“Ban,” I whisper against her neck, my hand rhythmically rubbing her pussy through the thick denim. “Tell me we have time because I will fuck you up against this door right now.”
She sighs, her fingers tightening in my hair, and kisses me slowly, thoroughly, until she pulls away to press her cheek to mine. Even as her hips rock into my touch, she shakes her head.
“No.”
“No, we don’t have time? Or just no?”
Her head dips lower so all I see is dark hair and slumped shoulders.
“Just no.”
The rejection cools the south-bound blood traveling to my dick and reduces my racing heart to a weighted thud in my chest.
“How’s Zo?” I keep my voice even, though everything under the surface is disrupted. I’m disturbed. I know this is about him, that somehow she’s telling me no because of him.
“Let’s sit down.” She doesn’t wait for me but sits on the sleek leather couch in my office.
I sit beside her but lift her onto my lap, ignoring her protest.
“Jared, I’m too heavy,” she says breathlessly, squirming.
“You’re not.” I link my fingers at her stomach and pull her back into my chest. “I held you like this on the island. Remember?”
I’m not just reminding her that she sat on my lap but that we took quantum leaps in the Caribbean. The things we entrusted to each other. The things I gave her and she gave me that we’d never shared with anyone before. That counts. Whatever is happening with Zo, however he is drawing her back to him, those days and nights I had with her count. They mattered, and I need her to remember that. She stills, relaxes into me, snuggles into me, and nods, her soft hair brushing my chin.
“That feels like another world,” she says, caressing my fingers at her waist. “Like it was so long ago.”
The only thing left of that serene time is our tans. The languid pace and liquid passion, flowing any way we chose, is restricted by whatever she is working up the nerve to tell me.
“It was only a few days ago.” I give her a little shake. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She looks up, and the misery on her face clenches my heart into a fist.
“It’s bad,” she says, the words breaking on a sob. Tears leak over her smooth cheeks. “They say he has six months to two years.”
Shock freezes all my synapses for a second, short circuiting my thoughts.
“To live?” I tip my head back, angling so I can see her face. “You’re saying Zo only has six months to live? Two years to live?”
The finely drawn line of her jaw flexes and her sweet lips fall into a grim line.
“No, they say that.” She narrows her eyes. “They’re wrong. He’s going to live a lot longer than that because I won’t let him die.”
I need to know if she’s delusional, determined, or some hybrid of both.
“Tell me.”
For the next few minutes she unpacks everything the doctor told her and all that she’s learned on her own.
“So it’s not cancer?” I ask.
“There is some myeloma present,” she answers. “But it’s small compared to the big picture, the bigger problem. Amyloidosis often coexists with myeloma, but it’s the one you never get rid of.”
“So it’s incurable?” I ask, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear.
“Incurable, yes,” she says. “But a lot of people are living with it for a long time. Stanford has this video on their site of a man, a doctor, whose condition was advanced, but he’s still alive five years after his diagnosis. Sky diving, performing surgery, living a full life.”
“Stanford? Is that where Zo will receive his treatments?”
She lowers her lashes and scoots off my lap, standing and facing me, hands shoved into her back pockets.
“Yeah, he has to live close to Stanford’s Amyloid Center.” She looks at me, shoulders tense and body held stiffly. “I already found a townhouse really close by. The chemo is slated for three months, so we’ll stay there while he receives treatment.”
She and I stare at each other, letting those words sink in. Words she knew would infuriate me.
“We?” I ask unnecessarily. “You’ll be living with him in Palo Alto for the next three months? Did I hear you right?”
“You did.” Defiance sparks in her eyes. “He has no one, Jared. His family, they’re all gone. He won’t be able to drive himself. Cook for himself. At some point, maybe even bathe himself.”
“Wrong thing to say.” I stand up to pace in front of the couch, driving impatient fingers through my hair. “You bathing Zo is not exactly winning me over to this idea.”
“I don’t have to win you over to it,” she says, gentle, firm. “It has to be this way. You know that.”
She touches my arm and waits for me to look down into the compassion filling her eyes.
“You know me, Jared. You know I would never let him do this alone.”
I cover her hand on my arm and nod my understanding. I mean, come on. The guy is dying. Even I can’t begrudge him that.
“Okay. So you’ll be at Stanford for three months.” I take her hand and pull her into me. “I get that. I don’t like it, but of course I get it. When will we see each other?”
She draws a deep breath, loosens her fingers, and steps back.
“At first Zo was angry with me.” She shakes her head and gnaws on her bottom lip. “Of course he was after what I did.”
“Banner, when will we see each other?” I repeat, ignoring her detour.
“And he didn’t want me there,” she continues. “I literally had to use his contract and force him to let me stay.”
I don’t respond but fold my arms and wait for something I know I won’t like.
“After we got the diagnosis and it was obvious how serious this is,” she says. “Things changed. He knew he needed my help, and he knows I’ll do everything I can to get him all that he needs. He said he would allow me to help him on one condition.”
“A condition?” I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “And what would that be?”
“I have to put things on hold,” she says, her voice soft but steely. “Things with you on hold. Well, he doesn’t know it’s you, but he—”