Doc (Ruthless Kings MC #7) - K.L. Savage Page 0,51
apart if I’m guessing correctly.
“Oh, it’s fine. That sounds like Eric. He doesn’t ask. He’ll just throw you over his shoulder and do what he wants, but he always means well.”
I twist the fork in a circle, gathering the noodles in a hurricane of homemade sauce. “You said you needed to talk to me about something? I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier. A lot of stuff went down at the clubhouse—”
“She knows you’re in a motorcycle club?” Jo gasps, and the piece of chicken on her fork falls off into the bowl.
“Psh, Jo, I’ve known more bikers than you will in your entire life. Most of the time, they are good men and always willing to lend a hand. Isn’t that right, Eric?” Mom asks me, patting her lips elegantly with a red cloth napkin. She’s reminding me of when Demon’s Fury MC came and cleaned up Dad’s body and stitched me up.
Their doctor did a good job, but there was no saving my back. It’s fucked up. Forever. The scars are sensitive and painful, some days more than others.
“Right, Mom.” Jo is silent, nibbling on a noodle. “So, what did you want to talk about?” I shove another bite in my mouth and chew.
“We can wait until dinner is over. Enjoy your food.” Mom keeps her head down, and my hackles raise. That isn’t like her. She’s jovial, honest, and doesn’t give a damn where she lays the truth. Whether it’s on the dinner table or at someone’s funeral. Mom lives on the truth.
“Mom, don’t lie to me.” It makes my fingers itch for my scalpel to start making cuts. “You don’t lie. You know better. What is it?”
“Eric, don’t you take that tone with me,” she warns.
My fists clench on the table, and the air around us changes from happy and welcome, to thick with tension. Jo sips her water and swallows loudly, placing the green Pellegrino bottle on the table.
“Maybe we should go,” she says.
“No, I’m not leaving until she tells me what’s going on.”
“Eric—”
“Mom!” I slam my fist on the table so hard, the glass water bottle topples over, rolls off the edge of the table, and shatters on the floor.
Mom stands up and throws her napkin down, then leans her hands on the table, and grips the edge. “You better realize who you’re talking to, son. You will respect me in my house!”
“Why won’t you tell me? You’re freaking me out. This isn’t like you. Did you meet someone? You know I’ve been wanting you to. I don’t like that you’re alone in this house—”
“Eric, no, I haven’t met anyone.” Mom lays her hand against her neck and sits down as if she’s in pain.
“Then, what is it? Just tell me, stop dragging it out. I don’t like lies. Don’t lie to me about it. You know how that makes me feel.”
“You and I need to talk in private.” She starts to get up for us to go to another room, but I shake my head.
“No, anything you want to say, you can say in front of Jo. I’ll tell her anyway.”
“It’s okay. I can give you two some space. It isn’t a problem.”
“No,” my mom and I say at the same time, and Jo pushes her bowl forward and lays her hands in her lap.
We fall into an awkward silence, and Jo reaches for my hand for support. Whatever is about to happen, I’m going to need it. It’s bad—the news. Mom isn’t like this. She’s always been about ripping off the band-aid.
“Eric, I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer.”
“No. No, you haven’t. You haven’t,” I deny and let go of Jo’s hand. I plop back in the chair, my scars burning once again from stress. “No, you know what? Breast cancer can be treated. There are options. We can beat it, Mom. It’s okay. It’s fine. We will figure it out.”
“I’ve had breast cancer for two years, Eric. Treatment isn’t working. The doctor has diagnosed me with stage four. Nothing else can be done. I’ve stopped all treatment.”
I blink at her in disbelief. She wouldn’t have hidden this from me. Plus, I would have noticed. I’m a fucking doctor. All this time I could have helped—I could have been here. I would have moved in. “What?” is all I can say because my mind is running so fast. I can’t think of anything else to say. “You hid this from me?” The truth and immensity of her lie hits me. I take my fork