Arizona Heat (17 page)

We decide to go straight to the city the next day and my dad insists on driving. Besides it being his RV, so I can’t really argue, I’m thankful for the break. Reagan seems to be feeling a lot better, writing in-between naps like usual but with more energy when he's awake. I look up from my book every so often and he catches me staring.

Reagan shared a room with his dad last night, leaving me to sleep alone for the first time in days and I’m itching for his attention. I have to resist the urge to jump him right here in the back of the camper.

Reagan’s label paid for a hotel while he’s in New York so my dad and I drop him off first with Mr. Lewis. I give him a chaste kiss and start to feel anxiety before he’s even out of the camper. It’s going to take some time to get over the image of his unconscious body and I don’t want to leave him for fear that something will happen.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at Francesca’s? I’m sure she wouldn't mind.”

“I don’t think Francesca really wants your old man spending the night in her studio apartment.”

I shrug because I can’t argue with him. Francesca’s apartment is terribly small. “We’ll meet up for dinner, okay? You and Mr. Lewis don’t leave until tomorrow?”

“We’re going to drive the camper back. Make a man’s trip out of it.”

“What does a man’s trip entail?
”
I ask with air quotes around “man’s.”

“I dunno. Fishing?”

I laugh and pull him into a hug. “You don’t fish but okay.”

“Never too late to learn.”

“Bye paps,
”
I say, sliding out of the RV with my bags.

“You won’t have any trouble at Francesca’s, right?
”
he asks.

“He doesn't know I’m back,
”
I say, understanding he means with Simon.

“Good,
”
he says with an affirmed nod. “I’ll be a few blocks away if you need me.”

“Okay dad,
”
I say with an exaggerated eye roll. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Speaking of I love yous, I’m overdue for a conversation with Reagan. I can’t waste any time letting him know. Life is too short; I realize that now.

I lug my bags up Francesca’s steps and ring her buzzer.

“What?
”
she says, annoyed.

“Let me in, asshole,
”
I say.

Her scream radiates through the building and I pity her neighbors. It takes her all of thirty-seconds to run down four sets of stairs and fly into my arms, effectively pushing all of my bags down the front steps. “I missed you sooooooooooooo much,
”
she whispers with sincerity.

“I missed you too. Can I come in now? I’m tired.”

“Yes!
”
she yells giddily, running down the porch steps to pick up my luggage. We hike up the stairs to her apartment and throw my bags haphazardly on the floor. She walks with determination over to the fridge and pulls out a jug of chardonnay. Not a box, not a bottle, but an actual jug. I laugh as she pulls out her jumbo size wine glasses, ones reserved for special occasions, and fills them to the brim. The bowl sloshes a little as I pull it to my mouth and take a gulp.

“So spill,
”
Francesca finally says as she tucks her legs into the armchair.

“We just talked two days ago.”

“A lot can happen in two days,
”
she says.

I gulp down another big sip and swallow before taking in a large breath of air. “Reagan has cancer,
”
I say simply.

“I’m sorry. Did you say cancer?
”
she asks, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Yep,
”
I mutter, not really believing it myself.

“Can the universe just cut you a break,
”
she says with an exaggerated sigh.

“Nope. I’m doomed.”

“How did you find out he has cancer?”

I explain my walking into the hotel room to find him unresponsive and the hazy events that followed. Retelling the story somehow makes it more real. I struggle to steady my breath as tears form in the corners of my eyes. Francesca nods thoughtfully, muttering encouragements when I stumble over my words. Once the story is done, I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes.

“But you love him, right?”

“More so now than before I think.”

“Well, you better go tell him!”

“I am, I mean, I will. He’s with his dad right now. We’re going to dinner and then after, maybe? I don’t know. As soon as we are alone, I’m going to do it.”

“You better. Oh, and you better name your babies Francesca. Not just one, all of them.”

“Nobody said anything about babies,
”
I say with a laugh.

“It should be illegal for the two of you to
not
have babies,
”
she says, pulling up the picture of us at the Grand Canyon. Even in this photo of us, Reagan’s eyes hold something special as he looks at me. I wonder if his infatuation really started there like he said it did.

“Wait, did you save this on your phone?
”
I ask.

“That’s not important,
”
she says, brushing it off. “What is important is where are we going to dinner?”

“We?
”
I ask. “So you're coming to dinner now?”

“Obviously,
”
she answers with a sweet smile that I can’t say no to.

Francesca and I agree to meet up with everyone at the restaurant after it takes her forty-five minutes to pick out an outfit. I spend the entire walk over trying to talk her down so she doesn't faint in front of dozens of people. We don't need more attention drawn to us.

The restaurant is an intimate little hole in the wall with dim lighting.
Perfect for not getting noticed
I think to myself. Reagan texted me that they are in a booth in the back so when we arrive, Francesca and I go search for them. The building is small so it doesn't take long to spot them. I wave and smile before noticing that I lost Francesca a few steps back. Her eyes are wide and she’s got a hand over her face to keep from screaming. I roll my eyes and drag her forcefully up to the booth. Mr. Lewis looks perplexed as we approach, cocking his head to the side.

“Francesca, this is Reagan, Reagan’s dad, and you remember my dad from graduation.”

“Uh huh,
”
she manages to say. Her eyes haven't left Reagan who looks slightly alarmed but mostly amused. She looks like she’s seen a ghost as her mouth forms unspoken words. I pinch her arm and she gasps. “Ouch,
”
she yelps before rubbing her bicep. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,
”
I say.

“Pleasure to meet you beautif–er, um, I mean Reagan,
”
she says, offering her hand. Reagan shakes it, trying to conceal a smile. Francesca looks momentarily distracted as she stares at her hand but recovers and extends an arm to Mr. Lewis. “Hello Reagan’s dad,
”
she says with a bright smile. “I see where your offspring gets it from.
”
I look over at her with wide eyes as she tops the compliment with an exaggerated wink. Mr. Lewis flushes ten shades of red and Reagan bursts into laughter.

I slide into the booth next to my dad and Francesca squeezes in next to me. Once everyone gets familiar with Francesca’s straightforwardness, dinner ends up being a blast. The guys laugh at our banter and Mr. Lewis turns out to be a worthy advocate of Francesca’s stubbornness. Reagan remains quiet and I can tell he’s getting tired.

“Francesca, don’t you think it’s time to go home? We have that thing we have to do.”

“Huh?
”
she asks, not taking what I’m putting down.

“That
thing
,
”
I say again, nudging her ribs.

“
Oh! Right.”

We stand, ready to take our leave when Reagan stands as well. “I’m going to go to bed. My meeting with the label is early tomorrow.
”
Our dads look at each other, having some kind of silent conversation before nodding in unison.

“We’re going to have a few more beers,
”
Mr. Lewis says.

“We’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow before we leave, Josie?
”
my dad asks.

“Okay,
”
I say.
What kind of weird telepathy was that?

“I’ll see you soon Reagan,
”
my dad says, standing to shake his hand.

“It was a pleasure to spend time with you Mr. Reynolds,
”
Reagan answers, accepting his handshake. “I’ll see you back at the hotel, dad?”

“Don’t wait up,
”
he says, waving us off.

“Parents are weird,
”
I mutter as we walk into the night air.

“I think it’s cute they still have fun at their age,
”
Francesca offers.

“What are you ladies up to tonight?
”
Reagan asks as we stand in a circle on the sidewalk.

“Weren’t you listening? We have that
thing
to do,
”
Francesca says with an amused smirk.

Reagan laughs and takes my hand. I relish the contact as I entwine my fingers with his.

“Josie, be a gentleman and walk Reagan back to the hotel. That
thing
can wait.”

“You sure you’ll be okay walking home by yourself?
”
Reagan asks.

Francesca scoffs and flips her hair over her shoulder with an exaggerated flourish. “I take tai chi. I’d ask you if you’re okay walking home but you have Josie so I know you’ll be fine.”

“Thank goodness for that,
”
he says, nuzzling his nose in my hair.

“Cute,
”
Francesca says with a knowing smile. “Don’t do anything I wouldn't do,
”
she adds with a wink before starting down the sidewalk.

We stand silently for a few minutes holding each other. I think I can feel my blood pressure physically drop when I’m in his arms. Reagan puts a hand on my chin and tilts my face up to place a lingering kiss on my lips. It feels like it’s been years since I felt his mouth on mine.

“I missed you,
”
I whisper against his lips.

“I missed you more,
”
he says with a smile.

“Let’s go. You’re exhausted.”

“Never too exhausted for you.”

Except when you wouldn't wake up
. I can’t hide my somber expression as fear overwhelms me. Reagan pulls my face into his chest and wraps me up in his arms. I can’t imagine how I ever went on living without this feeling. We start toward the hotel and I’m thankful it’s only two blocks away because Reagan is fading fast.

Once inside the hotel room, he flops onto the bed and lets out a long sigh. I sit next to him, placing a hand on his chest so I can feel his heartbeat. “Can you help me with something?
”
he asks. I nod and he instructs me to grab his duffel bag off of the chair. Reagan sits up and unzips the bag, pulling out a variety of equipment that I am very familiar with. I recognize the duffel from our first trip to the Grand Canyon, the one I made fun of him for.

“I assume you already know how to use all this,
”
he states and I nod. “I took this two hours ago.
”
He holds up a pill bottle and hands it to me. The pills are small and ordinary looking. It’s hard to image how this alone is supposed to cure cancer. “I have about an hour to eat before I become too nauseous and maybe four hours before I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. Before I go to sleep I have to monitor my blood pressure, heart rate, and toxicity level. Once a week I’m supposed to go in and have them get a blood count. They did that in the hospital yesterday and said it looks good so besides being dehydrated, I’m right on track.”

“You’ve been doing this every night since we started our trip?
”
I ask, astonished.

“Yep.”

“How did I not notice?”

“You were distracted by this face,
”
he says with a smirk.

“No, seriously.”

“I took the bag into the bathroom and you never asked what took me so long in there.”

I shake my head in disbelief. There were signs, I even noticed some of them, but I never asked him. I’m not sure he would have told me if I did. “How long until you are done?
”
I ask, unsure if I want the answer.

“The first round lasts a month. Then I get another CT scan and they determine the course of action from there. Either more pills, surgery, or maybe radiation, it depends.”

I nod silently, taking in the gravity of the situation all over again. Refusing myself from crying, I pick up the blood pressure cuff and nod for Reagan to roll up his sleeve. He obliges and I wrap the cuff around his bicep and click the start button.

“Relax,
”
I remind him and he smiles. As I glance down at the nasty bruise on his arm, I shake my head. “You should have listened to me,
”
I mutter.

“Yes, dear,
”
he says again and I can’t suppress the corner of my mouth from curling into a small smile.

“One hundred over sixty,
”
I say quietly. Reagan nods and I move on to the pulse oximeter. I hold out my hand and he offers me his, squeezing me for reassurance. Before putting the oximeter on, I rub the calluses on his fingertips from plucking guitar strings. Holding his hand up to my mouth, I place light kisses on each finger. He smiles back at me and I take a deep breath, waiting for the oximeter to settle on a reading.

“Heart rate looks fine,
”
I whisper softly.

“If you need to stop
–
”

“No,
”
I state firmly. “I want to do this.”

Holding up the final machine, I eye it speculatively. It looks like a glucose monitor but is larger and seemingly more complicated. I look through the duffel to find some anesthetic wipes and gauze before asking which finger he wants me to use. After cleaning it off, I unwrap a clean lancet and twist it into the machine before popping the cap off. I place Reagan’s hand in mine and hold the lancet up to his finger.

“On three, Okay? One
…
two…
”
I click the release button and quickly gather the sample before slipping it into the machine for reading. “Three,
”
I say as I put a piece of gauze on his finger.

“That was on two,
”
he teases.

“You don’t expect it that way,
”
I argue.

“Liar.”

“Does it hurt?
”
I ask mockingly.

“Yes,
”
he says with a slight pout.

I hold his palm up to my cheek and kiss it. “Better?
”
I ask.

“Much,
”
he answers with a smile.

“Reagan, I–
”
The machine beeps and I am interrupted from my impending admission. A bunch of numbers appear on the screen and it takes me a minute to understand what they all mean. “This thing is really cool, where did you get it?
”
I ask.

“It was developed for the trial.”

“Nice,
”
I say, wishing there was no need for a machine like this.

“How am I doing Doctor Reynolds?”

“Everything looks normal, but drink more water,
”
I scold, unable to hide my smirk as I pack up the medical supplies and place them back on the chair.

“What do I owe you for your services?
”
he asks seductively.

“Oh no. No, you don’t. Sleep.”

Reagan frowns and before I know what’s happening, he pulls me onto his lap. His hands travel from my hips to the middle of my back. I try to fight his advance but my body deceives me. My eyes flutter closed as his hands explore my bare skin. “You’re too tired for this,
”
I say in an attempt to stop him.

“Josie,
”
he says with the utmost seriousness. “This is why I didn't say anything. I’m not fragile and you aren't going to hurt me. I’m exactly the same as I was before.”

“I’m afraid you won’t wake up,
”
I whisper quietly, letting my admission fill the space between us. Reagan nods thoughtfully, considering my words, before forcefully pulling my face down to his. He holds me tightly with his strong arms, proving his stability, and quickly chips away at my reservations. I wrap my arms around his neck and accept the heat of his kiss with equal passion. It feels like weeks since I’ve felt his hands on me and I relish every second.

Reagan lifts the hem of my shirt over my head with agonizing slowness. His eyes never leave mine as he wraps his arms around my legs and lifts me off the bed before pushing my back against the wall. I know what he’s doing. He’s proving to me that he is strong enough to fight this. I prop my arms up on his shoulders to carry some of my own weight but he grabs both of my wrists with one hand, placing them over my head, and lets the wall and his body hold me up. His mouth finds mine and I moan with complete happiness.

We move from the wall to the desk where I frantically pull at the hem of Reagan’s shirt and fumble with the button of his jeans. He unclips my bra with ease and slides my pants down my legs with an expertise that I might find annoying if I didn't want him so bad. My hands roam every inch from his back to his chest, loving the feel of his bare skin. He slides my hips to the edge of the desk and positions himself over me. I grip the back of his neck as I watch our bodies connect and sigh as I relish the fill of him.

Reagan doesn't know it, but he has nothing to prove to me. I’ve seen how strong he is both physically and emotionally. It’s what I love about him most of all. His deep understanding of the world and his place in it is awe inspiring to me. In hindsight, I could see that he was upset and brooding about his illness but now he doesn't have to fight it alone. Now we can fight together.