Wicked Intentions (Steele Secrurity Book 4) (4 page)

“You talked to her? What did she say?”

“She said you left her, so you know where to find her if you want to see her,” Bryan replied, his face contorted with sympathy.

“She hasn’t filed for a divorce?” Braxton couldn’t keep the surprise from his tone. He was certain she would’ve filed within the first week of his absence.

“Not that we know of, Brax. She hasn’t told us if she has.”

“How is she?” There were a million and one questions he wanted to grill his parents with to find out every single detail about Heather. What had she been doing? Who was she talking to? Had she moved back in with her parents? Did she ask about him? Did she miss him? Did she still love him? Asking about how she was doing left the question open for interpretation, so they could share any information they thought was important.

“She’s had a really rough time, son. She seemed to be doing a little better before we left to come here,” Bryan replied.

“Maybe you should go talk to her, Brax. Sit down and do it face-to-face,” Jackie suggested. “I think you both need that time together.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Braxton sighed. “I only have a couple of days to get to Arizona for AIT.”

“AIT?” Jackie asked.

“Advanced Individual Training. It’s training for my assigned job with the Army.”

“How long will you be there?” Jackie’s face fell with his reply.

“I’ll be away for about six months total for AIT and jump school.”

“Jump school? What is jump school?” Jackie demanded.

“Airborne School, Mom. I’m going to learn how to jump out of airplanes, control my parachute to land on specific targets, and use these skills in combat.”

“I don’t even want to think about that. Don’t tell me anything else.” Jackie shook her head from side to side, making Braxton chuckle at her discomfort.

“I’m tougher than you think, Mom.”

With the graduation ceremony events completed, Braxton was able to spend what little free time he had with his parents before his more extensive training program began. While they talked, ate, and toured the grounds, his mother’s words urging him to see Heather in person rang in his ears. His date to report to the training base in Arizona was nonnegotiable with the Army. But with a little extra effort, he’d already managed to get a connecting flight with an extra-long layover through the Houston airport.

The urge to see her, talk to her, be with her had been too strong for too long. He knew what he had to do the instant he was instructed to make his travel arrangements. There was no way he was flying across the country without stopping in Texas to see her again. Leaving her had been pure torture. He didn’t know if seeing her again would make him feel better or worse. He only knew it had to be done.

At the end of their day together, he hugged his parents as they said goodbye, told them he loved them, and made his final preparations for leaving the base that had been his home for the previous nine weeks. The new base would be his home for the next eighteen weeks before he’d make the trek back across the country to attend the three-week jump school. He hadn’t had the heart to tell his mother he’d decided to make a career of his time in the Army, and that the training he had in mind for the future would keep him away from home more and more.

Finally, the time had come to face the anguish he’d been running from for far too long. He walked out of the Houston airport with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder and hailed a taxi. They drove in complete silence to the apartment he shared with Heather. It amazed him how everything could look the same and simultaneously be completely different. The tiny little space that was barely big enough for them to turn around without bumping into each other held so many wonderful memories—and far too much pain.

He climbed the stairs, delaying the inevitable by only a couple of minutes, and stopped in front of their door. Part of him hoped she’d changed the locks, that his key wouldn’t work, and he could at least say he tried as he walked away.

But he had no such luck.

His key slid into the lock without a hitch. He turned it, and the doorknob twisted with ease. He pushed the door open but stayed planted in the threshold. He felt like an intruder breaking in to someone else’s house, not a husband returning home to his wife after an extended leave.

His feet moved on their own into the place he’d called home just a short eight weeks before. His legs carried him into the apartment where the sights, scents, and belongings only served to intensify the pain in his chest. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and robotically moved through the rooms, noting what had and hadn’t changed. Her clothes still hung in the tiny closet. Her makeup and toiletries still cluttered the minuscule bathroom counter.

The pictures of the two of them throughout their lives were still everywhere. According to the story the pictures told, they were more than happy together. Images of them smiling, laughing, and kissing said they couldn’t get enough of each other. Their wedding picture said they belonged to each other for all time.

He walked into the kitchen and began searching for paper and a pen to write her a letter. In the event she didn’t come home before he had to get back to the airport, he planned to leave her a note asking her to contact him. Telling her how monumentally he’d fucked up. Laying his feelings out on the table, without holding anything back, without regard to his vulnerability.

He wanted her back, and he could no longer deny it.

Rifling through the stack of mail and papers on the counter as he searched for a blank sheet, his eyes landed on a set of documents that made everything else fade to black around him. The black hole they created drew all of the air out of the room, leaving his chest burning as his lungs demanded oxygen. All sound instantly disappeared, replaced by the sound of his pulse beating on drums in his ears. His capacity to rationalize and reason like any other sane person dissolved, leaving only instability in its place.

I
n a deep sleep
, Sara rolled over and snuggled against her husband, her front to his back. The contact instantly startled her awake and filled her with so much fear that she sat up and called his name out in the dark.

“Steve! Honey, what’s wrong?”

She reached over to turn on the lamp beside the bed and gasped when she saw him in the light. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, his arms were drawn up close to his chest, and his entire body appeared to be in convulsions. Had she not felt the heat radiating from his every pore, she would’ve thought he was having a seizure from the severity of his shivers. She placed her hand on his forehead and immediately knew she needed to call for an ambulance.

As she flew out of the bed, she grabbed the cordless phone on the nightstand and dialed 911. When the line connected to the dispatcher, she immediately began rambling information and demands.

“We’re in room 1345 at Sterling Luxury Resort on Broad Street. My husband has colon cancer and is undergoing experimental chemotherapy. His fever has spiked, he’s shaking uncontrollably, and he’s very pale. I need an ambulance here right away to take him to the emergency room.”

After she answered a few basic questions about Steve, the dispatcher assured her the ambulance was on the way. She called the front desk and alerted them to the situation before she helped Steve into a jacket, socks, and shoes. February temperatures in Houston were mild, but his high fever made Steve feel like his body was freezing. In his condition, the chill of the evening air could cause his fever to go up even more.

Once they had him loaded onto the gurney, the paramedics wheeled him out of the luxurious hotel and into the back of the ambulance. Sara rushed to their car to meet them at the emergency room. At one point, she reached for her cell to inform Noah, Chaise, and Silas, but a quick glance at the clock stopped her. Eight minutes after three o’clock in the morning in Houston would be just after four o’clock in Miami, way too early to wake her kids until she knew more about the severity of his condition.

She racked her brain trying to remember all the side effects Dr. Stanton had warned them about, especially which ones were potentially life-threatening. Erring on the side of caution, she decided to call the answering service to at least report that Steve was en route to the hospital.

“Can I put you on hold for just a minute, Mrs. Steele? Dr. Stanton prefers to talk to his patients and their families directly,” the young lady with the answering service explained.

“Of course. Thank you,” Sara replied, relieved she could talk to someone—anyone—at that moment.

After a couple of minutes, the hold music abruptly quit, and a slightly groggy male voice filled the line. “This is Daryl Stanton. What’s going on with Steve?”

“He was so warm and shivering so hard, he woke me up from a dead sleep. He’s hot to the touch, but he’s just so pale. I didn’t even take his temperature before I called 911 because just seeing him in that condition rattled me so badly. I can’t think straight right now, Dr. Stanton, so I can’t remember when you said to get immediate help. But he scared me bad enough that I would’ve made him go to the hospital regardless,” Sara rambled.

“You did the right thing. It’s not uncommon for people to have a high fever while on chemo. It effectively destroys your immune system, so even a common cold can turn ugly very quickly. We’ll do some bloodwork to rule out a systemic infection, but this could very well be a side effect of his treatment. Either way, we can make him more comfortable and get his temperature down to a safe level. I’ll meet you both in the ER.”

“Thank you,” Sara breathed her reply, the gratitude thick in her voice.

When she was finally by Steve’s side again, he was resting in a darkened exam room. The bandage on his hand made her heart rate quicken because she realized the IV had been placed in his forearm. She’d seen that happen before when he was too dehydrated for the medical personnel to hit the vein closer to his wrist. She refused to listen to the inner voice that tried to issue a dire warning concerning the sudden onset of his symptoms. She couldn’t even entertain the thought of Steve succumbing to the devastating disease.

“Hi, Sara,” Daryl called softly from the doorway. “I’ve already ordered a complete blood count, and the preliminary results should be back from the lab within in the hour. Once I get that report, I should have a better idea of what’s going on. Until then, we’re hydrating him, and we’ve started him on medication to bring his fever down. It was quite a bit higher than we like to see in chemotherapy patients, so I’m sure he was feeling pretty rough.”

“It was so sudden, Dr. Stanton. He didn’t say anything about feeling bad last night. But then, he still likes to think he’s invincible.”

“That’s because I’m made of Steele,” Steve mumbled his witty retort but managed to give Sara a half smile.

“Did you know you were getting sick when we went to bed last night?” Sara asked.

“I wasn’t sick like this, but I did feel a little off. I didn’t realize it would progress to be this bad, though. Now I know what to watch for so I can stop it before it gets too far gone.”

“Absolutely,” Daryl agreed. “Every symptom won’t be a classic, textbook example. We’ll do the best we can to manage them so you’re not too miserable. I’ll be back when the lab results are ready, but plan on staying for at least a day or two. You should both try to get some rest now.”

Steve patted the bed beside him, so Sara crawled in and rested her cheek in the crook of his shoulder. With their arms wrapped around each other, they slept until Daryl returned with the results of his blood count. The grim expression he wore did nothing to calm Sara’s fears.

“Your white blood cell count is significantly low, Steve. We’re going to keep you, start you on a broad-spectrum antibiotic to help your body fight off any infection, and monitor your counts to make sure we start seeing some improvements. From the date of your last chemo round, this isn’t entirely unusual, but we may need to help kick-start your bone marrow so it produces more white blood cells.”

“How long will I be here this time?”

“You know the rules, Steve. We take it one day at a time,” Daryl replied. “Let us finish this paperwork, and we’ll get you moved to a more comfortable room.”

“Sara,” Steve called her name softly when Daryl had left the room. “We’ll eventually have to talk about it.”

“Not now, we don’t. You’re not giving up over this…this… It’s not even a setback. It’s no more than an inconvenience. If you were healthy and caught the flu, you wouldn’t throw your hands up in surrender.”

He knew her anger and dogged determination masked her fear of what their future may hold. He wanted to assure her he’d be fine. He wanted to soothe her frayed nerves and promise he’d kick cancer’s ass. For her, he wanted to be invincible and live forever. But he couldn’t promise her any of those things. Instead, he just held her close to his heart and kissed the top of her head.

When he’d been quiet for too long, she prodded him again. “Steve, promise me you’re not giving up.”

“I’m not giving up, babe,” he whispered.

Before he drifted off to sleep again, he felt the warmth of her tears soak through his thin hospital gown.

* * *

“
H
ow’s
my favorite patient in the world today?” Heather asked as she entered Steve’s room. “Even though I’ve missed you, it’s really not necessary for you to keep pretending to be sick just to come see me.”

“But I have to keep you guessing. You never know when I’ll be here and when I won’t,” Steve joked.

“Well, to be honest, I’d much rather you show up with some food! Breakfast, lunch, snacks—it doesn’t matter what it is.” Heather laughed as she took a seat next to his bed.

Sara sat on the other side and watched as the two of them playfully picked on each other. With all the time they had spent in and around the oncology floor, they’d formed a special bond with Heather because of the way she cared so deeply for others. Her warm personality was genuine, but they’d also witnessed her stubborn, take-charge side. She was an advocate for her patients as much as she was their cheerleader. She’d bravely correct an intern for giving incorrect information just as she’d forcefully demand that her patient had to keep fighting until she gave them permission to give up.

Sara had also witnessed Heather handle that very painful situation with finesse and grace. A woman held on to life with every ounce of willpower she possessed while she waited for her son to arrive at her side. The lady was obviously suffering, painfully struggling to hold on until she’d heard that last goodbye from her loved one. Though her son was on his way, his trip would take too much time, and Heather realized there was no way her patient would be able to rest in peace under those circumstances.

Heather leaned in close to the lady, kept her voice low, and spoke soothingly to her.

“You carried him for nine months. Fed him, nurtured him, cared for him, loved him. Jordan knows how much you love him, sweetheart. I’ll tell him how hard you fought to have him close to you just one more time. I’ll tell him how much you love him. You don’t have to suffer anymore. You can let go now.”

Sara watched from the hallway, mesmerized by how the woman responded to Heather’s words. Her labored breathing became calmer. Her clenched fists relaxed. Her face, distorted with pain, became peaceful. Then she did exactly as Heather instructed and let go. And Sara’s heart broke as she watched Heather sob uncontrollably when it was all over.

The playful banter between Steve and Heather pulled Sara from her inner thoughts. Steve already seemed so much better than he was just a few hours before. As long as Heather instructed Steve to fight, Sara held on to the hope that he would be completely healed of cancer.

“I’m going to step out in the hall and call Noah. Do you need anything, Steve?”

“No, babe. I’m fine. Tell all of our kids I love them.”

Sara closed the door behind her and drew in a deep breath. The daily roller coaster rides of emotions drained her mentally and physically. She knew if it affected her that much, the impact on Steve had to be so much worse. If she was considered selfish because she wanted her husband to live, and willed him to keep going regardless of how tired he was, then she’d wear the label with pride.

At the end of the hall, she pulled her cell out of her pocket and dialed Noah’s number. When he picked up, she decided it was time for her to be blunt about Steve’s health status. Playing down the symptoms wouldn’t make them go away.

“Hey, Mom. You’re calling earlier than usual. Are you and Dad all right?”

“Hi, Noah. I thought you’d want to know your dad was admitted to the hospital early this morning. He’s feeling a little better now, but he had a high fever in the middle of the night. With his low white blood cell count, they’re keeping him here for IV antibiotics and to monitor his counts for the next few days.

“They’ve, uh, had to temporarily stop his chemotherapy so his bone marrow can make more white blood cells. It’s a fine line to balance the need to kill the cancer cells but not kill his immune system entirely. We’ll know more in a couple of days…if he can continue in the trial, with the experimental drugs.”

“There’s a chance they’ll drop him from the clinical trial?”

“If he can’t finish the program, yes. If it’s weakening his body to the point his bone marrow isn’t producing blood cells, there’s really no reason to continue the chemotherapy. We’re not there yet, and we’re not giving up hope, but I can’t let you, Chaise, and Silas be blindsided by it if it does happen.”

“Mom, is he worse than you’re telling me?”

“He’s had some ups and downs lately. Nothing in particular that any other man going through chemotherapy doesn’t have. It just seems to be hitting him harder, more things at once.”

“How are you, Mom? Are you eating, sleeping, taking care of yourself? I wish you’d told me sooner. We would’ve been there with you.”

“No, son. Brianna just had a baby last month. I know you’ve been busy with work. You have a life and a family of your own to take care of, and that doesn’t include babysitting your mother.”

“It’s hardly babysitting, Mom. You don’t have to do this alone. Chaise and Bull could’ve been there with you until Brianna was able to travel. Silas could’ve been there. We’d work it out. How do you think that makes me feel, knowing you’ve been carrying this weight on your shoulders alone all this time?”

Tears escaped from Sara’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “You’re such a wonderful son—and a great man. You’re all welcome to come stay here with me anytime you want to. But I understand if you can’t, so I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Love is never an obligation, Mom. It’s a privilege.”

I
n Steve’s room
, Heather continued her medical assessment of Steve. The clever banter and quick comebacks demonstrated to her that his mental faculties were intact. He was alert to people, time, and place—meaning he could match faces with names, he knew what time of day and year it was, and he knew where he was. His speech was clear and concise, no audible sign of slurring his words or exaggerated forgetfulness.