At Any Moment (Gaming The System Book 3) (4 page)

I declared myself exhausted and in need of sleep. I hadn’t slept very well in almost a week. Since finding out about the pregnancy and the big explosive confrontation with Adam. The day he’d found out about the cancer. All of it.

New Year’s Eve was tomorrow and I didn’t want to welcome in a New Year that would be full of sadness, broken hearts, the tension between Adam and me.

I went to stand beside the passenger door of his car before determining it would probably be more practical to go home with Heath, since I lived with him now. Things between me and Heath had been strained since before this big blowup. He’d been pressuring me for weeks to tell them all. And I’d refused. I’d taken advantage of his loyalty to keep him silent. He’d had to face Adam and my mom demanding answers as to what was really going on with me. I owed him big time for it all.

I turned to walk toward Heath’s car when I felt a hand on my upper arm, stopping me. Peter stood on the front steps with his arm around my mom’s shoulders, and Heath was speaking to her in a low voice while she sniffled into a wad of tissues.

I turned to face Adam. His hand tightened on my shoulder and then slid down my arm. “You okay?”

I sighed and looked away. “I was pissed at you for bringing me here…planning all this.” I swallowed a big lump in my throat. “But now I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry that it upset you.”

At least he didn’t say that I deserved it. I glanced up into his face again before my eyes darted away. I knew perfectly well he was still angry with me. He hid his feelings so well that sometimes it took a stray glimpse, a brief tightening in the muscles of his face or an even briefer flicker in his eyes to figure out what was going through his mind.

I knew that I’d hurt him. We’d hurt each other. A lot. And I could only see more hurt coming down this road before we could start to heal, if we ever could. New guilt clutched at my throat again. If he could set aside his anger at a time like this, then I could, too.

He cleared his throat. “I know you’re too tired right now, but can we talk in the morning?”

I wondered if he’d have anything new to say. Would it be more of the same? Would he yell at me again and insist I get the abortion? Fatigue pulled at every inch of my body, weighted it down. All I wanted right now was to stop struggling, stop fighting. I found that, in spite of everything, I wanted him with me, holding me. I almost asked him if I could go home with him tonight instead.

“Umm. Yeah, of course.”

“Pick you up for breakfast?”

I hadn’t eaten breakfast in over a week. That was the time of day when I was sickest. But I really didn’t feel like starting something with him. And as much as I’d tried to avoid him in the past few weeks it seemed that now I needed his presence as much as I needed to breathe. I could pick at a piece of toast and sip some juice if it meant we could spend some time together.

“Yeah, come get me whenever.”

He bent to kiss my cheek. When he leaned in, I caught a whiff of his amazing scent and my heart skipped a beat. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him close. He hesitated—it was only for a split second but I knew it. His bearing was stiff before he relaxed, his arms sliding up my back to rest on my shoulder blades and then—the imperceptible movement of his head as he turned to smell my hair. I pressed my face into his shoulder and he held me. I closed my eyes and relished that salty ocean smell and that smell of man. I breathed it in.

It felt good. So good. But it was over almost as quickly as it had begun and when he pulled away from me, first with a small jerk, then slowly, as if reminding himself not to be too abrupt—as if handling a fragile puppy or kitten—it physically hurt. That separation cut like a knife, deep into my heart.

“Adam…I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He reached up and smoothed my cheek. “So am I.”

That look we shared in the low light made my chest tighten, and new tears threatened burning the backs of my eyes.

A respawn and a do-over at this point would be fantastic. If only.

If only I could have restarted things back to that day I’d gotten the letter of acceptance to Hopkins. I
really
could have handled that better. But I’d been so wrapped up in that accomplishment—that monumental achievement that had been my single hope and dream for the past few years. One that I thought I’d failed miserably at when I’d failed the MCAT exam.

That had been the point when we had both starting making the big, stupid mistakes.

Adam pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “We have to stop saying it over and over, okay? We’re moving past it. No recriminations, self or otherwise, right? That was
your
rule, after all.”

I smiled wryly. “You’re all about the rules, aren’t you?”

“Life is all about rules. Even games have rules.”

I nodded. This was no game—far from it. I opened my mouth and almost,
almost
asked him if I could go home with him tonight. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to feel him lying beside me, listen to the peaceful sound of his breathing in sleep. It had been too long. Way too long.

But I was too afraid he’d say no, so I silently hoped he’d offer it to me instead.

“Sleep well,” he said in a soft voice.

I closed my eyes, feeling something drop inside me. Things were not the same and wouldn’t be the same for a long time, if ever. There was something missing or guarded in his voice and the way he looked at me. And in that instant I knew exactly what it was—trust.

He no longer trusted me. And no, I didn’t fully trust him either.

“You, too,” I said.

He walked me to Heath’s Jeep and opened the door for me. Previously he would have insisted on being the one to drive me home, even if he knew that Heath was going that way anyway. But not tonight.

Chapter Four
Adam

After yet another long and sleepless night, I found myself driving almost on autopilot back to Orange. I could probably make the trip with my eyes closed by now. I’d hardly ever driven this route before I started seeing Emilia.

It was early in the morning on New Year’s Eve and the traffic was lighter than normal. People probably only had half days at work—like those still working at Draco—and were planning to cap their holiday celebrations with bright and hopeful expectations of the New Year.

I wondered what that must feel like. Because anyway I looked at it, this New Year ahead of us did not look very cheerful. Emilia and I were speaking again, at least. But our shaky relationship was about to get hit—very, very hard—by some dark shit. For us, tonight, there wasn’t much to celebrate.

I stopped by a nearby specialty bakery to pick up a few things for breakfast and then went to get her at Heath’s.

She opened the door. Her strange rainbow-colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail and through the back of a dark blue baseball cap with the Draco company logo on it. She wore baggy jeans and a denim jacket. Her pale face split into a wan smile when she opened the door.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey. I thought we could go eat breakfast at the park. And maybe talk?”

She visibly paled at the mention of breakfast—even her perfect pink lips were almost white. She looked like she was about to puke on my shoes. But her smile didn’t falter and she nodded gently.

Walking back to the car, she slipped her cold hand into mine. I closed my fingers around hers, almost without thinking about it. I should have been pissed at her. Part of me still was—and was demanding I remain pissed at her. But most of me could see her for what she was: lost, alone, as terrified as I was, and the woman I loved more than anything in the world.

We drove to a nearby park that had hills and big trees and nature hiking trails—a line of pines almost a mile long and a semi private place for us to sit at an empty picnic table. She sat across from me, keeping her face down as I set down the tray of coffee and pastries.

She glanced at the box. “I hope you aren’t offended if I don’t eat anything.”

“I won’t be offended but I do think you should eat something. You need to keep your strength up.”

Her brow arched. “I can do that this afternoon, when my strength doesn’t come up with my breakfast.”

I grimaced, grabbing one of the cups. “Well, at least have some coffee.”

She looked at the coffee cup and then away. “I shouldn’t.”

I froze, my cup halfway to my mouth. I knew what she was implying with those two words and they infuriated and scared the shit out of me at the same time. I plunked down my cup, but I didn’t say anything.

She watched me, unsurprised by my reaction. I was probably as pale as she was now.

“So you’ve made a decision,” I said flatly, my voice as dead as the rest of me felt at that moment.

She looked away, rocking in her seat. Two joggers bounced past us, a little too close. I glared at them. She cleared her throat into her fist and took a deep breath.

“I know I said it’s my body and my decision. And it is, but…I’m not going to shut you out.”

I laced my fingers together on the table in front of me, studying them instead of looking at her. “And so what does that mean?”

She turned to look at me, but even with the weight of her eyes on me, I didn’t look up. “It means we talk about it. In clear, quiet voices. We do what we haven’t been able to do in months—
communicate.
”

I looked up then and our eyes met. It was powerful, like a physical blow. My chest felt tight and it was difficult to breathe. I reached out and clamped my hand around her delicate wrist. “Thank you.”

She didn’t smile. “Don’t thank me yet.”

I held my breath.

“I want to keep the pregnancy.”

I swallowed a golf-ball-sized lump in my throat. “So that’s the end of the discussion?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s the beginning. You tell me what you want.”

I blinked. “I want
you.
I want you healthy. I want you to have the best chance of surviving you possibly can. Eighty-five percent isn’t the greatest number, but at least it’s better than—”

She pulled her hand away from my hold. “No, don’t do that. Don’t talk numbers and percentages. Tell me what you are
feeling.
Tell me what you want.”

I clenched my teeth in frustration. “I can’t
not
talk about the numbers, Mia, okay? Everything in my life is about numbers and percentages. Everything. It’s my job. It’s the way my brain works.”

She took a breath and looked away as a light breeze caught some strands of her long, white hair, sending it dancing around her shoulders. “We’re talking about an embryo. A new life—a little you and me. In eight months it will be a baby—
our
baby. How does that make you feel?”

The only feeling I had inside was icy numbness, certain dread. “I don’t feel anything but cold fear, to be honest. I can’t lose you.”

Her dark brows bunched together. “If we end this, I may never be able to bear another child. You may never be a father.”

I shook my head and looked away. “For one thing, that is not the most important thing to me right now—”

“It will be, someday.”

“Maybe. But I know what I want
now
. I
need
you to be healthy again. I need for you to do everything you can to fight this.”

Emilia blinked. “Okay, and what was the other thing?”

“The other thing is that there is more than one way to become a parent. If and when that becomes important to me, there will be other ways.”

“For
you
maybe, but not for me. Chemo has a big chance of putting my body into permanent, early menopause.”

I shifted my seat on the hard bench. “I spent the entire day yesterday researching this. You can’t do an egg retrieval because of the hormones involved and the timing but you can have part of your ovarian tissue frozen—”

She wasn’t looking at me. Her face was blank, like she had zoned out.

“Mia—” I said, shaking her hand. She looked up at me—looked
through
me.

“You aren’t telling me anything I can’t find out myself from Google or my doctor. You aren’t telling me what only
you
can tell me.”

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear. That I’m happy you are pregnant. I’m not.”

She exhaled slowly, clearly frustrated. “I don’t want you to tell me what I want to hear. I want to hear about what you
feel
. What do you feel?”

I paused, looked away, studied the long morning shadows we were casting on the trail behind us. I cleared my throat past the sudden tightness. “I’m afraid.”

She gave a curt nod. “And?”

“That’s all there is. Fear. I love you and I need for you to survive this. I need you to have the best chance of doing that.”

“And…what about the baby?”

“It’s not a baby.”

“In eight months—”

“In eight months, if I have anything to say about this, you will be finished with your chemotherapy and be declared cancer-free and I will finally be able to breathe again.”

She frowned. “I’ve never had much family. It’s always just been me and my mom. I wanted brothers and sisters growing up, or even cousins and aunts and uncles. I had my grandma and we saw her once in a while but—I always wanted a family. Thought that after I became a doctor, maybe I’d have a child…”

“You and I can be a family. We have each other.”

Her hand came up to rub her forehead. “Someday you’ll need more.”

“This isn’t someday, this is now.”

She looked up at me with exasperation in her eyes. “Someday
I’ll
need more. And this is my only chance.”

“We’re young. We shouldn’t have to face this shit now, but we are. Life isn’t fair.”

“Adam…” she said in a low voice, trembling on the second syllable of my name. I waited while she collected herself, cleared her throat. “There is still a chance I won’t make it. If I don’t, you’d still have the baby—
our
child.”

My hand tightened into a fist on the table in front of me. “I’m not going to respond to that because that is
not
a possibility. I’m going to have to borrow your mom’s words here. Please don’t sacrifice yourself. You have so much to live for. Med school in the fall—”