

Before Cole fully opened the door, Drew had him by the collar with one hand, and was swinging at his face with the other. “You bastard, you knew. You knew about Cassie, and you didn’t tell me,” he shouted as his fist landed on his brother’s jaw.

“What the fuck!” Cole jumped out of reach before he could land another punch.

“I saw Cassie at the hospital, and even if I thought you were in the right frame of mind, I couldn’t tell you. I had an ethical obligation,” he said rubbing his hand over the tender skin.

“How would you feel if it had been Alexa?”

“I would feel like I wanted to kill you. About how you’re feeling right now, which is the only reason you just got a free pass. One free pass,” Cole warned, reaching into the freezer for an ice pack for his face, and a bag of frozen peas for Drew’s hand.

Drew shook his head at the bag his brother offered him. “I don’t want it.”

“Suit yourself.”

“She went through it alone.”

“She wasn’t alone when I saw her.”

“She lost her breast because there was no one to support her, to save her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you were going to save her? Really?”

“Because I couldn’t even save myself, right?”

“You look like you saved yourself pretty well,” Cole said walking into the living room.

“She had a mastectomy because her parents wanted her to, even though a whole host of specialists believed a lumpectomy would have been enough to get rid of the cancer.”

“And you think you would have been satisfied with breast-sparing surgery, even if it carried more long-term risk? Really? Because I’m not sure that if it were Alexa, I wouldn’t have lobbied for removing the entire breast. And guess what? It wasn’t your decision to make anyway. Not then, not now, not ever.”

“She needed someone in her corner. Someone who would support what she wanted. She didn’t have that.”

Cole sank into a chair and put his feet up on the ottoman. “Drew, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d bumped into Cassie on the street. I’m honestly not sure whether I would have told you. You were just starting to turn things around. I was glad I was at the hospital in scrubs when I saw her, because it took the decision out of my hands.”

“We’re brothers. First. Always.” He pounded the table in front of him, rattling an etched bowl filled with sea glass. “Isn’t that what you’ve drummed into me all my life?”

“Look, you’re feeling guilty, confused, and scared right now.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I’m feeling.”

“I forget, how long has it been since the initial diagnosis?”

“She’s still receiving treatment, but she’s been in complete remission for almost seven years. Why am I so freaked out by something that happened so long ago?”

“It’s brand new for you. Raw, like it happened yesterday. She’s not someone you just met and started dating. That would be unsettling enough. This is someone you once loved, envisioned growing old with. Maybe you still love her, maybe in these last couple of months you’ve been picturing yourself on the porch in those rocking chairs, again.” He shrugged. “And there’s all that guilt wrapped around every single feeling you’re having. Choking them, distorting them beyond recognition.”

He pounded on the table again, and the bowl wobbled precariously close to the edge. Cole centered it back on the table.

“You need to be pissed off at somebody, go ahead, take it out on me. It’s easier to be mad at me than to think about Cassie. I get it. You’re having a normal reaction to hearing some scary shit. Sorry to give you the bad news, I know everyone thinks you’re a freakin’ whiz kid and all, but I’ve seen you bare-assed, and you’re human just like the rest of us.”

“There are so many questions spinning in my head, I can’t begin to keep track of them all. I want to reassure her that nothing’s changed, convince myself of that, but the reality is that in some ways everything’s changed. I don’t know how to be with her now. It seems like everything I say is insensitive. What if it comes back? What if she dies? What if I can’t handle any of it? What if I hurt her when we make love? What if I can’t … you know, get it up, keep it up?”

Completely lost, he looked to Cole for answers, hoping his big brother would throw him a lifeline. “It all sounds so awful, so damn weak. But I’m throwing it all out there for you buddy, every fucking thought that’s running amok in my head. I’m not proud of any of them, but I need your help. I’m drowning here. I don’t know how … how to even … how to touch her,” he whispered.

Cole’s face softened. “You’re asking me how you should touch Cassie?” There was not a trace of sarcasm in his words, not one bite, only empathy. “You know her better than anyone.”

“Knew her better. You're a doctor.”

“This conversation about Cassie’s breasts is going to get weird real quick. Trust me on this,” he said quietly.

“There’s no else I can talk to.”

“You could talk to her.”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a conversation with someone who thinks they’re damaged? What it’s like to want to make everything better for them, to make them understand that they’re beautiful, that you want them more than anything, more than you ever have? That it doesn’t matter what her breasts look like, it doesn’t matter whether or not she can have kids. I can’t seem to say any of it without sticking my foot in my mouth. Without making the situation worse, without making her feel worse, more vulnerable.”

Drew paced the living room. “And you know what else? It’s all our goddamn fault. Mine, yours, every guy who’s ever made a comment about how a woman looks, hot, stacked, legs that won’t quit, too old, too fat, too ugly—we don’t even mean half the shit that comes out of our mouths, but we say it anyway. And every woman with the smallest imperfection crumples into the corner.

“It doesn’t matter how many scars we have on our bodies—I’ve got plenty, and so do you. No one cares about these,” he said, rolling up his sleeve and sticking his arm with its faded scars in Cole’s face. “But we make such a big fucking deal about every little thing women have, everything they don’t have. And we don’t mean a goddamn word of it.”

He sat down and buried his face in his hands. “I’m a mess. How am I ever going to make this work?”

“Listen Gloria Steinem, get ahold of yourself.”

“Screw you.”

Cole ignored him. “The emotional stuff you’re going to have to work through with Cassie. I’m sure she’s more frightened than you are. I can’t help you with any of that. But as for the physical part, I’ll give it a try.” He scratched his temple, and took a big breath before he started.

“First, stop thinking about her like she’s one big tit.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” He was itching to pound someone, and Cole would do as well as anyone else.

“I’m doing the best I can, here. Do you want my help or not?”

“Fine.”

“One day, with a little luck, Alexa’s going to be pregnant, and her body’s going change. If you’d asked me a few years ago what I thought about having sex with a pregnant woman, I’d have told you it would be a major boner killer. But I can’t imagine ever not wanting her, regardless of how her body looks. Because I love her, and when you love someone, sex begins and ends with your heart. Not with your brain, not with your dick, but with your heart. It sounds to me like you love Cassie, the physical part of your relationship will be fine.”

Drew shrugged, unconvinced that anything would ever be fine again.

“You know the first time you’re with a woman, you fumble around a little—you start with what’s worked for you in the past and gauge her response, and then after a little while, when she’s more comfortable, you ask her what makes her feel good. You do that, right? You don’t just fumble around like a horny teenager the whole time, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, you're the one who came here asking for my advice about having sex with your girlfriend.”

“Watch it,” he snarled, remembering the time when he’d been about fourteen, and Cole and Will caught him down by the dock kissing Gina Howland like the end of the world was approaching. Groping her breasts with clumsy hands, not on her skin, but through her shirt. He wasn’t going to get anywhere near her skin that day, but that hadn’t stopped him from feeling like he was the luckiest bastard alive.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here,” came Cole’s booming voice, completely freaking out poor Gina, and ending any hope that he’d get anywhere near her skin. Ever. Then later that night he got the talk, the sex talk.

Cole, Will, and Mark, his older brothers, the sexperts. Jake and Luke were too young to join them, but they’d have their chance too, one day. They played video games while they imparted their worldly knowledge to him. Apparently there were all sorts of rules about hooking up with girls, and his brothers knew them all by heart. Of all the rules they taught him that night, one had served him best throughout his life.

“Girls take a long time to finish, a lot longer than guys. It’s your job to get her there first, at least once, before you blow your wad.” Cole always had a way with words, never gussied it up, never said, everything’s going to be fine if he knew you were fucked.

“But the good news,” Mark added, “is that girls have a magic button to help you get them there.”

Cole glared at Mark, and shook his head. “It’s not actually a button. So don’t be pressing on it like you’re calling for the elevator. But find it, and learn to use it, and you’ll be a damn hero.”

There were several more rules, and then they ended their lesson by cautioning him to remember that every girl is someone’s daughter, sister, or cousin. “Or mother,” quipped Mark. “

Eww,
” came the chorus, and Will smacked him over the head with a game controller. “Don’t be doing the deed with anyone’s mother.” And with that, the discussion was over, and they let Jake and Luke into the room.

Later that night he stuck his head in Cole’s room. “Where’s the magic button?”

Cole smirked, and beckoned him inside. “Shut the door.”

“
Hey
! You still with me?”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re a good guy … you’ll do the right thing. But if you don’t think you can do this, or if it’s going to take you to a dark place, you need to get out now, before she gets any more involved. There’s nothing wrong with knowing your limitations. But don’t spend a lot of time dicking her around while you’re trying to figure it out.”

“I was a coward back then, and I’m a coward now. I thought things had changed. Thought I’d changed.” He shook his head.

“Nah. A coward is someone who shrinks in the corner. You got up, and stayed up. And you’re not cowering in any corner now. You came to me and asked for help, for support. Only men do that.”

* * *

“Princess Cassia, did you tell him?”

“It’s been years since you’ve called me that, Reece, and I can’t say it brings back fond memories.”

“Tell me you told him, and I won’t ever call you that again.”

“He knows.”

“And?”

“And he didn’t run screaming from me like I’m a pariah to be banished from the kingdom, and he didn’t pity me, at least not too much. He behaved exactly how I would have expected him to behave, if I could have seen past the crippling anxiety and fear.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. Give him a big, sloppy kiss from me. Right on the mouth.”

“Will do.”

“You know, I might have expected you to sound more relieved about all this now that he knows. You didn’t have sex, did you?”

“No, somehow telling a guy you had a mastectomy while tears, snot, and mascara are smeared all over your face isn’t much of a turn-on these days.”

“You vastly underestimate men.”

“Ned knew, too. He thought he could handle all the uncertainty, and the pressure from his family.”

“Drew’s not a pussy, and from what you’ve told me, no one in his family has a pole stuck up their ass.”

“I know all that. But I’ve had enough experience now to know there are a few more chapters left to be written of this story.”

“Stop it! I’m the pessimist, and you wear the rose-colored glasses. That’s the way it has to be if we’re going to remain friends.”

“Maybe I should start calling you Princess Reece.”

“Queen Reece, or your Royal Highness will do just fine, thank you. And whatever you do, don’t plan a summer wedding—I don’t want to wilt like a thirsty flower for the photographs. And for God’s sake, don’t make me wear some ruffled frock.”

“Don’t keep those rosy glasses on too long, Reece, or you might find you actually like them.”

“
Pfft
.”