Being Me (Inside Out #2)(52)

A few minutes later I’ve combed my tangled mess of hair into order, and my equally brown eyes seem to make my pale skin two shades paler, which is pretty darn pale. But it doesn’t matter as it might have just twenty-four hours ago. Watching these kids and their families fight for their very lives has given me perspective on my own insecurities. It also makes me think about how important living in the now is, how easily life can be ripped away, as it was for my mother, and for Chris’s. No matter how terrifying the ultimate decision is, I have to resign from my teaching job on Monday.

I leave the bathroom and walk back into Dylan’s room, thinking I will share this decision with Chris, to find I’m still alone. The sound of voices draw my gaze to the half-opened door where I glimpse Brandy in deep conversation with a man in scrubs and a white coat, and she doesn’t look happy. The man I assume to be the doctor squeezes her shoulder and walks away. Brandy drops her face in her hands.

I’m across the room and out the door in a quick dash. “Brandy?” Her hands fall away from her face and I see the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh honey, what’s wrong?” I wrap her in a hug and she clings to me.

“His cancer is progressing faster than expected.”

I feel as if I’ve just had my insides carved out, and Dylan isn’t even my child. How must she feel and how can I possibly console her?

After several moments, she steps back. “I need to see my son. I need to call Sam. He’s at work.”

“I’ll call him,” I offer. “You go freshen up and be with Dylan.”

She gives me Sam’s number and hugs me again, her body shaking. I look up and my heart lurches as Chris steps off the elevator with Dylan by his side. I wave him off and he quickly backs into the car and pulls Dylan with him. A silent breath of relief escapes my lips at what could have been an emotional meltdown between mother and son. Somehow, I have to help Brandy gather her composure and be strong for her son, when I know she’s dying inside with him. And somehow I have to get Chris through this. Deep down, I am certain this is going to wrench open deep wounds in my already damaged man, and I hurt just thinking about it.

When finally I have Brandy somewhat composed, I text Chris that he and Dylan can join us. A few minutes later, Dylan ambles into the room, grinning and singing the song from Nightmare on Elm Street, “One, two, Freddy’s coming for you. Three, four, you better lock your door. Five, six, grab your crucifix.”

Chris follows behind him, a one-day dark blond shadow on his jaw, his hair rumpled and sexy, and his eyes as haunted as Brandy’s. He’s not heard the news about the cancer progressing but he’s smart enough to assume bad news is coming.

Dylan continues to sing as he plops onto the bed. “Seven, eight, you better stay up late.”

“Enough,” I exclaim, but I am smiling at his attempt to tease me.

“Yes, enough,” Brandy agrees, laughing. “I get creeped out from that song, too.”

“You two can’t be scared just by hearing the song,” Dylan argues.

I shiver just thinking about that movie. “There’s plenty of reasons why I agreed to watch Friday the 13th instead of Nightmare on Elm Street, and that song is the top of the list.”

“We’ll make her watch it next time,” Chris promises, sitting down next to him.

Dylan pumps his fist. “Yes!” he says and laughs.

It hits me as I watch the two of them say their good-byes for the day before we depart that Dylan and Chris both replace one horror with another. Dylan uses fictional movies and monsters to combat cancer, and Chris uses pain to combat pain. No wonder these two are bonded so tightly.

“Well?” Chris asks as we step in the elevator.

It takes effort to get myself to tell him what I know will hurt him. “His cancer is progressing faster than expected.”

His head drops back, face lifting to the ceiling, and the torment in him claws at me. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his racing heart. “I’m sorry.”

He buries his head in my hair and inhales as if it gives him relief. “I’ve been through this before, but this kid, he’s special.”

My chin lifts, my gaze finding his troubled one. “I know. I can see the bond you’ve formed with him.”

The elevator opens and he laces his fingers with mine. It’s not long before we are in the much-warmer-than-home L.A. weather, trying to flag down a cab, which turns out to be a struggle Chris doesn’t need right now. Finally, we’re on the way to the hotel and I bring up the difficult topic of Dylan’s father. “I told Brandy I’d call her husband. I think she knew talking to him would make her melt down again. Do you want to talk to him or should I?”

Chris grabs his cell off his belt. “I will.”

I watch Chris as he explains to Dylan’s father, Sam, what has happened. Chris wears an emotionless mask throughout the conversation, but he’s gripping his leg so tightly that the muscles knot beneath his dragon tattoo.

When we pull up to the hotel Chris is still on the phone, and he tosses a hundred-dollar bill for a ten dollar-trip at the driver and waves him on. He finally hangs up with Sam when we are exiting to our floor, and the edginess of his mood is downright palpable. He doesn’t look at me, either, and I struggle with what to say or do, standing in silence as he swipes the card in the door and pushes it open.