“What’s going on?” Scooter asked as he shot Kyle a sideways glance on the way out of the building. “You look happy. It’s creepy. I’m not used to it.”
He grinned wide and leaned the crutches against the trashcan just outside the entrance. “Watch.”
Putting his booted foot down, he took one step and then another.
“You allowed to do that?” Scooter asked.
Pfft. As if Scooter only did what he was allowed to do.
Kyle nodded. “The doctor said I can start putting weight on it if it feels okay.”
“That’s great. But wait. You leaving the crutches there? What if you need them?” Scooter called to Kyle, who was halfway to the curb.
“I won’t need them,” Kyle said, glancing back.
Scooter looked pained by the decision. As if Kyle were abandoning a baby or a puppy in the trash rather than two generic crutches he’d spent far too much time with and would happily never see again.
“Fuck.” Scooter turned back, grabbed the crutches and sprinted to catch up with Kyle. “I’m taking them home. Mom can donate them to the church or something.”
“Fine. Knock yourself out. Just don’t give them back to me.”
Scooter and their mom could do whatever they wanted with them. Those damn crutches had been his albatross, bringing him bad luck for too long already.
He was done with them. And really done with feeling useless while laid up and unable to walk. But now he had permission. He could walk. Not great, but good enough.
In fact, maybe he would give GAPS a call.
He’d had it with sitting around watching television with his grandmother all day while Kurt and his father complained about having to work outdoors in the rain.
Hell, he could watch a monitor and even make rounds on guard duty. At this point, he’d take any position to get him out of his house and make the recovery time seem to go faster.
But shit. He had to find that business card again. He had a vague memory of tossing it in the trash.
Had his mother emptied the garbage pail in his room? What day was trash pick-up? He’d been away too long to remember.
Crap.
He glanced at Scooter behind the wheel of the sports car and felt only moderately guilty as he said, “So how fast does this thing go anyway?”
Scooter, always up for a challenge, grinned. “Let me show you.”
Kyle blew out a breath and clicked his safety belt. Next stop, home to rifle through the trash, find that card and hopefully get himself a job that would save his sanity during this medical leave.
seven
“You do have a couple of options moving forward. We can discuss the risks and benefits of each before making a decision.”
Luna didn’t hear much of anything the doctor said after she delivered the test results.
Positive for the BRCA gene mutation.
She should have known the news was bad. The doctor could have delivered good news over the phone. Instead, she’d requested Luna come back into the office.
A feeling of doom had ridden her for the whole ride into Manhattan. It was impossible to think of anything else except that unknown test result.
She’d thought that suspense and worry had been unbearable. Now she knew what unbearable felt like.
Positive.
“There are medications, aromatase inhibitors that reduce the chance of developing breast cancer. You’ll require regular screenings, of course,” Doctor Adams continued.
“I want a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy,” Luna said, her heart pounding as she spoke the words.
She’d stared at them on the computer screen for so many countless hours, she’d memorized the complicated medical term.
Just three words. So clinical. So frightening. So necessary.
“That is an option selected by some.” Doctor Adams nodded.
Summoning every ounce of strength she had left she lifted her chin and made direct eye contact with the doctor. “It’s what I want.”
“Okay. We can go over the details of the surgery and the recovery—”
“Thank you.” She needed to know if she’d be recovered before the next tour or if she’d have to cancel dates. But that was the only reason she needed the information. There was nothing the doctor could tell her that would change her decision to have the surgery.
With her family history, she didn’t see any other choice. Her mother. Her aunt…
The doctor was talking and she did her best to listen, but the words swam through her brain like the alphabet soup her aunt used to feed her and Dan when they were younger.
Drains. Reconstruction. Nipples. Scar tissue.
Oh, God…
She was still reeling when she walked into the suite at the hotel hours later. The last thing she needed was to come face to face with an angry-looking Dan.
“Where were you? You just disappear without telling me?”
“I had a doctor’s appointment.”
“Again?” He scowled.
“Yes. Again.” Which was why she hadn’t told him she was going.
“The orthopedist?” he asked glancing down at her foot. “I thought your ankle was feeling better now that you were wrapping it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be sneaking off alone.”
“I didn’t sneak.” She’d just left before he’d gotten up. She’d left a note she’d be back shortly. “And I wasn’t alone. I took the hotel’s car. The driver was with me door-to-door.”
“Well, door-to-door isn’t enough anymore.” His face contorted with an emotion she couldn’t identify.
Anger, maybe?
Or was it smug satisfaction that he’d come up with some excuse so that he could control her even more than he already did? She hated that thought even crossed her mind regarding a close family member, but lately that was how she felt.
“Why not?” she asked and waited for Daniel’s newest excuse.
“This is why not.” He tossed a folded piece of paper at her.
She caught it in mid-air as it flew at her face, shooting him a frown for not handing it to her like a civilized human being.
Unfolding what looked like a letter, she read the words printed in big bold black marker strokes.
Luna—Your not wanted here.
She tossed it onto the table. “They spelled you’re wrong.”
“That’s the only thing you took away from that?” Dan widened his eyes.
“Dan, I get letters from kooks all the time.” She was used to it.
She hired staff for that very reason. So she didn’t have to see these kinds of letters.
Her very capable assistant Amy determined if it was just an over-enthusiastic fan, or if, God forbid, it needed to be escalated to the police or FBI. That had only happened once in her career, thank goodness.
And since fan mail was always handled by her staff, it begged the question, why had Amy forwarded this particular letter to Dan? It didn’t seem worthy of his attention or hers.
“Is Amy away on vacation or something?” Luna glanced up at her cousin. “Or did you hire someone new to handle the fan mail?”
That might explain it. A newbie who didn’t know the procedure.
“This didn’t go to the fan mail address, Luna. It came here. To the hotel. Hand delivered. See? No postage.” He held up the envelope that had nothing but her name printed on it.