Chapter 50 New Orleans—Skye #2
Skye folded her hands in her lap. “I’d rather hear the truth, even when it’s scary. If there’s something you want to tell me, please do.”
Charlotte straightened. “Last night, Remy discovered a lump in his right testicle.”
The single word shattered the atmosphere in the quiet room.
Lump? Tumor? Cancer? Skye’s hope for a future with Remy evaporated in an instant, leaving a breathless void in her chest. She gasped, fighting for air that suddenly felt very thin.
Her father’s voice, devoid of emotion as he’d delivered the same news years ago, clawed its way back from her memory.
She wrapped her arms around herself again, a desperate shield against the reality, as tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“No! Remy’s healthy. He’s not sick.” A tide of his images rushed over her—the raw virility that had nearly made her drool the first time she saw him; the calloused fingers that could coax thunder from a drum kit; the charisma that had stolen her heart.
He was an unstoppable force, not a victim of a silent disease. He just couldn’t be sick.
“Is that why he doesn’t want to make love to me?” Then she thought of a question she didn’t want to know the answer to. She had to, though. “Is he going to die?”
“Most testicular lumps are benign. The doctors will have to do tests to determine what it is. Then, based on the results, they’ll decide how to treat it. To answer your question, I don’t believe this disease will kill him.”
A wave of nausea washed over Skye, stealing the very air from her lungs.
The sudden shock ripped through her with the same brutal force as the moment she learned her mother was ill.
“My father lied to me about my mother’s condition.
Are you lying to me about Remy’s? Tell me the truth now.
If I hear it later, I’ll feel betrayed.”
“We won’t know exactly what’s wrong with him until he undergoes tests at the hospital. I will always tell you the truth, and I won’t sugarcoat it or be evasive.”
“That’s all I’m asking for. But tell me this. Is Remy in pain now?”
“No. The lump doesn’t hurt, but he’s worried and stressed. His father died of testicular cancer, which wasn’t discovered early enough to save him. Which isn’t the case with Remy.”
Skye wrung her trembling hands. “He’s probably scared to death. I know I would be.”
“I’m going to be blunt with you. It will take a compassionate partner to help him get through this.”
“I want to be there for him, and he won’t feel pressure from me.” Skye’s voice fractured, the first of many silent, heavy sobs shaking her shoulders.
Charlotte let out a long, shuddering sigh that sounded less like tired air and more like a physical blow to the chest. “There’s something else you need to be aware of, Skye.
” She paused, the weight of the next words settling between them.
“If he has a malignant tumor, they will remove the testicle. His remaining one should provide enough sperm to impregnate a woman, but we won’t know that for sure until later. ”
The quiet room shattered as Skye’s sob broke loose—raw, unrestrained. “I’ve always wanted children,” she gasped, clutching her stomach as if the loss were already being torn from her. “He knows that. Oh God—this can’t be happening.”
“We can plan for later,” Charlotte said softly, reaching for a box of tissues on the coffee table and pressing it into Skye’s hands. “For the unknown. Remy can bank his sperm.”
Skye pulled out several tissues, shaking her head as the clinical words hovered uselessly in the air, failing to land. “What does that even mean?” she asked, her voice thin and unsteady with confusion.
“A doctor will freeze Remy’s sperm and store it in a special container indefinitely. When you and Remy decide you want a child, and assuming his remaining testicle doesn’t produce enough viable sperm, the doctor will fertilize your egg with thawed sperm.”
The cold science was too much for Skye. The clinical words felt like tiny needles. “I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying,” she whispered, a desperate, childish rocking motion taking hold of her body. “I have a degree gathering dust on a wall, but I’ve never felt so utterly ignorant.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in, but the important thing is that fertility isn’t an issue for you and Remy right now.”
Skye buried her face in a damp, knotted tissue and forced herself to still, her body thrumming with nervous energy, before whispering, “When will we know for sure?”
“I pulled some strings and got Remy an appointment on Thursday at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas.”
“Thursday? Texas?” Skye asked.
“We’ll fly to Houston on Wednesday afternoon.
On Thursday, Remy will meet with his team of doctors and have a battery of medical tests.
The doctors will discuss the results, and after talking to us, Remy will decide what to do.
If surgery is necessary, they’ll probably do it within a couple of weeks. ”
Skye’s head swam with fear, rising nausea making her wonder if the situation was far more urgent than Charlotte had let on. She needed the solid anchor of Remy’s voice—the quiet reassurance only he could give—to steady the frantic pounding in her chest.
“That’s so soon.”
“If the test results confirm the mass is malignant, they’ll want to remove it quickly.”
“Charlotte, tell me… honestly. What do you think this is?”
“If Remy’s father hadn’t died from testicular cancer, I would have more confidence that the mass was benign. But since he did, Remy’s risks increase four to six times compared to the general male population.”
Skye exhaled a shaky breath, the sound barely audible over the roar in her ears. The truth pressed down on her, a suffocating weight that turned her bones to lead. The sheer scale of it all was terrifying, and she needed a way back to solid ground.
“Please, can we just hit pause for a minute? Focus on the show and being here in New Orleans? It’s probably a terrible thing to ask. Still, considering what’s ahead, we need to grab onto something else, even if it’s just a short distraction.”
“That’s what I said to Remy. This trip, this weekend… he’s been planning it for a year. He needs to focus on his music and on you. Let’s help him find that focus.”
“Who knows?”
“You, me, David, and Elliott. Remy wants to keep it quiet for now, and David promised he wouldn’t tell Kenzie.”
“I won’t tell anyone. But I have another question. If Remy feels like making love, can we?”
“Having sex has no effect on the lump. But Remy’s libido and sexual comfort might be impacted by the emotional distress he’s under. He’s afraid he can’t get an erection and, if he does, that he can’t sustain one.”
“So we shouldn’t have sex?”
“The two of you will have to make that decision together. There are other ways you can stimulate each other. You don’t have to have intercourse.”
“I’ve never had such an explicit conversation.”
“That’s why I’m here. Remy thought I could answer your questions better than he could.”
“After watching the two of you in surgery, I think he could have answered my questions,” Skye said, her voice tight and raw around the edges. She dragged a clean tissue across her cheekbones. “I can’t show up downstairs with tear streaks on my face.”
“Go to the bathroom and wash your face,” Charlotte suggested, her tone softening slightly. “No one will notice, and if the guys do, they’ll assume it’s from exhaustion and adjusting to your new life.”
Heavy boot heels slammed a staccato rhythm against the bare wooden steps. Skye spun around, a knot tightening in her stomach—please, not David, Clay, or Rick. They’d demand to know what bothered her.
But it was Remy. He halted on the landing, his gaze heavy and clouded.
The usual sparkle in his deep eyes had vanished, replaced by a profound weariness that made Skye’s heart nearly splinter.
With a choked sob, she rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as the world narrowed to the sound of his unsteady breath.
“I’m so sorry you have to deal with this.”
“If you’d rather not—”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Shhh. I’ll go to all your appointments and take care of you.
You won’t go through this alone. No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you.
It’s where I want to be, but please be honest with me.
I can’t read your mind or interpret your moods. Always tell me what you need from me.”
Charlotte walked toward the steps. “I’m going to the hotel. If you need me, send me a text.”
Skye let go of Remy and gave Charlotte a tight hug. “Thank you. Our conversation reminded me of the ones I had with my mother. Not the topic, but your honesty and thoughtfulness mean so much to me.”
Charlotte hugged her longer and tighter. “I’ll be here for you, just as I’ve always been for Remy. Whatever you need, call me.” When Charlotte let Skye go, tears welled up in her expressive eyes. “I can’t wait to hear you sing tonight. Break a leg.”
Remy hugged Charlotte, too. “Thanks, Doc.”
Charlotte left, and Skye led Remy to the leather sofa. “Come sit with me for a minute.”
He draped a heavy arm around her trembling shoulders, hauling her against his side, and they sank into a tense, breathless quiet that settled between them like dust. The air thrummed with unspoken fears until he finally broke the spell, his voice a low rumble: “Did Charlotte ease your fears, or did you hoard the worst of them for me?”
His tender voice slipped through her veins so seductively that she couldn’t think of anything to ask, so she fell back on the topic she could always talk about. “Do you think Rick and I should sing a different duet tonight?”
Remy chuckled. “I wasn’t asking about the show.”
Her gaze flickered downward in a moment of sheer vulnerability, a futile attempt to shield herself, before her chin tilted upward, her eyes resolutely locking with his.
She knew instantly there was no shelter from this truth, no place left to hide.
An uncomfortable tension hung heavily in the air.
Still, she pushed past it, understanding that an unflinching, open conversation was no longer merely important—it was essential.
“I know, but it got a chuckle out of you,” she said lightheartedly.
He took her hand, placed it on his thigh, and put his hand over hers.
“Discussing body parts and bodily functions has always been easy for me, but I know other people aren’t like that.
You can ask me anything. It woan embarrass me.
I just thought it would be easier for you to hear it from Charlotte than from me. ”
Skye took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Because it might embarrass me.”
“There’s no judging. I want us to have an open, honest, and non-critical relationship, which will be a first for me. I never cared until I met you, and I want to know what’s on your mind.”
“So it won’t bother you if I ask a dumb question?”
“There are no dumb questions. You’re naturally curious, and I want to encourage that.”
“Okay, then, here goes. Charlotte told me about the lump and what would happen if it was cancer. That scares me, but she said treatment is much better now. And it’s possible it’s just a cyst. Whatever it is, we’re in this together, Remy.”
“I woan hold you to that.”
The crackling in his voice reached down into her chest and squeezed her heart. How could she reassure him that she wanted to be held to that? “It might be a rough few months, but please don’t doubt my love and commitment.”
“You want to pursue your music. I doan want to stand in your way.”
“There is no music without you. I couldn’t sing after my parents died. What makes you think I’ll enjoy music if you’re sick? Whatever happens, we’ll do it together.” She turned his head toward her, and her lips were so close to his she could almost taste them.
His fingers threaded into her hair, and his mouth came down over hers. The kiss consumed her, and she fell even more in love with him. Her tongue moved in time with his, her breasts pressed against his chest, and she moaned softly against his mouth.
“Hmmm.” This was more than a kiss. It was a fusion, and for half a minute, they greedily indulged themselves. She didn’t intend this kiss to lead to more discoveries, but one of commitment and promise.
When he broke the kiss, he brushed the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, and pleasure rippled through her at his gentle touch.
“We can worry when we know for sure what we’re dealing with,” he said. “For now, let’s enjoy the music, the food, our friends, and each other.”
“Okay,” she said in a whisper.
“Hey, Remy,” Clay yelled up the stairs. “The second half is starting.”
“I should have added ballgames. Do you mind if I finish watching the game?”
A lighthearted laugh escaped Skye as she grabbed a decorative pillow and swatted him with affectionate, playful force.
It was then that she noticed the bulge in his pants, and his desire thrilled her.
He wanted her, and she wanted him. “I don’t mind.
I’m going to listen to music and focus on tonight’s show.
But if you get bored with the game, come find me. ”
Remy grinned and glanced down at his lap. “Looks like I’m already bored.” He jumped to his feet and swept her up into his arms. “Fuck the game.”
“Where are we going?”
“To find one of the unoccupied bedrooms up here. We can’t get to ours downstairs without drawing attention.”
“We’re going to do this now?” she squealed.
“Now!” he said with a sensual promise in his voice and in his eyes.