Emergency Engagement by Beck Samanthe

Author:Beck, Samanthe [Beck, Samanthe]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Entangled: Brazen
Published: 2016-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Beau scraped the feet of his chair against black and white octagonal tiles of the restaurant floor as he pushed back from the table. He crossed his arms and tried to emulate his father’s calm expression while his mom chatted matter-of-factly about going under a surgeon’s knife in a week to remove cancer from her body.

If he pulled off the outward calm, he deserved an Academy Award. While he waded into grisly scenes on a routine basis at work without so much as a hard swallow, the idea of his mom’s surgery made his head pound, his palms sweat, and the full rack of Memphis-rubbed ribs he’d just finished threaten a stampede. The restaurant filled with young families and retirees at this early hour suddenly seemed too loud and way too hot. The trademark red-and-white-striped decor boasted holiday flourishes in addition to the normal overload of vintage signs and regional memorabilia, and the exuberance of color attacked his retinas.

A slim, cool hand slid over one of his. Savannah. She was a sight for sore eyes, with her blonde curls cascading down the back of her slouchy black sweater, one shoulder on display courtesy of the wide neckline. Skinny white jeans clung to her slim thighs and disappeared into the tops of high black suede boots.

The boots had launched an armada of fantasies when he’d seen her standing at his door tonight, but now he felt nothing but gratitude as she sat next to his mom, listening attentively while she casually swept her fingertips along his tense knuckles. He uncrossed his arms and took her hand, wove his fingers between hers, and held tight. She spared him a warm glance and a quick smile before turning again to his mom and saying, “I can’t believe it’s an outpatient procedure.”

His mom nodded. “The tumor is small and there’s no sign the cancer has spread, so I’m looking at simple lumpectomy and a sentinel lymph node dissection. The procedure itself will take less than an hour. Then I go to recovery, wake up, get dressed, and this handsome fellow”—she gestured to his dad—“takes me home. The next week I’ll have a follow-up appointment with my surgeon, but assuming clear margins and no cancer present in the lymph nodes, I’m done.”

Assuming. Another word he disliked. Assuming clear margins and negative lymph nodes didn’t guarantee such an outcome. Falling short of assumptions meant additional, much more invasive surgery, maybe chemotherapy, radiation, and years of maintenance medications. Again, with no guarantees. The vital, energetic woman who’d bandaged his skinned knees and nursed his every fever when he was a kid might be embarking on a long, painful battle with a killer, and there was nothing he could do about it. He hated feeling so helpless.

“The surgery happens next Tuesday?” Savannah asked, and gave his hand a squeeze. The gesture made him realize he’d been holding hers tightly. Probably too tightly. He forced his fingers to relax and attempted to draw away. She stilled his retreat without missing a beat in her conversation with his mom.

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