“They might look like mashed potatoes, but I guarantee, they’re not. I think they come from a box and are mixed with some sort of mashed turnip and white sand. May I suggest a baked one, instead?” Damian picked up a foil-wrapped baked potato and plopped it on my tray. He grabbed a dollop of butter in a paper cup. “The butter is actually real.” He winked at me.
I giggled. In the back of my mind, Leslie’s words repeated over and over again. I saw the way he looks at you. He’s never interacted with a patient before. If he falls for you and you die, it’ll kill him.
I just wanted to enjoy dinner. Okay, maybe enjoy wasn’t the right word. Tolerate dinner. Enjoy Damian. But how could I enjoy being with him, stare into his ocean-blue eyes and not think I could kill him?
No. I shrugged inwardly. Leslie was obviously exaggerating. Still…Would I have one more person to disappoint if I couldn’t fight hard enough?
One step at a time. Just concentrate on keeping this meal down in front of him.
“Corn or broccoli?” Damian asked.
“Hmm.” I shifted my eyes between the two. “I’ll go with corn. Is that safe?”
Damian laughed. “Well, none of its safe.” He scooped up a heap of corn for my plate and dumped another on his. Like with school cafeteria food, there was no end to the horrible hospital food jokes.
We found an empty table and sat down. “I still think you’re risking your life with that meatloaf,” he said.
“Well, I wasn’t sure if that was chicken or cat meat.” I nodded to the chicken strips on Damian’s plate.
“It’s hospital food, not Chinese!” He looked offended.
“Either way, I think we’re doomed.” I laughed.
“Cheers.” Damian held up his glass of Mountain Dew.
Our glasses clinked as we hit them together, then we both took a sip.
“So, tell me about life before cancer,” Damian said, taking a bite of his turnip and sand potatoes.
I tilted my head and eyed his spoonful.
He laughed. “I’m immune. Besides, I like sand.”
“Well, during remissions, my dad and I would go to the country club and golf a lot. I don’t think I’d mind joining the LPGA. My dad says I’m pretty good,” I said, tipping my head up. “I really wanna make the varsity golf team at school this spring.”
“Ugh. Country club brat, huh? You probably do everything your parents say, don’t you?”
I forced a smile. After all they’d done for me, it was the least I could do. “Your dad’s a doctor; I’m sure you’ve swung a club or two in your day.”
Damian grunted. “Cliché.”
I raised my eyebrows at him and smirked. Damian licked his lips slyly, shook his head, and gave in. “Private golf lessons. Every summer. Since I was seven.”
“I knew it!” I sat up.
Damian laughed. “I haven’t set foot on a golf course in over two years.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I never played with my dad. It was sorta me and my brother’s thing. And now…” Damian eyes clouded over, and his voice softened as if he just realized what he’d said. “Well, I don’t play anymore.”
Damian’s head lowered, and he took a bite of his corn. I averted my eyes, embarrassed about bringing his brother to his attention.
“Maybe we can play together sometime?” I said, wondering if it would be enough of a topic change.
“I dunno. You’d probably kick my ass.” He shifted his weight in his seat. Then he cleared his throat. “God, I need a cigarette. Uh, I’ll be right back.” He almost tipped over his chair as he stood and hurried out of the cafeteria.
I felt stupid as I watched him go. Alone, I plopped my elbow on the table and picked at the food. I ate a few bites then put the fork down.
Part of me wondered if he would come back. I’d hit a nerve, a memory of Liam. “He’s not strong like you, Kate.” What a great first date. Was that what this was? No. I pushed the ridiculous notion from my mind. A guy sitting next to me in the chemo room and afterward meeting in the hospital cafeteria hardly counted as a date.
I ran my fingers through my hair, mulling it over. When I looked at my hand, it was full of auburn strands. I stared at it. Why did I do that? The hair was soft and beautiful, but it wasn’t supposed to be intertwined in my fingers. What would Damian think of me with nothing but skin on the top of my head? “I saw the way he looks at you.” Would he look at me like all the kids at school? Feel sorry for me? Avoid me? I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
Time passed at warp speed. I didn’t remember him sitting back down as I was still staring at my hair-covered hand.“It starts happening that quickly, huh?” Damian’s voice was soft.
For a few moments, he didn’t say anything, and I didn’t look up. All I could think of was why I hadn’t tossed the hair away. Now, not only had he seen me balding, he’d also seen my insecurity.
I lifted my eyes to him, nodded, untangled the hair out of my hand and wadded it up.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Some people do wigs, don’t they?”
“Yeah. I don’t. They itch,” I said, dismissing how much it really bothered me. “It’s just hair. It’ll grow back. It always does.”
“But you still have to deal with it falling out all the time until it’s gone. That’s just a reminder of what’s happening.”
Did he really just say that?
“Side-effect of chemo.” I shrugged, hoping he hadn’t heard the crack in my voice.
I wanted to tuck my hair behind my ear, but I worried that another clump would fall out. Instead, I picked up my water and gulped it down.
Damian’s phone rang—an old Journey song, something my dad listened to. He grabbed it then touched the screen. He tensed and shoved the iPhone back in his pocket.
“If you have to go…”
“No. It’s just the old man. He can wait.” Damian shoved a spoonful of food in his mouth. “So, where do you go to school?”
“Roosevelt.” I hesitated. “You?”
“I’m between schools right now. I’ll start at Valley in January.”
I wanted to ask why he’d been expelled. Instead I blurted, “Why did you steal a car?”
Damian’s eyebrows shot up faster than a rocket. “My favorite nurse told you, huh?”
“Sort of.”
“Bitch,” he muttered to himself. Then he grinned. “To see if I could.”
Damian’s phone rang again. This time he jerked it out, cursed, and switched it off. “I’d better go before the asshole pages me over the intercom.”
“Yeah. That’d be embarrassing.”
“Thanks for eating with me tonight,” he said. “I’ll see you Thursday.”
He pivoted and walked away before I had a chance to say anything. I watched him until his sky blue scrubs were just a small speck down the corridor.
I shoved my tray aside and laid my head on my arms, taking a deep breath. I wished that my life recorded itself like a DVR. The rewind button looked real good right now.
If only I had chucked the hair.
If only I hadn’t run my fingers through it in the first place.
If only I could stop Leslie’s words from repeating in my mind.
If only I hadn’t mentioned golf.
The list went on and on. The rewind button would have been busy.
I sighed and dug through my bag, finding my diary.
November 15
Dear Diary,
Worst non-date ever!
What did I get myself into? I have no idea what I’m thinking! Sure, Damian pulled me in with his amazing eyes, and well, let’s face it—he’s gorgeous! But he’s carrying around more Dixie cups than the medication cart.
Oh, and he’s so not my type. Agh! Well, I guess I don’t have a type. All I know is that I never dreamed I’d have a crush on a guy who smokes, apparently hates his father, has been arrested, and Lord knows what else. I think I’ve lost my mind. It’s the only explanation.
Unless…hmm. I never thought of that. Do I see him as my charity case? Someone I can fix? I don’t know. At the same time, he held the garbage can while I hurled in it, for crying out loud. What teenage guy does that? I must be crazy.
I do like the fact that he’s not afraid to challenge me. He doesn’t treat me like I’m going to break. Or like I have cancer. I feel almost normal around him.
He knows my hair is falling out, and he didn’t make a big deal of it. He knows who I am—the cancer patient—and still talks to me. I care about what he thinks and how he sees me. What I might mean to him. I wonder what he’s doing now. If he’s thinking about me. If he worries about me.
This makes no sense. I’ve never been more confused in my life!
~*~
Going bald in the winter was nicer than in the summer. I could usually find cute hats that went well with my outfits, and I was thankful that the administration at school made an exception for me to wear them to class. It cut down on the stares and sorry looks I got from my classmates. Generally, I took it off for treatments, since I didn’t feel awkward on the cancer ward. In fact, it might be about the only place I felt somewhat normal.
My hair had thinned so much I was beginning to look like Gollum. I kept my black hat on at the hospital because Damian said he’d be there. Leslie didn’t say much as she hooked the IV into the tube sticking out from my chest. I tapped my fingers on my diary and watched the clock. At four-thirty it crossed my mind that maybe he forgot or something.
At four thirty-five, I had given up on him, and at four thirty-eight, Damian twisted the knob and let himself in.
“Nice hat. I like the little, uh, flower thing.” He pointed at my head.
I laughed at his odd hand gestures. Seeing him standing in the doorway lifted my spirits.
“Can you leave this room?” he asked. I peered around him and noticed the black bag he held behind his back.
I looked at him sideways. “Yeah. But the pole has to come with us.”
“Eh. I suppose, if it must.” Damian held out his hand to me. Reluctantly I took it, and Damian helped me to my feet before letting go.
“Where are we going?”
Damian held the door open. “One of the empty rooms.”
I stared at him for a few seconds, biting the inside of my cheek. He had a quirky smile across his face, and his eyes danced as they stared at me.
“Oh, come on.” Damian reached out and grabbed my hand again, tugging me forward. An odd-looking caravan walked down the hall: Damian pulling me and me dragging the IV pole. I wasn’t thinking about where we were going or about the bag slung over his shoulder. I just enjoyed the feel of my hand in his. Never before had a guy who wasn’t related to me or treating me held my hand. Damian didn’t hesitate as if I were contagious. He just reached out and took it, and didn’t let go.
We rushed past the nurses’ station. I felt three pairs of eyes follow us—including Leslie’s. Damian didn’t seem to notice. We rounded the next hallway and swept into the second room on the right. Damian let go of my hand to close the door behind us, and I wanted the warmth of his touch back.
“What are we doing?” I asked as Damian took my hand again.
Oh, good!
“In here.” He led me into the bathroom and locked the door. “Sit.”
“On the toilet?” I looked down. “There isn’t a seat.”
“That or the floor.” Damian put his bag on the counter and unzipped it.
“Are you going to tell me why you’ve locked us up in the bathroom?”
He grinned, facing me. “Your hair.”
I shifted my weight. “My hair? What do you mean?”
Dinner on Monday flashed through my mind—me staring at the strands woven through my fingers and Damian’s sympathetic eyes as he watched me. My growing feelings for him made me even more self-conscious. Now my hair was the reason we were locked in a bathroom together. Fantastic.
“I saw how you looked at it during dinner the other night. It must be annoying having to lose it little by little like that.” His eyes were soft. He pulled out a pair of scissors and an electric razor from his bag. “I thought it may be easier if you got rid of all of it in one shot. Then no more worries.”
I had nothing to say for a few seconds as his words sunk in. He had been thinking about me. He’d come up with a plan. Wow.
He took a step closer. I felt his breath on my forehead. It smelled like smoke and spearmint gum. “What do you say?” he whispered.
I peered up into his beautiful eyes. I couldn’t form words to tell him how wonderful I thought he was. How much I appreciated him thinking about me this way. I loved his idea.
I nodded.
Damian grinned, reached down, and slipped my black-knit hat off my head. After running his fingers through my hair a few times, he wiped a tear from my cheek.
Tingles shot up my spine, and I shivered at the touch.
He motioned for me to sit. I moved the IV pole behind the toilet and sat facing the tub. I felt Damian comb through the strands. He cut the hair, and I watched my auburn locks fall to the floor. Then he picked up a chunk and handed it to me.
“Here, do you want to keep some of it?”
I took it, purposefully touching his fingers. “Thanks.”
I heard the clippers come to life and felt the metal against my head. My eyes closed, and I listened to the buzz as Damian shaved each individual hair from the top of my head. After a few swipes, he rubbed his hand over the bare skin. He repeated this gesture until all of my hair laid lifeless on the floor.
I spun around and peered into the mirror. Damian was putting the clippers back into his bag. I swept my hand across the top of my head. The reflection looked normal to me.
I glanced up at Damian. He had a glob of white lotion in his hand, and began to rub his hands together.
He grinned. “I wasn’t sure if I should bring lotion or aftershave.”
I laughed, thankful he chose lotion, and wondered if he’d really considered aftershave. His hands moved gracefully over my head. I cringed from the cold at first, but his warm hands caressing my head soon relaxed me, and I closed my eyes to enjoy the sensation. He rubbed the lotion in for a few minutes. His fingers moved down behind my ears, to my shoulders, and down my arms. His lips pressed against the top of my head. I swallowed. A wave of emotions washed through me. My hands were settled in my lap and his came to rest on top of mine. I didn’t know whether to move or not. Should I flip my hands over and take hold of his?
When I opened my eyes, he was kneeling in front of me, gazing at me. “You look beautiful.”
My eyes searched his. If it weren’t for the butterflies flying around my stomach telling me otherwise, I would have wondered if he was being a jerk.
He reached up and caressed the side of my face. With a gentle tug on my hand, he lowered me down. I slid off the unromantic porcelain throne and sat on my knees on the floor. Damian placed both hands on either side of my face, his eyes locking with mine. He leaned in closer.
Were my lips dry? Were they supposed to be? What if I sucked at it? I hadn’t brushed my teeth since that morning, and…
Before I had a chance to finish my thought, Damian’s lips were pressed against mine. I closed my eyes, ‘cause that’s what happened on TV, and let my shoulders fall. More questions ran through my mind, the old ones forgotten. Was I supposed to breathe or hold my breath? What should I do with my hands? Should my lips stay closed or open? Please, oh, please don’t throw up!
I kept my hands on my lap for a moment, but as Damian’s mouth opened and sucked my lower lip between his, my arms wrapped around his neck on their own. He responded by moving his hands to my shoulders and sliding them down my arms. His lips moved over mine tenderly, then he folded his arms around my waist and hugged me against him.
When the kiss ended, I stared at him. Small shivers still raced down my spine, and my whole body tingled. Damian smiled. He kissed the tip of my nose, and his fingertips trailed over the side of my neck. My insecurity dissipated at the expression on his face.
“I saw the way he looks at you.”
Now I could see it, too. It was the sparkle in his eyes. The way the corner of his mouth curved up in an impish grin. He leaned in and kissed my neck where his fingers had been.
“You taste good,” he whispered in my ear.
It could have been the chemo dancing its way through my bloodstream because I was suddenly light-headed. Then again chemo didn’t typically make me feel good.
Damian kissed me on the neck again, and I had never felt the little pin-pricks that covered my body before. I ached to have him kiss me again. I wanted him to envelop me in his arms and draw me into his body and keep me there forever.
“Damian isn’t as strong as you are. If he falls for you, and you don’t recover, it’ll kill him.”
I couldn’t speak for Damian. And whether or not it was a good idea didn’t matter. I knew the moment he pulled out the clippers and looked into my eyes that I was in danger of falling for Damian Lowell.