Always (Spiral of Bliss #5) (5 page)

Archer climbs the slope to the road. A crack of thunder spooks the dog, and the animal struggles to escape, but Archer holds it tightly and wrestles it into the truck.

“Get in!” a male voice shouts from off camera.

Archer yanks open the driver’s side door of the armored vehicle, ushering Kelsey in before him. She climbs over the console to the passenger seat. Archer follows, looking behind him as the funnel cloud gets closer and closer.

“Go! Go!”

The orders fly from all directions, the camera tilting dizzily as the cameraman runs to another car and the screen fades out.

“Over a million views as of this afternoon,” Florence remarks, picking up her phone. “It’s definitely poised to go viral, if it hasn’t already.”

“What do you know?” Kelsey gives Archer a look that is both admiring and teasing. “We have a celebrity in our midst.”

“What happened to the dog?” I ask.

Kelsey groans. “Don’t ask.”

“I brought him home,” Archer admits, still looking somewhat baffled at the revelation of his newfound fame. “I contacted the local humane society and put out a few ads, but no one claimed him. No microchip either.”

“So you’re adopting him?” Florence says. “How wonderful!”

“Well, uh…” Archer glances at Kelsey. “I’m keeping him at the garage right now. Kelsey’s not much of a dog person.”

“How did you not know that episode was airing?’ Liv asks.

“We just filmed it a couple of weeks ago on a whim,” Kelsey says. “Storm-chasing season ended last spring, so we didn’t even have any real equipment with us. There was some movement on the radar that I wanted to check out, and Peter came along to film it just for the storm footage. I had no idea the Adventure Channel was going to air any of it.”

“Well, I think it’s thrilling,” Florence says. “What would have happened to that poor dog if Archer hadn’t been there? Not to mention what his heroism will do for the show. You need to bring that dog with you next season. Your fans will go nuts when they discover Archer has adopted it.”

“He hasn’t adopted it,” Kelsey mutters.

“Yet.” Florence smiles at Archer and tucks her phone back into her purse. “See you all later.”

She wiggles her fingers at us before heading out the door. Kelsey looks at Archer.

“You’re not keeping the dog.”

“It could be like Popeye and Olive Oyl’s Swee’Pea,” Archer suggests. “The orphan they adopt and raise together. We could start a Facebook page and everything.”

Kelsey shakes her head at him and pushes her chair back. Her phone rings, and she glances at the screen.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” she tells us. “It’s David, the
Storm Hunters
producer.” She puts the phone to her ear. “David? Yeah, I saw it. Why didn’t you tell me… what? Oh, well, that’s great. Yes. Thanks.”

She ends the call and looks at Archer with amused pride. “They want to figure out a way to give you a bigger role next season. Seems your incredible hotness might save us from cancellation.”

Archer scratches his ear, looking both embarrassed and more than a little uncomfortable.

“In that case,” I grab my brother’s empty glass, “you’re going to need a lot more chocolate milk.”

Liv is reading in bed, absently twirling a few strands of her long hair around one finger. She’s wearing a pink nightgown with a scooped neckline that displays an expanse of creamy skin before draping over her full breasts, which move slightly with her breath. The circles of her nipples show through the cotton. Heat stirs in my blood.

I love the sight of Liv in anything, but her nightgowns are a particular favorite. The way the flimsy material clings to her curves and shows off the movement of her gorgeous body beneath…

Liv lifts her gaze to where I’m standing in the open doorway with one shoulder against the doorjamb and my arms crossed over my chest. She raises an eyebrow.

“Are you coming in, professor?” she asks.

“I might stand here and look at you a while longer.”

“Okay.” She shrugs and turns back to her book. “Just let me know if you’d like to fuck me hard and deep.”

Oh, shit.

Lust spears through me like a firebolt, and I cross the room in three strides to get to her. With a laugh, Liv tosses her book aside and holds out her arms to wrap them around my shoulders. In less than a heartbeat, I bring my mouth down on hers, my head filling with the peaches and cream scent of her, the taste of her soft, full lips.

Liv makes a noise of satisfaction low in her throat, driving her hands into my hair as she moves lower on the pillows and brings me down with her. I urge her mouth open with mine, pushing my tongue into her sweet mouth. My cock stiffens against her hip. I grab a fistful of her nightgown and pull it up over her legs, trailing my fingers over her smooth thighs.

She tightens her grip in my hair, arching her lower body in silent encouragement. I ease away from her only so I can watch as I tug the gown up over her hips.

“Take it off,” Liv whispers, lifting her arms.

I pull the gown off her. Christ in heaven, the sight of my wife’s naked body is a revelation every time—so fucking perfect with her tapered waist and full breasts, her nipples wider and darker from nursing, her creamy thighs like a painting.

I slide my fingers between her legs to find the warm dampness of her pussy. She wiggles beneath me, her breath brushing against my jaw. I press one finger into her, the slick feeling of her slit firing me with need.

She pushes her hands under my T-shirt, her touch light and cool against my hot skin. I ease her back against the pillows, locking my mouth to hers again, feeling her body fitting perfectly against mine. Desire pulses through me.

It’s always been so damned good with Liv, but now there’s something even more, the effortlessness that can only come after years of knowing, the miniscule shifts that speak volumes. The fit of my hands into all the right curves of her body, the tightening of her fingers on my shoulders, the way I know what she wants from the subtle change in her breathing.

She stretches her arms above her head, lifting her body toward me in invitation. Urgency brews in her brown eyes, simmering and hot. I press a line of kisses against her smooth shoulder, stroking my hands over her hips, up to her breasts.

I rub her hard nipples, slide my hands into the warm crevices beneath her breasts. Liv sighs and sinks deeper into the pillows, her eyes drifting closed with pleasure.

I stop. A sudden cold snakes through me. Liv opens her eyes. I rest my fingers against the side of her left breast. My heart does a slow, strange roll.

“Dean?”

I look up to meet Liv’s gaze. The sexy heat in her expression fades into confusion.

“What?” She pushes to her elbows, her breathing still fast. “What’s wrong?”

I press my fingers harder against her breast, but now with a clinical, probing touch. Desire evaporates. The cold turns to ice.

“Liv, I think…” I frown, meeting her gaze. “I think there’s a lump in your breast.”

CHAPTER FOUR

OLIVIA

“IT’S NOTHING
,” I REPEAT, SLAMMING THE
refrigerator door and putting the strawberry jam on the counter. “A cyst.”

Dean is standing on the other side of the central island, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet apart in that immovable stance I know so well. The one that indicates he’s not going to back down. Ever.

“If you don’t call Dr. Nolan,” he says, “I will.”

I turn away from him and open a jar of peanut butter. My hand is steady, but I can feel the trembles just below the surface. The start of an earthquake.

“Pen… goo… in.” Nicholas’s voice drifts from the sunroom, where he is eating breakfast and studying the back of the cereal box, which has fun facts about various animals. “Penguin.”

“Good job,” I call, spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread. “Penguins are one of my favorite animals.”

“Liv.” Dean’s voice is tense. “Am I calling the doctor, or are you?”

I throw an irritated look at him over my shoulder. “Really? You’re going to threaten me?”

His jaw tightens. “I am not threatening you. I want you to get this checked out.”

“And if I don’t want to because I don’t need to, then what?” I snap. “You’re going to drag me to Dr. Nolan’s office?”

“If I have to,” he replies curtly.

“Nice. I thought your caveman days were long gone. Guess I was mistaken.”

I know I’m picking a fight—for no other reason than to get us both off the subject of me needing the doctor to look at a
lump in my breast.

“Liv.” Dean keeps his level tone, not rising to the bait. “You can stall all you want, but I’m not letting this go. Either you make the appointment, or I will.”

I slap strawberry jam on another slice of bread. My hands are shaking now.

A lump in my breast?

That can’t possibly be true.

But it’s there. I felt it, too. Last night, Dean guided my hand to the spot, and it was there. A hard, small lump, not much bigger than the size of a marble, just beneath the surface of my skin.

Of course it’s nothing. I’m thirty-six years old. I’ve had two children. Maybe it’s hormonal, or a change in the breast tissue. Or, like I told Dean, a cyst. Cysts are so common. At worst, it might be some sort of infection, though that would certainly require a trip to the doctor…

I feel Dean coming up behind me, the air growing warmer the closer he gets. Though I steel my spine, the weight of his hands on my shoulders is like a key turning in the lock of my defenses.

I swallow hard and concentrate on spreading the jam evenly over the bread.

“Liv, please.” His voice roughens. “Make an appointment. I know it’s probably nothing, but you’ve never had anything like that in your breast before, and you need to have the doctor take a look at it.”

I know he’s right. I don’t want to admit it, but of course he’s right.

I put my hand unconsciously over my left breast. It hasn’t hurt at all… or has it? I’ve been aware of some soreness there, but not once did I think to examine it further.

“Does it hurt?” Dean asks.

I shake my head. “There was… I’ve had some discomfort over the past couple of weeks, but I figured I just needed new bras or something.”

“You noticed something was wrong?”

“No.” I pull away from him and grab a sandwich bag. “Nothing is
wrong
, Dean. I noticed some irritation, that’s all. It’s probably related to my period.”

“And you need to talk to the doctor about it.” Dean steps closer to me, his mouth tightening with frustration. “One of us is making an appointment. Is it going to be you or me?”

I put the peanut-butter sandwich inside the bag and place it in Nicholas’s lunchbox before picking up my coffee and joining our son at the table. He’s still studying the cereal box, which makes me hope he wasn’t listening to our conversation.

Dean and I are quite careful about what we discuss in front of the children. The fact that we ignored Nicholas’s presence in the sunroom is a measure of how much
a lump in my breast
has unnerved us.

“So what does it say about penguins?” I ask, nodding to the cereal box.

“Look at this one.” Nicholas points to a penguin with a shock of yellow hair sticking straight up from his head. “What kind is it?”

“That’s a macaroni penguin,” I reply. “He must be like Yankee Doodle. Stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni.”

“Oh, hey, can we go see that new penguin movie this weekend?” Nicholas asks, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“We’ll see,” I reply, in the classic parental non-response.

A faint rustling noise comes from the baby monitor, which we still use to be able to hear the kids if they call us from their bedrooms. Dean goes upstairs to get Bella, while Nicholas and I finish breakfast.

“Hi.” Bella wanders into the kitchen ahead of Dean, rubbing one eye and clutching her beloved stuffed owl Hoot.

I hold out my arms. She comes to hug me, her warm body pressing against mine, her messy hair tickling my face. She smells like strawberries and shampoo.

“Sleep well?” I ask.

She nods, yawning. Nicholas is always ready to eat breakfast as soon as he wakes up, but Bella likes to curl up on the sofa first and look at picture books. I get her settled with a blanket and a set of books about Max and Ruby. Leaving Dean to finish the morning breakfast routine, I go upstairs to shower and dress.

I turn the water on hotter than I usually do. The act of taking off my robe and nightgown is no longer automatic, as I’m acutely conscious of my naked breasts. My left breast, which looks like it always has, despite the presence of something unknown.

Lump.
It’s a horrible word, indicating spoilage and wrongness. Curdled milk, mold, rusted metal, bad mashed potatoes. Lumps are an indicator of ruin.

I try to avoid touching it as I shower and dress, but I can still feel it, burning beneath my skin.

Nothing, I tell myself repeatedly. It’s nothing. A cyst. At the very most dramatic, a fibroid tumor. Not…
that.

I push aside the gnawing concern and finish getting ready for the day. I have to work at the café, volunteer in Nicholas’s classroom, take Bella to gymnastics, and make arrangements for the Traveling Wonderland Café to host two weekend birthday parties. I don’t have time to worry about a cyst in my breast.

When I return downstairs, Dean has Nicholas dressed and ready for school, while Bella is finishing a bowl of oatmeal.

“Go get your shoes and coat on, buddy,” Dean tells Nicholas, ruffling his hair. “I’ll be right there.”

Nicholas holds out his arms and makes a
zoom zoom
noise as he flies toward the front door where his shoes and backpack are waiting. Dean shrugs into his suit jacket and picks up his car keys.

“Make the appointment, Liv,” he says. “Please.”

I don’t look at him, but I nod. I realize it’s better if I can see Dr. Nolan sooner rather than later. Then, when she tells me it’s nothing to worry about, we can put this whole situation behind us and get back to normal.

“All right,” I finally say. “But I don’t want you to come with me.”

His jaw tightens. He pulls on his winter peacoat.

“I don’t need either of us to make this into a bigger deal than it is,” I add.

Dean pauses to look at me, reaching out to brush his hand over my hair. “All right. But call me afterward and tell me what Dr. Nolan says.”

I bend to help Nicholas zip up his jacket. I hug and kiss them both goodbye before getting Bella ready for preschool. When I return to the kitchen to get her lunchbox, I see a note stuck to the fridge:

The note makes me smile, and I tuck it into my purse as Bella and I head outside. It’s a cold, rainy day with an iron-colored sky arching overhead. Bella stomps around in her fire-engine-red boots, splashing through mud puddles and bending to look at worms.

“Come on, honey, let’s go.” I hold open the car door and watch as she runs toward me, her jacket hood already half-off.

I drop her off at preschool, then drive to the café. After locking myself in the office, I call Dr. Nolan’s number and explain the reason for my call to the receptionist. She asks me to hold for a minute.

“Mrs. West, we have a cancellation this afternoon,” she says when she comes back on the line. “Dr. Nolan would like to see you then. Can you be here at one-thirty?”

My heart stutters. I was expecting to make an appointment for a couple of weeks from now, and mostly just to appease Dean.

“I… yes, I’ll be there,” I tell the receptionist. “Thank you.”

I hang up and text Dean to find out if he can pick Bella up after school and take her to gymnastics. He responds:
Yes. Call me right after the appt.

I toss the phone aside. His sense of urgency is annoying, especially since there’s nothing to worry about. And considering the number of times
he’s
resisted going to the doctor (“It’s just a cold, Liv, not the flu”), his insistence feels a bit hypocritical as well.

I struggle against the urge to do an Internet search about breast lumps—I remember searching for “dizziness” a few years ago, after I’d gotten light-headed during a café shift. The resulting search led me to think I had everything from anemia to heart disease—when really it turned out I’d just forgotten to eat lunch.

I go to the front counter, where Allie is icing a tray of fresh éclairs and Archer is hunkered beneath the cold case with his toolbox, trying to locate and fix the source of a small leak.

“Allie, I need to leave half an hour early today,” I say. “I’ll finish payroll later tonight.”

“Sure, that’s fine. Brent’s coming in at two, so I might be able to get to it, depending on how busy we are.” Allie steps back to admire her handiwork on the éclairs. “Kid-related issue?”

“No, I…” Something sticks in my throat. I shake my head. “Something just came up.”

I feel her glance at me, as if she senses I dodged the issue. Part of me wants to confide in her, knowing she’ll give me a bucketful of gentle reassurances.

Allie was the one who convinced me to take cooking classes in Paris, and she and I Skyped and emailed on a weekly basis while I was abroad. A couple of years ago, Dean and I made a special trip back to Mirror Lake to attend her and Brent’s wedding. Not even an ocean’s distance has affected our rock-solid friendship.

But I don’t want to worry her for no reason. I pick up the coffeepot and turn to the counter, where Florence Wickham is sitting with her paramour, Mr. Jenkins.

“Hey, Liv, what do you call a fake noodle?” Mr. Jenkins asks.

“What?” I reply dutifully.

“An impasta!” He chortles and claps his hands.

I smile in response. “Are you packing enough jokes for your trip to Florida?”

“Oh, he has a suitcase full,” Florence says with a sigh, though she gives Mr. Jenkins a look of pure devotion. “By the way, Olivia, thank you for checking in on the house watering the plants while we’re gone. I’m a little worried about my peace lily.”

“Happy to do it.”

“I need either a stiff drink or a cookie,” announces a female voice. “Maybe both.”