Page 56 of Force Play

“Hey, I’m Beck, mind if I—” Before the question is even out, she drops into the chair beside me. “Oh yeah, this is the spot.”

“Uh, it’s all yours,” I say, offering her a half wave in introduction. “Indie.”

I’ve always thought I had a lot of nervous energy, but Beck can’t stop tapping her foot next to me. It doesn’t stop until the facilitator calls on her. We are the last two to go and I’m no more excited to introduce myself now than I was ten minutes ago. The room is filled with cancer survivors, children of survivors, and those who have lost a loved one to cancer.

“Everyone knows me, so I’m just going to skip my usual song and dance to introduce my new friend Indie instead.”

This takes me by surprise since the only thing she knows about me she already revealed, but if it means I don’t have to introduce myself, I’m happy to give her the floor.

Shifting in her chair so she can study me for a moment she says, “Indie is a Leo, who loves adventure, hates cancer, and wishes she was on a tropical vacation instead of here.”

Well, that was eerily accurate. “Close. I’m a Cancer by a date, but identify as a Leo. Ironic, I know. I love adventure, but it hates me right now,” I say, wiggling my foot. “But the other two are totally true.”

“And what brings you here today?” Beck asks, completely ignoring the facilitator, who’s clearing her throat in an attempt to regain control of her meeting.

“Dr. Smith coerced me into coming, very nicely, but it was not how I planned on spending my day. My mother passed away from ovarian cancer when I was in college.”

“Interesting. And why do you think she wanted you to come today?”

“Beck, let’s not—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll answer. That’s why I’m here.” Oddly enough, I mean that. Beck put me at ease making me feel like I’m talking to a friend instead of a room full of strangers. “I’m obviously high risk given my family history and I haven’t done genetic testing. Maryann—Dr. Smith encouraged me to come today before I decide about testing.”

“Ovarian, yikes, that’s rough. Breast cancer mom here, double mastectomy for my eighteenth birthday. My sister and I both lost the BRAC1 lottery, and she’s currently fighting pancreatic cancer.”

“You’re not really convincing me to get the test.”

“Not trying to. That’s up to you. Knowing she was positive made her hypervigilant about her health and it made me just give fewer fucks about everything that wasn’t life and death. It all boils down to what you make of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Nope, it’s given me the freedom to live my life the way I want to—without fear. But it looks like you already do that.” She glances down at my foot.

Yeah, I’m not so sure that’s true.

Eventually Daphne wrangles the meeting out of Beck’s grasp. By that point, my mind is spinning out of control. Heaviness where the boot weighs me down just serves as a reminder that there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I can’t run to escape the turmoil boiling inside of me at Beck’s story.

Remaining seated during the moment of gratitude at the end of the meeting is next to impossible, my skin itches and my mind races. I limp to the door the second we end, digging through my belt bag, blindly searching for my phone to call an Uber. Driving with this boot on doesn’t seem smart, especially in my current state

Something cool and metal brushes against my fingertips.

Keys. Not just my keys, but Dom’s too. Not that I planned to use it, but I added it to my ring so that I could return it the next time I bumped into him. Taking them out I examine them in my palm. Swimming might help work out the questions churning in my mind. It’s really my only option unless I want to go home and stew.

But I can’t do that. Driving with this boot strapped to my foot and my mind like a battlefield wouldn’t be smart. Home is not where I want to be, anyway. I want to be outside biking or hiking until there’s nothing left but boneless exhaustion. The stories shared in the meeting, this injury, and the constant pressure of the decisions I need to make are fighting against each other putting me into a tailspin.

Pocketing the keys, I enter his address into my phone. My hands tremble and it takes a few tries to get the car ordered. Three minutes has never felt longer as I watch the tiny car on my screen circle a block over, navigating the traffic and one-way streets so he can get to me.

When he pulls up to the curb, I’m practically diving into the car before he’s fully stopped. That’s how badly I need to get out of here, and the sideways glance he gives me in the mirror tells me I look as unhinged as I feel right now.

“Indie?” the driver asks.

I straighten, doing my best impression of someone who is not completely off their rocker. “Yep, that’s me.”

“Everything cool?” The amount of doubt in his eyes could fill an Olympic-sized pool.

Clearly, he’s not buying the fake smile plastered to my face. “So cool. Thanks.” Not at all.

The key I’m twisting in the lock fifteen minutes later doesn’t make me feel any less like a petty criminal performing some minor B&E. Once I’m inside, I take the key from my ring and set it on the counter. This is a one-time deal.

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