Kitabı oku: «Found: His Family», sayfa 2
CHAPTER THREE
JED stared at the doctor’s lips, watching them move, hearing the words but having trouble processing them.
Acute lymphoblastic leukaemia.
The diagnosis sounded so much worse coming from the uptight medic in a too-tight white coat, the word ‘leukaemia’ reverberating around Jed’s head till he wanted to run from the room, find a secluded corner and curl up in a tight ball with his hands over his ears.
He’d had a similar gut-wrenching reaction when the head juror had pronounced his father guilty, and later when the judge had sentenced him to ten years behind bars.
‘You sure about this?’
He met the doctor’s disapproving gaze that read ‘how dare you question me?’ straight on, praying this was a mistake, that the doc would clear his throat, apologise and send them on their way with a prescription for antibiotics.
However, he’d given up on prayers being answered around the time his dad had done his first stint in jail and he knew without a doubt that his current plea to God was just as futile.
The doctor shook his head, his fingers toying with a fancy gold pen as he reinforced the news that sent a chill down his spine.
‘I’m sorry. We ran extensive tests and they were conclusive. Toby’s loss of appetite, fatigue, frequent nose bleeds and bruising had me concerned when Aimee first brought him in and I had a fair idea what we’d find.’
‘I see,’ Jed said, not seeing in the slightest, questioning the injustice of a world where the bad guys usually won and a helpless little boy had to cope with an illness like this.
‘What’s the treatment?’ To his credit, his voice remained steady while his insides roiled in one huge, anxious mess.
The doctor continued to fiddle with his pen, rolling it over and over with his fingers, and he had the sudden urge to lean over and slam his hand on top of it.
‘There are several components to treatment,’ the doctor said, his cool detachment annoying him almost as much as his fiddling fingers. ‘Toby has a good prognosis as his white blood-cell count is less than thirty thousand, and with chemotherapy and radiation therapy his chances of remission are high.’
Chemotherapy…radiation therapy…remission…
The words echoed through his head, banging and crashing their way through the neurons and triggering a blinding headache that left him paralysed.
Toby didn’t deserve this. Nobody deserved this. He’d seen the suffering on TV and in the newspapers, seen kids with pale faces, bald heads and brave smiles. His heart had gone out to them and now the son he’d only just discovered would go through the same torture all in the name of survival.
‘Of course, a bone-marrow transplant gives the best hope for not having a relapse.’
‘Is a transplant always necessary?’ Jed asked, bracing himself for the next bombshell this cruel man dropped. Though in all fairness, it wasn’t the doc’s fault. He was here to help them, and from now on they’d be placing a lot of faith in his skills. If only he’d stop tapping that damn pen on the file in front of him!
‘Not always. Some people are cured after just chemical intervention. However, it’s best to consider all possibilities.’ The doctor tilted his head forward and stared at him over the top of his steel-rimmed spectacles as if willing him to comprehend what he was telling him.
Damn, this wasn’t fair. The diagnosis, the fact Aimee hadn’t told him about Toby before this, the chance to be a dad to Toby ripped from him before he could try, even if he sucked at it.
In the midst of his self-pity, it struck him. Aimee had already gone through this, had heard the diagnosis, the treatment, the chances. Alone.
She’d gone through this horrible experience by herself, and suddenly the guilt returned. Guilt at how he’d treated her, how he hadn’t been around, how he’d never known his son and might not have that chance now. He needed to get over it and move on, for all their sakes.
‘Tell Jed about the transplant,’ Aimee said, a hint of steel threaded through the softness of her voice, and his admiration for her skyrocketed.
The doctor nodded. ‘An allogenic bone-marrow transplant usually comes from a sibling donor, from a relative or even a compatible stranger. We harvest the bone marrow, which is the liquid centre of bone, from the donor and the recipient gets it in an IV over one to five hours.’
‘IV? Oh.’ Jed winced, hoping his son didn’t have his phobia for needles. ‘What does the harvesting procedure involve?’
Though he had a sneaking suspicion he knew. His high-school biology wasn’t that rusty and he remembered covering BMT—bone-marrow transplants—in an assignment.
The doctor’s pen tapping increased as if he didn’t have time for such mundane questions and Jed briefly envisioned ramming that pen in a few places a pen shouldn’t be.
‘The donor is given an anaesthetic, a needle is inserted into the hip bone and the marrow drawn out. Harvesting the marrow takes about an hour and is more uncomfortable for the donor than the recipient.’
‘Great. About time you gave me some good news,’ Jed muttered, his sarcasm not lost on the doctor, who actually looked as if he might crack a smile for all of two seconds.
‘Anything else you’d like to ask?’ The doctor paused for a moment before rushing on, obviously none too keen on further questions. ‘If not, I’d like to have you tested as soon as possible.’
‘Just one more thing.’
All this medical talk of various treatment methods was fine but what if none of it worked? What if the unthinkable happened? What if Toby died?
The thought made Jed feel faint and he dropped his head forward, taking deep breaths till the spots before his eyes cleared.
‘Is he going to live?’
Aimee’s sharp intake of breath reverberated around the room and she tried to smother it with a forced cough. As if the scenario the doctor had painted for them in plain, harsh language wasn’t bad enough, he’d had to force the issue, to hear the reassurance he desperately craved.
He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment his mindset shifted but at some moment in time, as the doctor rambled on about treatment and prognosis, he’d suddenly realised that he wanted a chance with Toby. A chance at what he still hadn’t figured out, but he knew that just meeting the little guy wouldn’t be enough.
He may not know how to be a father.
He may not even want that kind of responsibility.
But right now he knew he wanted to take a chance and see what kind of man he was, what kind of a dad he could be.
And the realisation scared him to death.
The doctor pursed his lips in disapproval and sent him a glare over his specs. ‘We can’t give guarantees.’
‘No, I guess not,’ Jed said, the sudden realisation that even if he was compatible, that even if Toby underwent every form of life-saving treatment known to man he could still die hit home with the force of a hurricane with the potential to leave as much devastation in its wake.
‘Right. Let’s get this underway, then.’
If the doctor had appeared cold and detached before, he seemed positively frosty now. Must be his way of distancing himself in a world filled with bad news and worse.
‘You OK?’ Jed turned to Aimee as her hand fluttered nervously near her face, pushing a frizzy blonde strand out of her eyes, determined to show she wasn’t intimidated despite the solemnity of the occasion.
He’d always admired that about her, her ability to take on anyone and anything. Bold, brash and undeniably feisty, his Aimee had been a woman going places. Unfortunately, she wasn’t ‘his Aimee’ any longer and the only place they were both going for the next few months was straight to a living hell.
‘Yeah, how about you?’
‘I can do without the whole needle thing but I’m OK.’
Her lips twitched in a small, tight smile, drawing his attention to their shape, their fullness, reminding him how they had once contoured to his so perfectly. Before he felt like an absolute bastard for remembering something like that when Toby’s life was at stake.
‘Still don’t like needles, huh?’
‘I’ll survive,’ he said, wanting to kick himself for his poor choice of words as her mouth drooped and she paled.
‘I’m sorry—’
‘If you’ll follow me, we can get started.’ The doctor bustled back in the room, preventing him from trying to make up for that horrible gaffe. Though what could he do—take it back?
Hell. He hadn’t even met Toby yet and he was already bumbling along like a loser. What hope did he have?
‘Come on.’ Aimee stood up, her movements stiff and jerky, and before he knew what was happening the doctor had ushered them out the door and into the cold, sterile corridor that led to a waiting room jam-packed with people. People with pale faces, worried faces, people hoping for a miracle just as they were.
‘He’s going to be OK. We have to believe that,’ she said, her voice so soft he had to lean forward to catch her words, as if she was reciting an often practised mantra.
This was crazy.
A few hours ago he’d been a guy on top of the world, Australia’s answer to Jamie Oliver, whipping up gourmet meals in his award-winning restaurant in Sydney while hosting his own TV series on a weekly basis. A guy who enjoyed life, who valued fine food, good wine and cherished his private down-time when he loved to sail. A guy who’d been looking forward to catching up with an old flame, curiosity quickening his heartbeat in anticipation as to why she’d wanted to see him.
Now all that had changed. That carefree guy had become a father, a father of a sick child, and nothing would ever be the same again.
‘Your strength is amazing,’ he said, wanting to cup Aimee’s cheek, to savour the soft skin beneath his palm but unable to broach the huge emotional gap between them. That comforting hug back at the shop had only served to push them further apart; he’d been annoyed for being a softie when his anger was still raw and she’d looked downright uncomfortable. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re spot on. Toby’s going to be all right.’
He has to be, for all our sakes.
Her eyes misted but she didn’t cry, the gold flecks shining through her unshed tears, her bravery setting a clamp around his heart and squeezing, hard.
‘Yes, he’s going to be all right,’ she echoed, staring at him with fervent hope in her eyes, as he wished he had half her conviction.
Aimee slipped into Toby’s room while Jed underwent testing, being careful not to wake her sleeping son. She tiptoed across the faded linoleum floor imprinted with bunnies, wrinkling her nose at the pungent disinfectant smell so characteristic of hospitals. She hated it. Give her the smell of warm chocolate, cinnamon and baking any day.
Reaching his bedside, she stood over her beautiful son, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the dark blonde hair plastered to his scalp in messy whorls, his long eyelashes casting shadows against his pale cheeks. Swaddled in sheets, he looked so small, so helpless. So sick.
Toby had rarely been ill over the last five years, apart from a bout of chickenpox as a toddler and the occasional cold. He was a strong, resilient boy who loved to run along St Kilda beach, kicking his feet through the sand and frolicking in the waves during summer. He’d climb anything, jump off anything, his daredevil attitude leaving her with her heart in her mouth on several occasions.
But nothing like this.
Nothing like this totally useless feeling that consumed her, that ate away at her till she wanted to scream. Her son could be dying and there wasn’t one darn thing she could do about it.
Though contacting Jed had been proactive even if it was the last thing she’d wanted to do. She didn’t want him in her life, in Toby’s life. It could only lead to pain and disappointment and she’d already been there, done that.
Jed wasn’t a family man. He didn’t know the meaning of the word, while she’d raised Toby, built a flourishing business and created a comfortable home for them.
Uh-uh, there was no room for Jed in their lives yet fate had changed all that, had taken away her options.
And now he was here, bristling with anger, blaming her when he had no right. He’d given up his rights the minute he’d walked away from her without looking back.
Though at least he’d come when she’d asked and that had to count for something. Not only that, but she’d also seen him push aside his own feelings and concentrate on Toby, the son he’d just discovered. It took a big man to do that and, despite her own twisted bitterness towards him for ruining their future and breaking her heart in the process, she had to admire him for standing up when it counted.
Toby stirred, his head thrashing from side to side as if he was trapped in a nightmare. Her heart clenching with fear at the real, live nightmare they all faced over the next few months, she leaned forward, smoothed his brow and dropped a light kiss on his clammy forehead.
‘I love you, Tobes,’ she murmured, inhaling his little-boy smell the way she had used to when he was a baby, savouring their closeness, thanking God that he’d come into her life.
He snuffled and turned onto his side, snuggling into the blankets, a small smile playing around his mouth.
Yes, he was definitely a precious miracle she was thankful for every day. Now, if only Jed was compatible, the treatment worked and Toby lived the long, happy life he deserved, that would be a true miracle indeed.
Stifling the sob that rose in her throat, she swiped at her tears and crept from the room.
And walked straight into the man who held Toby’s life in his hands.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘TOBY’s sleeping,’ Aimee said, her gaze fixed on Jed’s lapels.
She couldn’t look him in the eye, not with the strange fluttering in her belly that began the minute he’d steadied her, his hands warm and firm against her bare upper arms. Darn it, she remembered that feeling all too well, the buzz of being held by him, the yearning to get closer.
But what was the deal now? Those feelings were long gone. She’d seen to that with the many nights she’d spent talking to the baby she carried, focusing on the new life growing inside her rather than the guy who’d helped create it. Being pregnant had been a godsend, channelling all her energy into a positive outcome rather than the assured pity party she would’ve thrown had she returned to Melbourne alone and broken-hearted.
‘Is he OK?’ Jed dropped his hands and looked at the door to Toby’s room as if he wanted to barge in there and see for himself.
‘Uh-huh. He’s always been a good sleeper, thank goodness, so once he’s out for the night he’ll sleep right through.’
‘Good.’
Their stilted conversation came to an abrupt end and she fiddled with the stitching on her bag, eager to escape Jed’s intimidating presence but unsure how to extract herself gracefully.
He was here and he was here to help. She needed to remember that, no matter how uncomfortable he made her feel.
‘I’m heading home,’ she said, trying not to squirm under his intense stare. Why was he looking at her like that, as if sizing her up?
‘Aren’t you staying?’
She heard the censure in his voice, the silent accusation that what sort of a mother was she to leave her sick child alone in hospital?
Hating her compulsion to justify herself to him, she said, ‘I hate leaving Toby but sleeping on a fold-up bed next to his bed wouldn’t help either of us. He’s a bright boy; he knows he’s unwell but not the severity of it. If I start staying over, he’ll know something is dreadfully wrong and I don’t want that. He needs to stay positive and I need to stay alert for the both of us.’
‘I see.’ By the thinness of his compressed lips, he didn’t. ‘What time will you be back in the morning? I’d like to meet our son.’
Our son.
Why did the sound of Jed’s deep voice saying those two simple words have such a devastating effect on her?
Maybe because she’d always thought of Toby as hers.
Maybe because there hadn’t been ‘our’ anything between them for so long.
Or maybe she was so darned scared of what letting Jed into their lives could do.
She needed calm right now, not havoc, and though Jed’s presence here was important for medical reasons she could do without the emotional complication.
‘I have to speak to Marsha, the manager at the shop, first thing in the morning but I should be here about ten.’
He didn’t look happy. So what was new? He hadn’t stopped giving her dirty looks since she’d told him about Toby, his anger a palpable entity that radiated off him in nasty waves and all directed at her.
‘Look, I know this has to be tough on you but you’re here now and waiting another twelve hours isn’t going to make a difference.’ She laid a tentative hand on his sleeve, once again annoyed at the little sizzle of heat that arced between them.
This couldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t be happening, not with Toby lying in there, fighting for life.
Dropping her hand quickly, she was unprepared for his light touch under her chin as he raised her face to look into his.
‘Stop trying to tell me how I’m thinking or feeling. You don’t know how tough this is on me. In fact, you don’t know anything about me any more. So just drop it, OK?’
The pain in his eyes ripped into her and she blinked in an effort to shield herself from it. For a guy she’d assumed would make lousy father material, he sure was more emotionally connected than she’d given him credit for.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her whisper hung in the awkward silence between them, till the faint beeping of a patient’s monitor disrupted the unnatural quiet in the corridor.
‘Sorry for what? Sorry for lying to me all these years? Or sorry you’re going to have to let me into Toby’s life now?’
‘That’s unfair.’ She averted her gaze quickly but his grip on her chin tightened, forcing her to look at him.
‘Is it? Rather rich, seeing as I’m the one who should be crying unfair right about now.’
‘Why are you doing this? Punishing me isn’t going to help Toby. I thought we sorted the problems between you and me back at the shop.’
For a long, interminable second he stared into her eyes and the pain shifted, replaced by another emotion she couldn’t define or didn’t want to, as his gaze lowered to her lips for a moment before returning to lock on to hers.
Her heart tripped as his grip on her chin softened and he leaned towards her an infinitesimal inch, a subtle heat smouldering in his golden eyes.
No way. That banked heat had to be anger, disgust, anything other than need, surely?
And to make matters worse, her pulse raced at the thought.
‘You don’t know the meaning of punishment,’ he said, his soft, minty breath fanning her face way too close before he dropped his hand and stepped away, running a hand through his hair and adding to the dishevelled air he’d had about him since the testing.
The test! She’d been so caught up in the awkwardness between them, she hadn’t even asked how it had gone. As for his cryptic comment, she assumed he was referring to her not telling him about Toby and she chose to ignore it, too tired to fight any more.
‘How did the testing go?’
He grimaced and showed her the back of his hand, where a faint purplish bruise was already taking shape. ‘I hate needles for a reason. Damn medicos can never find a vein in my elbow crease so they always go for the back of my hand and it hurts like hell.’
‘Poor baby,’ she crooned, surprised by her urge to tease and even more surprised by her smile. That was twice in one evening he’d made her smile when she hadn’t felt like it in days.
In a way, having Jed around could be a good thing and not just as a potential donor for Toby. If she was completely honest with herself, she liked having a male around who didn’t depend on her totally, who could pick up the slack or who could just be there if she needed him. Not that she could count on Jed. She’d learned that the hard way.
‘Guess a kiss to make it better is out of the question?’ He held out his hand, staring at it in mock dismay as if the tiny bruise had developed into a giant haematoma.
Her lips twitched at the startling similarity between father and son, Toby pulling this same trick last month when he’d jammed his finger in the fridge door—while pilfering a vanilla slice she’d said no to!
‘Maybe not.’
Jed’s eyes were riveted to hers in wide-eyed shock as she kissed her fingertips and casually tapped them on the back of his hand. ‘There, all better.’
Shaking his head, he thrust the all-better hand into his trouser pocket, glaring at her with irritation. ‘You still confuse the hell out of me.’
Her smile faded as reality intruded.
The way she saw it, there had been no confusion in their happy relationship. Until she’d introduced the topic of forever and he’d started playing hide and seek, that was. Then there had been confusion and plenty of it, unfortunately all on her part.
‘I have to go.’
Her sharp response shattered the last of any lingering camaraderie that she’d falsely created with her teasing. What had she been thinking anyway? Getting along with Jed for the sake of Toby was one thing, getting too familiar another.
It was his fault with that unexpected look he’d given her, the one which screamed ‘I still think you’re hot’. Or was it hers, a spot of wishful thinking tainting her reactions to the one man who had once rocked her world?
Either way, she needed to get out of here. Away from Jed, away from his all-seeing eyes, away from the temptation of staying by his side just because it felt so darn good to share her problems with someone else.
‘I’ll give you a lift,’ he said, fishing his keys out of his pocket and standing back to let her lead the way.
‘No!’ she practically shouted before lowering her voice with effort as he raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll take a taxi and you head back to your hotel. You must be exhausted after the day you’ve had. After all I’ve dumped on you. In fact—’
‘Shh.’ His finger against her lips stopped her babbling while kick-starting her pulse again. It hammered and tripped and pounded its way through veins suddenly way too small for all that blood, depriving her oxygen-starved brain of a much needed jolt.
‘I’ll drop you off. Besides, I’m staying at the Bayside Novotel just down the road from you. Come on.’
Why couldn’t she move? Say something? Do something? She didn’t want to be confined in his snazzy hire car. She didn’t want to talk or smile or feel any of the other crazy things he’d made her feel over the last few hours.
She wanted to go home to bed, to think, to pray for her little boy and to forget every reason why this man made her feel so protected, so comforted, when he had no intention of sticking around for the long haul.
‘Aimee? You’re swaying on your feet. Let’s go.’
The last of the fight drained out of her and she followed him, blowing a silent kiss in Toby’s direction.
Her son would meet his father tomorrow and heaven help her if she didn’t handle it a lot better than the last few hours with Jed.
Jed looked out of his hotel window, his absent-minded stare taking in the glittering lights of Melbourne in the distance, the sweep of the shoreline of Port Phillip Bay and the neon glow from bars and restaurants in a bustling St Kilda on his doorstep.
Usually he loved the bright lights, the razzle-dazzle of any city at night, and he’d been around the world to quite a few. Before his stint on Dunk Island and the events that had changed his life, he’d worked in Bali, Singapore and Hong Kong, cooking up a storm at various five-star hotels.
Then he’d met Aimee and nothing had ever been the same again.
Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the cold glass, enjoying the cooling effect on his throbbing head. He had a blinder of a headache and, with the jumbled thoughts swirling through his mind, it looked as if it wouldn’t abate in a hurry.
When he’d first walked into the patisserie earlier this evening and seen Aimee, his heart had slammed into his ribcage as the years rolled back. She looked the same: blonde curls in a tantalising mess around her heart-shaped face, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners while she was deep in thought, her full lips pursed ever so slightly.
Then she’d turned to face him and he knew he was wrong. She didn’t look the same, she looked amazing, despite the smudge of icing sugar along her jaw and the dark rings of fatigue under her eyes. Not that they were any surprise, considering the bombshell she’d dropped on him.
He had a son. Toby.
And it was just as terrifying now as when she had first told him.
At least his anger had abated some, though he still felt like finding a kitchen somewhere and whipping up a gourmet meal for a hundred or so. Where his mates channelled their fury into kick-boxing and triathlons, he preferred whipping up a frenzy in the kitchen as an outlet for pent-up emotion, and man, was he on overload at the moment.
He’d barely absorbed the news he was Toby’s father before Aimee lumped the rest of it on him, the worst part, about Toby’s illness, and his anger had kicked in all over again.
What if his marrow wasn’t compatible? What if he didn’t know how to be a father at a time when Toby needed him the most? What if Toby hated him on sight?
Hell, he hadn’t even got into that with Aimee. How much had she told Toby? Did the boy know he had a father and, if so, what was his excuse for staying away for the first five years of his life?
The pain in his head increased as he contemplated questions he had no answers to.
He’d had this trip all planned out: see Aimee, hear her out, try to rekindle some of their old magic and see what happened.
Though she wouldn’t believe him, he’d changed. He’d done his duty, standing by his dad when he needed him the most. However, there wasn’t much he could do now apart from paying regular visits to the prison and, while the rest of his life had taken off like a rocket for outer space, his personal life lacked spark.
Sure, he had women schmoozing up to him all the time. TV did that for a bloke. But they were all fake, arm-candy types from the tops of their blonde foils to their nipped and tucked bottoms. He dated, he socialised but no one came close to filling the void Aimee had left when they’d split up and her urgent plea to see him couldn’t have come at a better time.
So he’d thought.
Now he had a woman who still despised him for the secrets he’d had to keep years ago, a son whom he suddenly found himself wanting to know yet paralysed with fear of inadequacy, and a situation he had no control over.
That’s bull and you know it. You’ve been in charge of your own destiny since you were fourteen years old and the old man did his first stint behind bars. You’re in control. You always have been.
Jed blinked in surprise at the ferocity of his voice of reason but it did the trick. He straightened, rubbed a weary hand over his eyes and headed for his laptop.
He had things to do, a life to prioritise.
So what if he hadn’t come to terms with his new role as a dad yet?
So what if he was so scared of failure he wanted to bolt back to Sydney as if none of this had ever happened?
The simple fact was, his son needed his help and he either stood up or wimped out, the second not an option.
Starting right now, Toby came first and everything else could be delegated or rescheduled. He may not be able to control the length of time he had with his son but by God he’d make every second count.
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