Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Ben
Her blonde hair bobs along to the music, completely lost in the beat of the track. The dance floor is sunken in the center of the club, packed with bodies swaying in rhythmic clusters.
Amy and Bex have been up dancing for what seems like hours while Terry and I watch on from the security of the bar. The girls are having a fantastic time; they look happy and sexy. A few guys have them on their radar as they slide up, whispering in their ears.
My stomach tightens as a tall blond guy comes to Bex’s side.
She’s a tall woman, but this man is a giant, standing a head and shoulders above her.
He leans down to her level and says something.
She smiles, then laughs back at him and places her hand on his arm.
Jealousy hits me hard, twisting low in my gut.
This feeling has been more frequent over the past few months, getting harder to control.
Since Kelsey walked out six months ago, the four of us have been spending a lot of time together.
Our relationship appears completely platonic.
We have dinner, go clubbing, and spend every weekend in each other’s pockets.
Sometimes it feels like we belong in one of those American sitcoms where a group of friends live together and get into all sorts of trouble.
Last week, Amy’s clothes were stuck in the washing machine; the damn thing wouldn’t switch off.
No one thought to pull the plug. Her beloved jeans were spinning nonstop for hours.
It took the four of us to switch it off and open the door with a crowbar.
Poor Amy nearly cried when she saw what was left of them.
We all helped drown her sorrows with bottles of wine and terrible rom-com movies.
My focus goes back to my friend dancing with the blond man. Over the last year, she’s gone from strength to strength in her career and personality.
Her friend from work, Wendy, seems to have done wonders for her confidence, helping her embrace her looks and use them to her full advantage. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Wendy in a while. Bex hasn’t mentioned her either.
Terry’s still talking, but I’m not sure what about. I’m not listening. He’s had enough to drink that his words are starting to blend together. Suddenly, he’s in my face, demanding my attention.
“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”
I look at him pointedly. “What the hell are you on about?”
“Bex.” He jerks his chin toward the dance floor. Words slightly slurred, he says, “Why don’t you just tell her you think she’s hot?”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“’Fraid she’ll knock you back?” he teases, stumbling over his words, before adding, “She’s a lovely girl, Ben. If you like her, you’d be mad not to let her know.”
I’m not sure what way to play this with him. Having barely accepted my feelings for Bex myself, I’m not ready to discuss them with anyone. Least of all Terry. He’s a good guy, but secrecy isn’t one of his strong points. More than likely, he’ll start scheming crazy plans to get us together.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.
Bex is my friend.” I look him dead in the eye, hoping my confidence is convincing.
“She’s also Kelsey’s friend. Dating my ex’s friends is not something I do,” I continue, then add, “not that I want to,” as an afterthought.
The look on Terry’s face tells me he’s not buying it, and deep down, neither am I.
The club is dark and moody. People are becoming intoxicated and losing their inhibitions fast. Bex’s arms are around the guy’s neck, his hands low on her waist. They’re not dancing to the beat anymore. They’re moving to something else entirely.
Strobe lights fly across the crowd in an array of colors, and a machine sprays out smoke at intervals, giving the place a mystic feel. As much as I don’t want to watch, I can’t pull my eyes away. I want to be him. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.
A bubbly brunette approaches me, all smiles and giggles. Introducing herself as Abbey, an aspiring model, she immediately places her hand on my arm.
“Oh my, you do have the bluest eyes I have ever seen,” she purrs in my ear, then runs her tongue over her teeth. “You have no idea how much pleasure I could give you, gorgeous.” Her voice is seductive, but I’m not interested. I remove her hand from my arm.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
I turn back to Terry, who’s staring open-mouthed at me. Watching Bex grind on the dance floor with that prick is driving me insane. Terry knowingly raises his eyebrows, smiles, then saves me graciously. He turns to the girl, who’s looking forlorn at my rejection.
“Sorry, honey. Yes, he’s an idiot, turning down a stunner like you,” Terry says, then points blatantly to Bex.
“But see that blonde over there? He wants a bit of that, but he doesn’t have the balls to tell her.
He would rather sit here, lust, then mope in his self-pity.
” She giggles, and he beams at her, offering a scrap of paper he just pulled from his pocket.
“Here’s my number, though, if you fancy a good time. ”
Terry stands and marches toward the door. I follow, stunned by his boldness, not knowing whether to thank him or deck him.
***
I needed the weekend to shake off the mess of that night. Watching Bex dance with someone else lit a fuse I’ve been trying to ignore for months.
But work waits for no emotional wreck, and on Monday morning, I walk back into the one place I always feel steady—the hospital. My career is progressing well. Better than I could ever have expected.
Being noticed during my graduate years by a professor who still works actively within the industry boosted my career. He’s an elite in my preferred specialist area of oncology. When I graduated, I phoned him, and he offered me a job. I pinch myself every day, still shocked at securing the position.
Dr. Eamon Riley is a diamond to work for. I’m collaborating with the master of oncology. He’s respected worldwide. Many doctors ask his opinion on complex cases. I’m lucky to be included in his consultancy work. He opens my mind daily to the range of illnesses and the available treatments.
My interest in oncology comes from losing both my grandparents to cancer within a year. I was in my early teens and had spent every weekend with them since I was a young child. Both my parents worked Saturdays and Sundays at our restaurant, so they had very little free time.
The family picnics and trips to theme parks were shared with my grandparents. I spent many a happy Sunday afternoon sitting by the lake fishing with Gramps. We would spend hours talking about my week at school or just sitting in companionable silence.
Gramps went first with stomach cancer, which stemmed from his esophagus, his decades of puffing his pipe eventually catching up with him. I continued to spend the weekends with Gran until she began to feel unwell around six months later.
My mother took her to an appointment with the local doctor, who referred her directly to the hospital. Within weeks, the cancer was everywhere, even the end of her nose. Before the anniversary of Gramps’ death, we had lost her as well.
The overwhelming emptiness gave my life purpose. I wanted to help people who found themselves in the same situation; those who were given a death sentence out of the blue and needed a shoulder to lean on.
When I announced my decision to study medicine, my parents had been stunned. I was never the most academic or focused in school, mainly enjoying the social perks of being in the popular crowd, but they rallied behind me and supported my quest. And I made my dream come true.
Eamon’s called a team meeting in his office this morning to discuss our ongoing cases. Some are looking promising, but others I know are marking time until they take their final journey.
As much as I love seeing people recover and move forward in their lives from cancer, the real joy for me is spending time with my patients on a time limit.
I always thought working with a patient who is in palliative care would be a depressing experience.
However, these people are often the most open and honest.
They relive their memories with you. I’m often humbled by the trust they place in me, gaining a little comfort from the fact that I can help make their final days more enjoyable. Quite often, they come as patients, but when they leave for the final time, they leave as friends.
Eamon has the whole team in his office, but there’s something different about today. He’s quiet and forlorn, not his usual bubbly self. This can only mean one thing—we’ve lost someone.
He continues summarizing each patient’s case.
We have twenty on the ward now. Most of them are complicated cases requiring specialist care.
Some have lost their mobility, some their minds, and others, both.
Finally, all the patients have been accounted for, but he doesn’t close the meeting.
I see him taking a deep breath to compose himself before he continues.
“We have an additional patient on our ward this morning,” he says.
We all look at each other, confused. Normally, we’re all advised by message before admittance.
“My wife is in room E32.” His admission hangs in the air.
“She began experiencing headaches a few weeks ago, and last week, she had an episode where she lost consciousness,” he explains matter-of-factly.
“She has an aggressive tumor on her brain. We begin treatment immediately. In all honesty, the odds are poor, but I know you’ll all help me to the best of your ability. ”
His haunted eyes rise. We all stare at him, speechless.
“I need you all to help me save my wife.” With that, he turns and walks out. We stand in silence, taking in the monumental challenge ahead of us. And somehow, we must succeed.
***
Room E32 is next on my list. I’ve only met Melissa Riley a handful of times. Each time she’s brought in cakes for the team, normally after a tragedy. She’s a bright, generous woman, always proud of Eamon and his work.
I knock on her door softly before entering. She’s small and burly, with a riot of gray hair piled on top of her head. Engrossed in the book in her hands, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose as she sits up in bed. Warm eyes turn to meet mine.
“Doctor Jones.” She smiles. “Have you been sent to check up on me?” She laughs loudly and heartily. “The nurses are correct.” I look at her, confused.
“You’re a handsome young man. I’ve only ever seen you rushing past, but now it looks as if I will have time to enjoy the view.” She winks, and I laugh.
“How are you feeling?”
“Oh, bloody awful, but you’ll know that. These headaches are killing me, and if they don’t, that bastard cancer will.”
My face must look so stricken, and she takes pity on me.
“Oh, Doctor, if we can’t laugh, what can we do?
We must take these knocks on the chin. Eamon is beside himself with worry.
I know this is bad. I haven’t been married to an oncologist for thirty years without learning a thing or two about cancer.
As I told him, if I have any chance of surviving, then this is the best team that could be looking after me.
He needs to concentrate on being my husband, not my doctor. ”
This woman is full of life and energy. She's incredible. Focused, intellectual, and self-aware. It’s that attitude that could help save her life.
“I believe you are correct, Mrs. Riley. That’s his most important task. I will see what I can do with regards to your headaches. Perhaps I can change your medication. Call me Ben, and let me know if you need anything,” I say sincerely.
“Thank you, Ben. In that case, call me Melissa.”
Little did I know that this would be my first proper exchange with a woman who would become like an auntie to me and one of my greatest supporters.