startle.
“I beg your pardon?” the doctor asks.
“I said…” Dean stands, his full height dominating the room and his face dark with anger, “are you fucking kidding me by calling this a game? You’re talking about my wife’s life, not a goddamned game. And you don’t know jack about her or us. So don’t you fucking tell her what she should or shouldn’t do, much less what kind of woman she is.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet, turning to stalk out the door.
“Dean, slow down.” I hurry after him, my stomach knotting. “Please.”
A curse snaps out of him. We reach the parking lot, and he lets go of my hand, striding away from me. He rests one hand against the side of the building and lowers his head. Even from a distance, I can see him shaking.
Pain squeezes my heart in a fist. I stop, unsure whether or not to approach him. I walk forward slowly and rest my hand on his back. The vibrations from his trembling are so deep they travel up my arm and into my bones.
“Dean.”
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn toward me. An unexpected surge of guilt hits me, filling my chest.
I did this to him. I’m the one causing him this torture, this pain. Me and my suddenly traitorous body.
I can’t bring myself to move closer, to wrap my arms around him and whisper words of comfort. I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell him everything will be okay when I don’t know if it will.
Dean pushes away from the wall and heads to the parking lot. The anger doesn’t leave him. It edges every one of his movements, from the way he jerks the car into gear to the way he unlocks the front door.
Over the next few days, the only time I see him suppress his anger is when he’s with the children, though I’m certain they can sense it as acutely as I can.
I don’t know what to do with Dean’s anger. My own anger is buried beneath so many other emotions that I don’t even know what or who I’m angry with. The universe? My body? Myself?
Mostly I’m just terrified.
God knows Dean and I have been locked away from each other before—because of our own insecurities, anger, lies, pain—but we knew we were the ones at fault and the ones who had to repair the damage. Never has something so insidious, so horrific, slithered into the space between us.
And since the day we met, not once has Dean flinched from any of the monsters threatening either me or our relationship. On the contrary—he’s drawn his sword and battled them all into retreat.
Now more than ever, I know my husband is gathering his weapons and devising a plan of attack, that he’ll be the first person charging into the war zone. It’s what he’s done all his life, what he does best.
But this, we both know, is different. This is the one monster my white knight can’t battle. The one he can’t even face.
Chapter 12
Olivia
December 1
We are deluged with information from all sources. Doctors, books, pamphlets, websites, counselors. Dean spends a great deal of time in his office, but I know he’s not researching medieval French chronicles.
Instead he’s delving into the chaotic maze of information about tumor stages, treatments, options, statistics, and doctor credentials. He’s reading medical articles, clinical trial reports, and he’s contacting oncologists and surgeons everywhere to ensure that I get the “best treatment” possible.
“Dean, there’s no reason for me to travel across the country,” I tell him after we’ve put the kids to bed. “Forest Grove Hospital is a top-rated institute, and the breast center is fully accredited. The doctors there are all excellent.”
“But these other places have access to more resources, clinical trials, state-of-the-art technologies,” he argues, his voice edged with frustration. “I’ll fly you anywhere for the best care, Liv. Anywhere.”
“Dean, love of my life.” I put down the dishtowel and approach him, reaching out to put my hand on his chest. “I would never want to be away from the kids for long periods of time. What would that do to them, knowing I was sick but not at home where I belong? And you couldn’t leave them or work, which would mean I’d have to go through whatever it is without you, and if you think for one second I could stand that, then I’m going to have to rethink my admiration of your brilliant mind.”
He doesn’t smile. A shadow