I regret my words.

Bruno takes liberties I didn’t anticipate. Telling a man, any man, you’ll do everything they say is like the kiss of death. I thought I’d be able to stretch the “rules” when he left my side, but nope. He made sure to be close by at all times, and when he wasn’t, he made sure I didn’t forget to follow his commands.

I mean, seriously. The man has control issues.

Bruno: Are you eating?

I look back and forth between my phone and the plate. I had actually made a sandwich. Chicken salad wasn’t my best choice when my stomach has already been roiling. The mayo and texture make me want to hurl. I take a bite and swallow it down with a large glass of water. I’d been staring at it for a few minutes when he texted me.

Me: Yes. I’m eating what you left for me.

Bruno: Take a picture.

“He can’t be serious.” I look from the phone and then to my sandwich with only one bite missing. I know he won’t be thrilled by the amount I’ve eaten. I shrug and take a picture, sending it to him. I think about faking it and taking a bunch of bites, spitting it out in the trash, but I don’t. Why? Because the crazy, controlling fucker will probably check the trash can when he comes over later.

Bruno: Eat more.

I can’t do it. Not even for Bruno.

Me: I don’t like it. It’s not agreeing with me.

Bruno: I’ll have something delivered. Eat all of it.

With my mouth closed, I scream to myself. The man is impossible. I only have a few hours before my chemo appointment, and he insists that I fill my stomach before. I don’t see the point since I’m only going to empty the contents of it afterward.

Thirty minutes later, a delivery arrives from La Cucina, a local Italian restaurant. The funniest part about it is they don’t have a delivery service. Bruno convinced someone to hand-deliver the food and to do it quickly. I don’t blame the guy. Bruno could convince—more like intimidate—anyone to do anything.

Being a smartass, I take photos as I eat. Snapping pictures of the food in various stages of disarray and taking selfies as I stuff forkfuls in my mouth. I actually eat every bite. It’s one of my favorite restaurants, and it has been ages since I’ve tasted their chicken parm.

When Bruno arrives to take me to treatment, I’ve already showered and have fallen asleep on the couch. I know a night filled with sickness and the inability to do more than moan and be ill lies ahead. I figured I’d get the shower out of the way before because after I’d be worthless.

“Callie,” Bruno whispers and strokes my arm.

I shoot up, scared to death from the nightmare I’d been having. “Jesus. You scared me,” I grumble and rub my eyes.

“It’s time to go. Ready?”

I want to say no, because who willingly wants to have poison injected into their system?

“Yep.” I push myself off the couch, swaying when I stand up.

His face changes. “You okay?”

I smile and hold on to him for support. “I’m fine. Just sleepy.”

He holds my arms and glances down at me with concern. “You want me to carry you?” he asks with a dead serious look on his face.

“Um,” I mutter. He moves like he’s about to lift me into his arms, but I bat him away. “Bruno, I’m fine. I can walk. Stop.”

He pulls me into his arms and squeezes me tightly. I can’t help but smell him. It’s turned into a new favorite pastime. That and listening to his heartbeat, getting lost in the strong and steady thumping rhythm. “I’m staying the night.”

“Mmmhmm,” I mumble into his chest and tangle my fingers in the back of his shirt. I don’t want to move. I’m just too damn comfortable to move.

“Come on.” He kisses my hair. “We have a war to win.”

I smile into his shirt. When going into battle, it’s good to have an ally who scares the shit out of everyone. I wish Bruno could say “Boo” to cancer and chase it away. But since that isn’t possible, it’s good to have him as a partner to keep me on the right path and road to recovery.

“Bruno,” I whisper before looking up at him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here with me.”

He smiles softly. “Me too, Cal. Oh, I brought you something.”

“You did?”

He pulls something from his back pocket. “Here.”

“What is it?” I take it from his hands and open the tiny bag.

“Open it.” Just like him, he doesn’t give anything away.

Reaching inside, I pull out a set of dog tags. I stare at them and read the inscription.

The sentiment is too much. Tears form in my eyes and the words blur before I can read them again.

He pulls them from my hands and lets the bag fall to the floor. “Here.” I have that ugly cry face happening as he slides the dog tags over my head. “Shh. I just wanted to give you something to remember that you’re a fighter. A survivor.”

I cry harder and finger the metal pieces, looking at him with watery eyes. “Thank you,” I choke out.

“Let’s go kick some ass, eh?”

I nod and wipe my eyes. “I’m ready.” For the first time in a long time, I feel it too. I’m not going to let it get the best of me. I want to crush cancer. It won’t get the best of me. It won’t bring me down.

---

While I’m hooked up to the machine and rifling through a magazine, Bruno excuses himself. I don’t think anything of it. He probably has work to deal with, but I still haven’t figured out exactly what he does. Something illegal. It’s probably best I don’t know, but I should.

When he walks back through the doors, he has three large bags in his hands. “You doing okay?” he asks me as he sits down on the stool in front of me.

“Yeah.” I motion toward the bags and try to see what is inside.

“Just a little something for the patients.” He reaches for something inside the bag sitting closest to him, and I can’t drag my eyes away. He pulls out a stack of paperbacks and holds them up to show me the spines. “I thought they could use some new reading material around here.”

This man. God, he’s full of surprises. “You bought presents?” I can’t hide my shock.

He continues to pull out books, candy, and snacks. “Some people have to spend a lot more time here than you. They deserve new books to help them sit through treatment.”

I gawk at him. I mean, this man may be a dream. No man is as good as he is to complete strangers. How in the hell could he be Bruno “The Butcher” but also be a man who brings books to cancer patients?

Impossible.

“Got a few other things too.” The last bag holds neck pillows. Before I can say a word, he hands them out to a few people in the room and walks back to me with a smile on his face. “I figured they’d be more comfortable.”

“Who are you?” I ask and shake my head.

“What?”

“Who are you? I just don’t get it. I don’t get you. You’re a conundrum.”

“I’m just me, Cal.” He pulls the stool under him and scoots closer.

I lean forward. “You’re not who they say you are,” I whisper and look around the room to see if anyone heard me, but they are too busy with the new books and pillows to pay me any mind.

He shrugs. “People rarely are.”

“So who are you?”

“Bruno.”

Fucker. “The Butcher?”

“So I’ve heard.” He grins.

“Okay. Answer this.” I lean closer. “How could a man called ‘The Butcher’ bring a pillow to someone they don’t know?” I raise one of my painted eyebrows for effect.

“Because they don’t know the real me. They know the rumors, they make up stories, but none of them knows who I really am.”

“Well, that’s obvious.” I laugh softly and cover my mouth, trying not to draw attention to us.

“What do you do, exactly?”

He looks around the room before staring me straight in the eyes. “I’m everything they say I am and more.”

My eyes widen. “Really?”

He laughs. “No, Cal. You’re too easy.”

My lips snarl. “Well, you didn’t get that nickname by rescuing puppies.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and smirks. “Tell me what you think I do.”

I move around in my seat, barely able to contain my excitement. “Okay.” I rub my hands together and start thinking about criminals. “Drug dealer?”

“Nope.” His face doesn’t change.

“Contract killer.” I nod because that would make total sense.

“Nah.” He winks.

I sigh and try to think of other illegal activities that would fit with his M.O. “Money launderer?”

“No.” One of his hands comes up near his mouth as he rests a finger against his lips.

“Fuck,” I mumble and lean back in my chair. My mind doesn’t work this way.

“You think I’d steal innocent people’s shit?” His eyebrows draw together, which is funny. He isn’t so bothered when I ask if he’s a contract killer, but the thought of me thinking he’s a thief bothers him. Let the conundrum continue.

“Sorry.” I shrug for some reason. “Just pulling shit out of the air. Bank robber?”

“Not even close.”

Well, shit. “I got it.” I snap my fingers. “Pimp!” He almost falls off the chair from laughing so hard, and the people in the room look over at us. I smile, completely embarrassed. “You’re a pimp. Aren’t you? It makes sense,” I whisper.

His eyes sparkle with laughter as the tiny lines around his eyes deepen. “How in your beautiful, brilliant mind does that make sense?”

I tap my finger against my lips and think of a good case for why it fits. “Um, well. You’re gone late at night. I’d imagine that’s when most of the action happens.” I waggle my eyebrows. “You have to have a strong pimp hand so people are scared of you, right? I mean, that’s what I think.”

“Honey.” He caresses my cheek, trying to hold in his laughter. “You’ve listened to one too many Snoop songs.”

“So not a pimp?” I purse my lips and start to giggle.

“Nope. Not a pimp.”

“I’m running out of shit here, Brun.”

“I know.” His smile widens.

“Hacker?”

He shakes his head.

“Human trafficker?”

That one earns me a look that can only be described as I need to check myself into the nuthouse. “Bookie?”

His eyebrows rise again.

“That’s it.”

“No.”

“Fuck,” I drag my hands down my cheeks, almost out of ideas.

“Blackmail?”

“You’re stretching now.”

“Fine.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’ll stick with pimp. It’s the funniest.”

He rubs his face, but I can see his smile.

The nurse approaches us. “You’re all done.”

I glance up at her in shock. “Already?”

“It goes faster when you’re having fun.” She winks at me and her eyes flicker to Bruno.

I nod and bite my lip. “Same time next week?” she asks as she unhooks everything.

“Same time.”

She bends forward, close to my ear. “Bring the cute guy again. It helps time pass faster for us too.” She straightens and winks at me before walking off with her hips swaying.

“I think you have a fan.”

“It must be my pimp hand.” He laughs.

Fucker.

Even if I haven’t figured out a damn thing, Bruno made the time fly by. Instead of focusing on the bad, we laughed and talked the entire time. Everything is different with him around. Time goes faster, life seems easier, cancer feels beatable, and I smile more. He’s invaded every aspect of my life and made it better.

I’ll even admit…I need him.