Only Him
Page 32
Except, of course, the world wasn’t the problem. I was the problem. More specifically, what I’d done was the problem. Looking back, I could see the series of missteps I’d taken, and all of them indicated how weak and reckless and stupid I was.
I’d gone to see Maren and dug up the past when I should have left it buried.
I’d insisted she go on a date with me, swearing not to touch her and knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to resist.
I’d slept with her, telling myself it was only for one night.
I’d stayed in Detroit just to be with her when I should have gone to Boston.
I’d told her how I felt and promised her a second chance.
I’d hid the truth from her and then flat out lied when she asked me about the surgeon appointment.
I’d let both of us fall in deep, knowing we would both get hurt.
And now what? Was I supposed to go have dinner with her and her family, spend the evening making polite conversation and pretending nothing was wrong? Spend the night in her bed again, holding her and kissing her and fucking her and making promises and plans I knew I wasn’t going to keep?
Miserable and full of contempt for myself, I got out my laptop and did what I’d already done a thousand times in the last few months—researched brain tumors and treatment.
It was all horror stories, and the pictures were even worse. Finn had told me not to do this under any circumstances, and even though I knew he was right, I couldn’t help it. I needed to remind myself why I wouldn’t let Maren see me that way.
Then I came across something new. A blog by a guy named Chad—an Ironman triathlete with a PhD in chemistry—who’d had a craniotomy to remove a brain tumor followed by radiation and chemotherapy. He had a great sense of humor about it. He claimed his side effects weren’t even that bad. Reading his story, I actually began to feel some hope that maybe I could weather this storm, especially if I knew Maren was counting on me.
But then his posts suddenly stopped. After years of updating his readers a few times a month, Chad just disappeared. Months later, his partner posted on the blog that Chad had lost his battle and how hard it had been watching him fight it. How devastating the loss was. How unfair and confusing and painful and sad. How cancer had turned this brilliant, superstar athlete into a shriveled, sickly shadow of his former self. Of course, he went on to say how strong Chad’s spirit remained and encouraged all Chad’s readers to donate to cancer research.
Angry at the tragic ending to the story and the injustice of it all, I slammed my laptop shut and tossed it aside. A moment later, I opened it back up, got out my wallet and donated to the American Cancer Society in Chad’s honor. It didn’t make me feel any better, though. If a guy like that—a chemistry genius who could swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, and run a marathon without a break—couldn’t survive, what were the odds that I could?
Not good.
My room began to feel claustrophobic, so I decided to take a walk. The rain had eased to barely a drizzle, but I didn’t care about getting wet anyway. I wandered the wet city streets with no destination, hands shoved in my pockets, head aching, desperately wishing there was a way out of this that wouldn’t break Maren’s heart and leave her thinking the worst of me. That had been the whole point of my trip here—to redeem myself in her eyes. Atone for what I’d done. But in true Dallas fashion, I’d managed to fuck it up.
After I’d been walking for a while, I ducked into a little jewelry shop.
My conscience taunted me. You think some kind of trinket is going to make it up to her?
Ignoring it, I perused what the store had to offer, and when a saleswoman approached and asked what I’d like to see, I pointed out a necklace that reminded me of one of Maren’s tattoos. It was a little lotus flower pendant on a delicate gold chain. Delicate, feminine, beautiful. Just like her. I knew she would love it.
I bought the necklace for her and walked back to the hotel, and was about to get in the shower when Finn called. After debating for ten seconds whether or not to answer, I decided I’d better.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Finn. You okay?”
“I guess.”
“How are the headaches?”
“Shitty.”
“Sorry to hear that. How about your vision?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “It’s okay.”
“Any more episodes?”
“One. Yesterday. Same thing as before.”
“Did you lose consciousness?”
“No.”
“That’s good.” A pause. “I wanted to let you know I spoke with Dr. Acharya. He had a chance to look over your films.”
“And?”
“He agrees with me about the surgery. The sooner the better.”
“Does he think it’s benign or malignant?”
“We won’t know that until the biopsy.”
“Does he think I’ll need radiation and chemo?”
“Again, we won’t know that until we have all the information. But you need to have the surgery to get the information. He’ll go over all this with you Tuesday.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” I said quickly.
“I know. I just wanted you to hear his opinion.” He paused. “I also wanted to let you know that I feel really bad about our conversation yesterday.”
“Don’t worry about it. No point.”
“Yes, there is, Dallas. You’re the only brother I’ve got. And I haven’t done a good enough job seeing things from your point of view or trying to understand your feelings.”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“And how can I expect you to listen to me or believe I care when you feel I’m not on your side? But I’ve never been against you.”
“No, you’ve been above me. There’s a difference.”
“Fair enough. I admit, I have judged your choices because they’re not the ones I would have made. But I’ve been talking to someone about things, and—”
“About my things? Talking to who?” I demanded.
“No. About my things,” he said calmly. “I see a therapist.”
“Oh. You do?” It surprised me. Finn’s life seemed fucking perfect. He seemed perfect.
“Yes. Everyone’s got issues, Dallas. Not just you. But I’ve been talking a lot about you lately, and my therapist really thinks repairing our relationship is important. I do, too.”
“Frankly, I’m not sure what’s there to repair,” I said. “We’ve never had much of a relationship. I’m closer to your kids than I am to you. I relate to them better.”
“So let’s change that. When you get here, let’s get to know each other as adults and put the past behind us. Do you think we can?”
“Maybe. Did you ever talk to Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ask a million questions?”
“Of course. But I didn’t tell her anything.”
“I can’t believe she hasn’t been calling me nonstop.”
“I told her not to bother you while you were on vacation and you’d call her from here.” Finn’s tone was firm.
“Thanks.” My phone buzzed, indicating a text message. A quick glance at the screen told me it was from Maren. “Okay. Look, I better go. I’m having dinner with a friend tonight.”
“You mentioned seeing someone before. Who is it? Anyone I know?”
A lie was on the tip of my tongue, but at the last second, I decided to be truthful. I wasn’t even sure why. “Maren Devine.”
“Your old girlfriend, right? Any sparks left?”
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, Finn.”
“Sorry. But I’d like to hear about your visit with her.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. My flight gets in around one or two.”
“I’m really glad you’re not driving. Safe travels.”
“Thanks.”
We hung up and I read Maren’s message saying she’d meet me here at the hotel. Just seeing her name on the screen made my heart beat faster. I replied, offering again to pick her up. I wanted to do things for her.
I’d gone to see Maren and dug up the past when I should have left it buried.
I’d insisted she go on a date with me, swearing not to touch her and knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to resist.
I’d slept with her, telling myself it was only for one night.
I’d stayed in Detroit just to be with her when I should have gone to Boston.
I’d told her how I felt and promised her a second chance.
I’d hid the truth from her and then flat out lied when she asked me about the surgeon appointment.
I’d let both of us fall in deep, knowing we would both get hurt.
And now what? Was I supposed to go have dinner with her and her family, spend the evening making polite conversation and pretending nothing was wrong? Spend the night in her bed again, holding her and kissing her and fucking her and making promises and plans I knew I wasn’t going to keep?
Miserable and full of contempt for myself, I got out my laptop and did what I’d already done a thousand times in the last few months—researched brain tumors and treatment.
It was all horror stories, and the pictures were even worse. Finn had told me not to do this under any circumstances, and even though I knew he was right, I couldn’t help it. I needed to remind myself why I wouldn’t let Maren see me that way.
Then I came across something new. A blog by a guy named Chad—an Ironman triathlete with a PhD in chemistry—who’d had a craniotomy to remove a brain tumor followed by radiation and chemotherapy. He had a great sense of humor about it. He claimed his side effects weren’t even that bad. Reading his story, I actually began to feel some hope that maybe I could weather this storm, especially if I knew Maren was counting on me.
But then his posts suddenly stopped. After years of updating his readers a few times a month, Chad just disappeared. Months later, his partner posted on the blog that Chad had lost his battle and how hard it had been watching him fight it. How devastating the loss was. How unfair and confusing and painful and sad. How cancer had turned this brilliant, superstar athlete into a shriveled, sickly shadow of his former self. Of course, he went on to say how strong Chad’s spirit remained and encouraged all Chad’s readers to donate to cancer research.
Angry at the tragic ending to the story and the injustice of it all, I slammed my laptop shut and tossed it aside. A moment later, I opened it back up, got out my wallet and donated to the American Cancer Society in Chad’s honor. It didn’t make me feel any better, though. If a guy like that—a chemistry genius who could swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, and run a marathon without a break—couldn’t survive, what were the odds that I could?
Not good.
My room began to feel claustrophobic, so I decided to take a walk. The rain had eased to barely a drizzle, but I didn’t care about getting wet anyway. I wandered the wet city streets with no destination, hands shoved in my pockets, head aching, desperately wishing there was a way out of this that wouldn’t break Maren’s heart and leave her thinking the worst of me. That had been the whole point of my trip here—to redeem myself in her eyes. Atone for what I’d done. But in true Dallas fashion, I’d managed to fuck it up.
After I’d been walking for a while, I ducked into a little jewelry shop.
My conscience taunted me. You think some kind of trinket is going to make it up to her?
Ignoring it, I perused what the store had to offer, and when a saleswoman approached and asked what I’d like to see, I pointed out a necklace that reminded me of one of Maren’s tattoos. It was a little lotus flower pendant on a delicate gold chain. Delicate, feminine, beautiful. Just like her. I knew she would love it.
I bought the necklace for her and walked back to the hotel, and was about to get in the shower when Finn called. After debating for ten seconds whether or not to answer, I decided I’d better.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Finn. You okay?”
“I guess.”
“How are the headaches?”
“Shitty.”
“Sorry to hear that. How about your vision?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “It’s okay.”
“Any more episodes?”
“One. Yesterday. Same thing as before.”
“Did you lose consciousness?”
“No.”
“That’s good.” A pause. “I wanted to let you know I spoke with Dr. Acharya. He had a chance to look over your films.”
“And?”
“He agrees with me about the surgery. The sooner the better.”
“Does he think it’s benign or malignant?”
“We won’t know that until the biopsy.”
“Does he think I’ll need radiation and chemo?”
“Again, we won’t know that until we have all the information. But you need to have the surgery to get the information. He’ll go over all this with you Tuesday.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” I said quickly.
“I know. I just wanted you to hear his opinion.” He paused. “I also wanted to let you know that I feel really bad about our conversation yesterday.”
“Don’t worry about it. No point.”
“Yes, there is, Dallas. You’re the only brother I’ve got. And I haven’t done a good enough job seeing things from your point of view or trying to understand your feelings.”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“And how can I expect you to listen to me or believe I care when you feel I’m not on your side? But I’ve never been against you.”
“No, you’ve been above me. There’s a difference.”
“Fair enough. I admit, I have judged your choices because they’re not the ones I would have made. But I’ve been talking to someone about things, and—”
“About my things? Talking to who?” I demanded.
“No. About my things,” he said calmly. “I see a therapist.”
“Oh. You do?” It surprised me. Finn’s life seemed fucking perfect. He seemed perfect.
“Yes. Everyone’s got issues, Dallas. Not just you. But I’ve been talking a lot about you lately, and my therapist really thinks repairing our relationship is important. I do, too.”
“Frankly, I’m not sure what’s there to repair,” I said. “We’ve never had much of a relationship. I’m closer to your kids than I am to you. I relate to them better.”
“So let’s change that. When you get here, let’s get to know each other as adults and put the past behind us. Do you think we can?”
“Maybe. Did you ever talk to Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ask a million questions?”
“Of course. But I didn’t tell her anything.”
“I can’t believe she hasn’t been calling me nonstop.”
“I told her not to bother you while you were on vacation and you’d call her from here.” Finn’s tone was firm.
“Thanks.” My phone buzzed, indicating a text message. A quick glance at the screen told me it was from Maren. “Okay. Look, I better go. I’m having dinner with a friend tonight.”
“You mentioned seeing someone before. Who is it? Anyone I know?”
A lie was on the tip of my tongue, but at the last second, I decided to be truthful. I wasn’t even sure why. “Maren Devine.”
“Your old girlfriend, right? Any sparks left?”
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, Finn.”
“Sorry. But I’d like to hear about your visit with her.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. My flight gets in around one or two.”
“I’m really glad you’re not driving. Safe travels.”
“Thanks.”
We hung up and I read Maren’s message saying she’d meet me here at the hotel. Just seeing her name on the screen made my heart beat faster. I replied, offering again to pick her up. I wanted to do things for her.
