The Saint's Wife (10 page)

After a while, he let her go. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good. And you’re welcome.”

They exchanged smiles, and she set her shoulders back. “I guess I should get back out there. My husband’s adoring public awaits.”

“Want me to stick with you? In case you need another escape?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Let’s go.”

Chapter Eleven

As promised, David stuck by her, and whenever the conversation shifted too heavily onto Chris’s condition and prognosis, he’d gently nudge the subject in another direction. Otherwise, he stayed in the background, letting her handle everything.

And from the background, he couldn’t help watching her. Noticing her in different ways than he had before. He was used to seeing her shoulders and gaze down, and the way she’d only smile when someone addressed her or when Chris nudged her and reminded her to keep up appearances.

Tonight, though she was stressed out and worn down after Chris’s emergency and the usual chaos of putting one of these events together, she looked amazing. She was actually…
there
. Sometimes her smiles were forced, but sometimes they definitely weren’t. Even when she was feeling the strain of everything in her world, she looked alive—he’d never realized how different she was when she wasn’t in Chris’s shadow.

Eventually, the evening wrapped up. Guests left, and after talking to the research facility director for a little while, David and Joanna left the ballroom to the hotel staff and headed outside. The parking lot was almost empty now. Most of the hotel guests parked on the other side, and this part was reserved for people attending functions.

As soon as they were outside, Joanna released a breath just like she had the night they’d walked out of the hospital together.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Just kind of glad that’s over.”

“I’m sure. Well, you did great.” He held her gaze. “Chris’s shoes are tough to fill.”

“No kidding. Thank God Hilary prepared his speech or I probably would’ve just stood up there and stared blankly at everyone.”

David chuckled. “I doubt that. You worked the crowd pretty well.”

“Glad you think so.” She wrinkled her nose. “I felt like I was flailing.”

“If that was flailing, then we’re all in trouble when you find your footing.”

Joanna laughed. Like, genuinely laughed—eyes sparkling and everything. “I guess we’ll see when that actually happens.” She paused and turned a bit more serious. “By the way, how are
you
doing?” She lifted her thin eyebrows. “Everyone’s been asking about me, but…are you doing okay?”

“I’m…” He had his stock answers at the tip of his tongue but couldn’t quite bring them to life. He was fucking exhausted. After days on end of trying to run Berserker Tech on his own in between sleepless nights spent worrying about the company and his best friend, he was completely drained. Doing okay? Not a chance.

“David?” She came a little closer. “You all right?”

He sighed heavily and leaned against his car. “Can I confess something?” He searched her eyes. “That stays between us?”

She tilted her head slightly, eyebrows up. “Sure, yeah.”

He inhaled slowly, and finally met her gaze. “I am
terrified
of running Berserker Tech on my own.”

“Really?”

David nodded. “Chris is the visionary. I’m great at making things happen, but he’s the one who comes up with the things that need to happen. Without him…”

Joanna put a hand on his forearm and squeezed gently. “Chris has always spoken highly of you. Even when you two are at odds…” She paused. “I don’t think there’s anyone on earth who he respects more than you. Anyone.” She withdrew her hand, but held his gaze. “You’ll be fine. The thing is, you didn’t just sit back and twiddle your thumbs while he built the company on his own. It wouldn’t be what it is today without you. And that’s straight from the horse’s mouth.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Chris never misses an opportunity to tell people that this company is yours as much as his. He may be an arrogant son of a bitch most of the time, but don’t think for a second that he doesn’t respect and appreciate you.”

David’s heart clenched. Chris had never said anything like that to his face, but he couldn’t imagine Joanna would lie about it. It wasn’t at all like her to make up something positive about her husband.

She went on. “Chris and I don’t get along, and we never should have gotten married, but I can respect who and what he is. He’s intelligent as hell. When he has a vision, he makes it happen, and he only trusts those visions with the most competent, capable people.” Joanna met David’s eyes. “So when he says Berserker Tech is going to be in good hands…I believe him. Wholeheartedly.”

All the air left David’s lungs. “Wow. Um. Thanks for the pep talk.”

Joanna cracked a faint smile. “Any time.” The smile faded a bit. “I don’t think anyone expects this to be easy on either of us. I guess I didn’t…I didn’t realize how hard it would really be.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” Before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped closer and hugged her again. He thought she might pull away, but instead, she seemed to melt against him. Closing his eyes, he just held her, wondering for a moment if she might fall apart. If
he
might.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, hoping to God that by the time he spoke, he’d have found some words of encouragement or
something
, but instead he caught a whiff of perfume that he shouldn’t have been breathing in. He damn sure shouldn’t have been getting goose bumps from it, and his mind shouldn’t have been going blank, but damn, that perfume and this beautiful woman in that stunning red dress…

He shivered.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I…” He realized he’d held on longer than he should have, and she must have figured it out in the same moment, because they quickly pulled apart. “I’m good. You?”

“Yeah. But I…I should, um…” She cleared her throat and avoided his eyes, and he couldn’t tell if he’d made her uncomfortable, or if the sudden crimson in her cheeks meant she was mortified for the same reason he was. “I should get going. I want to check in on Chris before I go home.”

“Right. Good idea.” He took a half step back, just to give them both some space. “Will you text me if there’s any change? Just let me know how he’s doing?”

“Of course.” She inched toward her car. “Thanks again for tonight. You saved my sanity.”

He chuckled. “Happy to help. Have a good night, Joanna.”

“You too.”

They exchanged one last look and then got into their respective cars. As her Mercedes’s engine faded into the distance, David’s Maserati idled. He needed to get going himself, but he had to collect himself first. Gather all the thoughts that were inexplicably all over the place.

Absently, he threw a piece of gum in his mouth and chewed it rapidly, the way he always did when he was nervous.

And what the hell did he have to be nervous about? Nothing. Nothing at all. It wasn’t like Chris had been here tonight. With any luck, no one had noticed—or would pass on to Chris—the way David had caught himself looking at Joanna a few too many times.

She’s your best friend’s wife!

Guilt burned in his chest, and he chewed his gum so hard his jaw ached. Yes, Joanna was Chris’s wife, but goddamn, she’d been stunning tonight. That dress. That confidence. Sure, she’d been nervous, and the constant reminders of Chris’s condition had been wearing on her, but she’d been confident tonight in a way he’d never seen her before. Everything about her had been different. It was as if she were an entirely new woman, not the one who’d been married to Chris all these years.

Rationalize it all you want. You were still ogling a dying man’s wife.

Yes. Yes, he had. Because he’d been marveling at how wrong he’d been about her when he’d gone to Tillamook to talk her into coming back.

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Except he had been wrong about her. So wrong. Little by little, he was seeing that, and this new side of her intrigued him as much as it made him feel guilty for the way he’d thought of her before. Right or wrong, if this were any other time or place, if she were any other woman than the wife of his dying best friend…

David shook his head. There was no point in even letting his mind go down that path.

Not that he had a choice.

He’d seen her in this new, different light. He’d hugged her. Breathed her in.

And, like it or not, his mind was going down that path tonight.

Chapter Twelve

It took Chris almost two weeks to fully recover from his infection. Anyone else would have bounced back in a matter of days, but his body was already weak enough that even a seemingly minor setback could be disastrous.

Finally, though, he was back on his feet, if a bit unsteadily.

And exactly sixteen days after taking him to the hospital, Joanna found herself sitting beside him in an all too familiar place: the oncologist’s office.

In matching mahogany chairs with plush cushions, they faced Dr. Bowman across his massive desk. He leaned back in his leather chair, flanked by three giant bookcases filled with medical texts and a few framed photos. It was a lovely office—nothing sinister or unsettling about it—but she’d been here enough times, even the sight of one of those green-shaded banker’s lamps made her queasy. These sit-down meetings almost always meant bad news.

Dr. Bowman had already given them the grim facts. More tumors in more places. Tiny spots that weren’t on the last scan and would probably be full-blown tumors by the next one if their growth wasn’t halted. Not many options at this point except more immunotherapy, more chemotherapy and more asking all available deities for a miracle.

Joanna’s stomach was in her throat. Chris’s forehead gleamed with a sheen of sweat.

On top of his armrest, Chris’s slim fingers were laced between hers, and it was impossible to tell whose palm had dampened first. These visits were one of the few times when Chris and Joanna still genuinely held hands. The rest of the time, it was a territorial gesture, or a means to keep her from falling behind when he—in his healthier days—insisted on walking faster than her shorter legs and higher heels could comfortably go.

But here, in this office, with bad news being rapid-fired at them, they held on.

Dr. Bowman leaned forward and laced his hands together on the desk. “I can’t make any promises at this point, but…there is another option.”

Chris and Joanna both sat straighter.

The doctor put up a hand. “It’s a treatment that’s very much in the experimental stage.”

“The last experimental treatment didn’t work,” Chris said.

“No, but this one is showing a lot more promise. It’s, um, also quite expensive.”

Chris waved a hand. “Money isn’t an issue.”

Dr. Bowman regarded him silently for a moment. Joanna chewed the inside of her cheek. In the last two years, Chris had singlehandedly provided almost half of the funding for the university’s research department—it was well known that money was no object. And that, right or wrong, his money and influence had gained Chris access to treatments not yet available to the general public.

Dr. Bowman pushed his narrow shoulders back. “Research into stem cells is showing quite a bit of promise in treating your type of cancer. We’d gather stem cells from a compatible donor, and after your immune system has been suppressed by some heavy chemotherapy, transplant the stem cells into you.” He paused as if to let that sink in for a moment. “That treatment has been in development for many years, but there’s also research happening as we speak that combines stem cell treatments with a new drug. The combination is still in the extremely early experimental stages. The drug’s clinical trials are looking good, but it will be—”

“Don’t care.” Chris gestured dismissively. “If it’s showing promise, I’m in. What kind of results are you seeing?”

“Well, we’re not looking at a cure here. Let me just be clear about that. But we’re seeing the prognosis of stage four patients extended by upwards of one to two years, not to mention drastically slowing the decline in quality of life.”

Joanna’s lungs were suddenly full of lead. Normally, she’d have been completely engaged in the conversation about the treatment—what it entailed, what needed to be done to get Chris the treatment in spite of its experimental nature—but her mind was suddenly overwhelmed. The doctor’s words echoed in her mind.

“
…extended by upwards of one to two years…
”

A longer, better life. Of course that was what every cancer patient and his family hoped for.

So why did she feel like breaking down?

Her eyes flicked down to their hands. He was squeezing hers tightly enough to be uncomfortable. Nerves, no doubt. But she didn’t try to let go. Freeing her hand now seemed like withdrawing a point of comfort for him, and after everything the doctor had said, she wasn’t going to deny him that. Nor would she even think of talking him out of this experimental treatment. Even if…

“
…extended by upwards of one to two years…
”

She swallowed hard. She didn’t want him to die. This disease was a cruel fate for anyone, regardless of how much of an asshole he could be.

But whether it made her a selfish, callous bitch or not, she couldn’t stop that sinking feeling in her gut. That slowly blooming realization that the only thing worse than hearing about the deterioration of Chris’s condition was the possibility of this whole process taking longer.

She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. She wanted to believe that what bothered her was the thought of delaying the inevitable. Yeah, Chris’s quality of life might be better with the treatment than without, but by how much? Would he be miserable for—

“
…extended by upwards of one to two years…
”

—whatever period of time this bought him?

And that did bother her. A lot. But it wasn’t the only thing that bothered her.

Jesus. What kind of monster am I?

Chris’s hand twitched on hers, drawing her attention back into the present.

Dr. Bowman gestured at Joanna as he spoke to Chris. “If you and your wife need to discuss this, I—”

“No, there’s nothing to discuss.” Chris thumped his knuckle on the desk. “I’m in. Do whatever you need to do.” He turned to Joanna, eyebrows up as if to ask if she had any objections. As if she’d dare.

Wordlessly, she shook her head.

The doctor gave him some forms and literature and finally dismissed them.

As they stepped out into the hall, Joanna stopped. “I’m, uh, going to use the restroom. I’ll catch up with you.”

Chris waved her away. He was probably too distracted by the new game plan to bother rolling his eyes or sighing impatiently. Fine by her.

Behind the restroom’s locked door, Joanna rested her hands on the cold sink’s edge and stared at herself in the mirror. The conversation in the office—what she’d heard of it, anyway—banged around in her head, and the reality of the situation slowly sank in.

The treatment might work. It might not. If it didn’t, then Chris might have a few months, though Dr. Bowman had been cautious about giving him even that much hope.

If the treatment did work…

“
…extended by upwards of one to two years…
”

She closed her eyes and let her head fall forward, struggling to figure out what she should have felt. Or, for that matter, what she
did
feel.

She was numb. It was impossible to have any emotions at that point. She didn’t want Chris to die. She didn’t want him to suffer. And yet, if the drug worked and increased both his quality of life and its longevity…then what?

Do I have any right to even think about how this will affect me?

The thought made her cringe. Damn, but she needed to unload this on someone. Just…throw out all her emotions—right, wrong and everything in between—and get some help sorting them out.

But no one could hear what she was thinking and not believe she was a horrible human being and a terrible wife. Especially since everyone she’d ever spoken to about Chris and this hellish process had refused to hear or say an ill word about him. This was one of those things that would have to stay between her and a bottle of something strong. Jose Cuervo might not be able to offer much advice, but he wouldn’t judge her either.

She faced her reflection again and took a second to compose herself. Then she stepped out of the restroom and headed toward the waiting area to meet Chris.

“Oh, Mrs. McQuaid. There you are.”

Joanna turned around. “Yes?”

Dr. Bowman held out a business card. “This is a counselor who specializes in the spouses and family members of the terminally ill.” He inclined his head slightly. “I would urge you to call.”

She took the card. “Thank you.”

They held eye contact for a moment.

You’re not going to call, are you?

Absolutely not.

Joanna…

There isn’t a counselor alive I could talk to about this.

She slid the card into her purse. “I need to go. My husband’s waiting.”

He sighed as if he’d gotten the message from their unspoken conversation. He let it go, though, gave her a slight nod and disappeared back into his office.

Chris was indeed waiting, and his upraised eyebrow may as well have been a finger tapping on a watch.

She forced a smile. “Ready to go?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Subtly snide, as always. Obviously he was feeling better.

On the way out of the building, Chris took her hand again. His grip was firm, his gait as fast as his condition allowed. She didn’t have to struggle to keep up with him now, not when his recent setback had slowed him down, but she still had the distinct feeling of being a dog on the end of a leash that the master kept jerking. Chris stopped just short of barking
heel!
at her—it was just understood that she’d stay with him.

He certainly wasn’t searching for contact or comfort this time. Whatever he and the doctor had discussed during Joanna’s distraction, he was confident in a way he hadn’t been when they’d headed into the office an hour ago. Confident to the point of arrogant fearlessness, radiating a quiet certainty that he had the situation under control and the cancer would submit upon contact with the new treatment. He had a
plan
.

And the woman on his arm?

Well, she’d keep walking just like the Rolex on his wrist would keep ticking.

Joanna didn’t dare let Chris see her sneaking the bottle of Cuervo into her workroom. He couldn’t have cared less if she wanted to get drunk, but he frowned on the empty calories that came from booze. And of course
that
thought made her feel better.

Alone in her workroom, she set the bottle on the table but didn’t open it. It may have been five o’clock somewhere, but it was still three in the afternoon here, and she hadn’t quite talked herself into diving in yet.

She sat back in her chair and looked around the room, trying not to give in to the siren’s call of the bottle she’d brought in here. It was only a matter of time, of course. She had every intention of drinking herself blind tonight. The
no, I’m not going to do this right now
was a ritual that never lasted very long.

She could always get some work done on the purse she’d been tooling for Kaylie’s Christmas gift. The intricate feathering on a pair of hawks would take her ages to finish, and it would keep her hands and mind busy for hours at a stretch.

But she knew damn well her concentration was shot today. She had neither the focus nor the patience to coax lines and curves out of a tough piece of leather.

Drinking, however, sounded pretty fucking appealing.

You’re going to turn into an alcoholic.

Joanna groaned. She was not an alcoholic. She wouldn’t be one. This was a temporary fix. Something to make her feel even less than she already did. Numb the nonexistent feelings. Once the trigger for those feelings was gone, she wouldn’t need the booze anymore.

“
…extended by upwards of one to two years…
”

Guilt and shame burned hotter than the tequila ever would. She didn’t want him to suffer. She didn’t want him to die.

She just didn’t want him
here
.

And she couldn’t leave.

Because he was dying.

Oh, fuck it…

She unscrewed the bottle and didn’t even bother looking for a glass.

Half an hour and a little too much tequila later, she heard a knock at the door.

“Fuck,” she muttered, and made a half-assed effort to put the cap back on the bottle. She braced herself, fully expecting a tirade from Chris about her “problem” and how it would affect her waistline. She glanced at the door, then at the bottle that was still about three-quarters full—she could throw it that far, couldn’t she?

“Come in,” she called out, but didn’t get up.

The door opened, and she almost threw the bottle at him just for the hell of it—
whoa, maybe I’ve had too much already
—but it wasn’t Chris.

“Hey.” David stepped into her workroom. “I, um. Is this a bad time?”

Joanna glanced at the bottle in her hand, then shook her head. “Not really. What’s up?”

He shut the door behind him. “I just came to see how you were doing. I was supposed to talk to Chris about a few things, but he’s asleep.”

Lucky bastard…

David cleared his throat. His eyes darted toward the bottle. “How did his appointment go today?”

Joanna sighed and unscrewed the cap again. “Awesome.”

David grimaced and waited until she’d taken a deep swallow of tequila before he spoke again. “So, what happened?”

With anyone else, she’d have hesitated to divulge medical details, but David was the exception. Half the time, Chris told David things before he got around to telling her.

“Well, the cancer has advanced.” She chewed her lip. “And there’s a new treatment on the table.”

“A new treatment?” He folded his arms loosely across his chest and shifted his weight. “What kind of new treatment?”

“A stem cell transplant combined with chemo and some new experimental drug.” She rubbed her temples. “The doctor thinks it’s promising. It might not work, but if it does, it could buy him some time. Maybe even another year or two, and with a decent quality of life.”

David’s eyes flicked toward the bottle. Then back to her. “But that’s…that’s good news, right?”

It might’ve been the tequila, or she might’ve just reached her goddamned breaking point, but Joanna lost it. The tears came, and there was no stopping them, so she pushed the bottle away and leaned over, cradling her face in her hands.