Lover Eternal: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood (19 page)

When she was finished changing, Mary slid up onto the table and dangled her feet off the edge. It was chilly without her clothes, and she looked at them, all neatly arranged on the chair next to the desk. She would have paid good money to get back in them.

With a chime and a whistle, her cell phone went off in her purse. She dropped back down to the floor and padded over in her socks.

 

She didn't recognize the number as she checked caller ID and answered out of hope. "Hello?"

 

"Mary."

 

The sound of the rich male voice made her sag with relief. She'd been so sure Hal wouldn't return her call.

 

"Hi. Hi, Hal. Thanks for calling." She looked around for a place to sit that wasn't on the exam table. Moving her clothes to her lap, she eased into the chair. "Look, I'm really sorry about last night. I just—"

 

There was a knock and then the nurse poked her head in.

 

"Excuse me, did you release your bone scans from last July to us?"

 

"Yes. They should be in my record." When the nurse shut the door, Mary said, "Sorry."

 

"Where are you?"

 

"I, ah…" She cleared her throat. "It's not important. I just wanted you to know how bad I felt about what I said to you."

 

There was a long silence.

 

"I just panicked," she said.

 

"Why?"

 

"You make me… I don't know, you're just…" Mary fiddled with the edge of the gown. The words tumbled out. "I've got cancer, Hal. I mean, I've had it and it might be back."

 

"I know."

"So Bella told you." Mary waited for him to confirm it; when he didn't she took a deep breath. "I'm not using the leukemia as an excuse for the way I behaved. It's just… I'm in a weird place right now. My emotions are bouncing all over and having you in my house"—
being totally attracted to you
—"it triggered something and I lashed out."
"I understand."

Somehow, she felt as though he did.

 

But God, his silences were a killer. She began to feel like a fool for keeping him on the line.

 

"Anyway, that's all I wanted to say."

 

"I'll pick you up tonight at eight. Your house."

 

She gripped the phone. God, she wanted to see him so badly. "I'll be waiting for you."

 

From outside the door of the exam room, Dr. Delia Croce's voice rose and fell in concert with the nurse's.

 

"And Mary?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Wear your hair down for me."

 

There was a knock and the doctor came in.

 

"All right. I will," Mary said before hanging up. "Hey, Susan."

 

"Hi, Mary." As Dr. Delia Croce crossed the shallow room, she smiled and her brown eyes crinkled at the corners. She was about fifty, with thick white hair that was squared off at her jawline.

 

The doctor sat down behind the desk and crossed her legs. As she took a moment to collect herself, Mary shook her head.

 

"I hate it when I'm right," she muttered.

 

"About what?"

 

"It's back, isn't it." There was a slight pause. "I'm sorry, Mary."
Chapter Seventeen

Mary didn't go to work. Instead she drove home, stripped, and got into bed. A quick call to the office and she had the rest of the day as well as the following week off. She was going to need the time. After the long Columbus Day weekend she was going in for a variety of tests and second opinions, and then she and Dr. Delia Croce were going to meet and discuss options.
The weird thing was, Mary wasn't surprised. She'd always known in her heart that they'd browbeaten the disease into a retreat, not a surrender.

Or maybe she was just in shock and being sick felt familiar.

When she thought about what she was facing, what scared her wasn't the pain; it was the loss of time. How long until they got it back under control? How long would the next respite last? When could she get back to her life?

She refused to think there was an alternative to remission. She wasn't going to go there.

Turning over onto her side, she stared at the wall across the room and thought of her mother. She saw her mom rolling a rosary through her fingertips, murmuring words of devotion while lying in bed. The combination of the rubbing and the whispering had helped her find an ease beyond that which the morphine was able to give her. Because somehow, even in the midst of her curse, even at the apex of the pain and fear, her mother had believed in miracles.

Mary had wanted to ask her mom if she actually thought she'd be saved, and not in the metaphorical sense, but in a practical way. Had Cissy truly believed that if she said the right words and had the right objects around her that she would be cured, that she would walk again, live again?

The questions were never posed. That kind of inquiry would have been cruel, and Mary had known the answer anyway. She'd had the sense that her mother had waited for a temporal redemption right up until the very end.

But then, maybe Mary had just projected what she would have wished for. To her, saving grace meant you got to live out your life like a normal person: You were healthy and strong, and the prospect of death was just some far-off, barely acknowledged hypothetical. A debt to be paid off in a future you couldn't imagine.

Perhaps her mother had looked at it in a different way, but one thing was for sure: Her outcome hadn't changed. The prayers hadn't saved her.

Mary closed her eyes, and exhaustion sucked her down. As she was swallowed whole, she was grateful for the temporary emptiness. She slept for hours, fading in and out of consciousness, flopping around on the bed.

At seven o'clock she woke up and reached for the phone, dialing the number Bella had given her to reach Hal. She hung up without leaving a message. Canceling was probably the right thing to do, because she wasn't going to be great company, but damn it, she was feeling selfish. She wanted to see him. Hal made her feel alive, and right now she was desperate for that buzz.

After a quick shower, she threw on a skirt and a turtle-neck. In the full-length mirror on the bathroom door both were looser than they had been, and she thought about the scale this morning at the doctor's. She should probably eat like Hal tonight, because God knew there was no reason to diet right now. If she was facing another round of chemo, she should be packing on the pounds.

The thought froze her in place.

She drew her hands through her hair, pulling it out from her scalp, letting it seep through her fingers and fall to her shoulders. So unremarkable in all its brownness, she thought. And so unimportant in the larger scheme of things.

The idea of losing it made her want to weep.

 

With a grim expression, she gathered the lengths together, twisted them into a knot, and clipped them into place.

She was out her front door and waiting in her driveway a few minutes later. The cold was a shock, and she realized she'd forgotten to put on a coat. She went back inside, grabbed a black wool jacket, and lost her keys in the process.

Where were her keys? Had she left her keys in the—

 

Yup, keys were in the door.

 

She shut herself out of the house, turned the lock, and pitched the metal tangle into her coat pocket.

 

While waiting, she thought of Hal.

 

Wear your hair down for me.
All right.

 

She freed the barrette and finger-combed the stuff as best she could. And then she fell still.

 

The night was so quiet, she thought. And this was why she loved living in farm country; she had no neighbors except for Bella.

 

Which reminded her: She'd meant to call and report in on the date, but hadn't felt up to it. Tomorrow. She would talk to Bella tomorrow. And report on two dates.

 

A sedan turned onto the lane about a half mile away, accelerating in a low growl she heard clearly. If it hadn't been for the two headlights, she'd have assumed a Harley was coming up her road.

 

As the deep-purple muscle car stopped in front of her, she thought it looked like a GTO of some sort. Glossy, noisy, flashy… it was totally fitting for a man who was into speed and comfortable with attention.

Hal got out from the driver's side and walked around the hood. He was in a suit, a very sharp black suit with an open-collared black shirt underneath. His hair was brushed back from his face, falling in thick, gold chunks to the nape of his neck. He looked like a fantasy, sexy and powerful and mysterious.

Except his expression sure wasn't daydream material. His eyes were narrow, his lips and jaw tight.

 

Still, he smiled a little as he came up to her. "You wore your hair down."

 

"I said I would."

 

He lifted his hand as if to touch her, but hesitated. "You ready to go?"

 

"Where are you taking us?" "I made reservations at Excel." He dropped his arm and looked away, becoming silent, unmoving.

 

Oh… hell.

 

"Hal, are you sure you want to do this? You're clearly a little off tonight. Frankly, so am I."

 

He stepped away and stared at the pavement, grinding his jaw.

 

"We could just do it some other time," she said, figuring he was too much of a nice guy to leave without some kind of rain check. "It's no big—"

He moved so fast she couldn't track him. One moment he was a couple feet away from her; the next he was up against her body. He took her face in his hands and put his lips on hers. With their mouths locked, he looked her right in the eye.

There was no passion in him, just a grim intent that turned the gesture into some kind of vow.

 

When he let her go, she stumbled back. And fell right on her ass.

 

"Ah, damn, Mary, I'm sorry." He knelt down. "Are you okay?"

 

She nodded even though she wasn't. She felt gauche and ridiculous all sprawled out on the grass.

 

"You sure you're all right?"

 

"Yes." Ignoring the hand he offered, she got up and brushed bits of lawn off herself. Thank God her skirt was brown and the ground dry.

 

"Let's just go to dinner, Mary. Come on."

 

One big hand slid around to her nape, and he led her by the neck to the car, giving her no choice but to follow.

Although it wasn't like the concept of fighting him occurred to her. She was overwhelmed by a whole lot of things, him most among them, and she was too tired to put up any resistance. Besides, something had passed between them in that instant their mouths had met. She had no idea what it was or what it meant, but a bond was there.

Hal opened the passenger door and helped her inside the car. When he slid into the driver's seat, she looked around at the pristine interior to avoid getting caught up in his profile.

The GTO growled as he put it in first gear and they shot down her little road to the stop sign at Route 22. He looked both ways and then accelerated to the right, the sound of the engine rising and falling like breath as he shifted again and again until they were cruising.

"This is a spectacular car," she said.

 

"Thanks. My brother did it over for me. Tohr loves cars."

 

"How old is your brother?" Hal smiled tightly. "Old enough."

 

"Older than you?"