Page 57 of Assigned

Chapter Twenty-Five

Riley

Ilisten to Lucas stomp up the stairs. A few minutes later, the water turns on. I have a few minutes to think, to figure out what to do here, what’s right for me, for Lucas, and, most importantly, for Mason.

So much for the euphoria of life working out. I should have known better. I keep trying to prove I’m more than my disease and my disease keeps shoving me aside to show the world that it’s what I am—all I am.

Raking my hands through my hair, I let out an audible groan. Tara was a sign, one I missed. The universe’s way of telling me things won’t ever be normal. Look what happened to her. Even with me trying to help, the preteen wasn’t able to do what the other kids did. She needed someone by her side to help.

Like me. Which means if I can’t pull my own weight, I’m nothing more than a burden. Just look at the mess Lucas and poor Mason are in now because of me.

Maybe it’s time to stop fighting. Maybe it’s time to let him, let them, go. Find someone who is better suited for this family and their needs. Based on what Dr. Patel told me, the next few weeks are likely to be ugly. I’ll be even more of a burden, and what if Lucas gets sent away for work again? I won’t be reliable. I won’t be the strong one. I won’t be standing by his side. I’ll be curled up in bed in pain and we’d have to saddle one of the other wives to help care for me. Like they don’t have their own lives, their own families to care for.

And that’s the best-case scenario. If the operation Dr. Patel says I need doesn’t go well, if things go sideways like they did with my appendectomy... well, it could be months—hell, years—before I’m okay again.

And Lucas will sacrifice everything to take care of me. Though, not sure how much control he truly has when it comes to his job. But I know he’d try, even possibly throwing away all his hard work.

I have to go and I have to make sure Lucas doesn’t follow me. I drop my face to my hands. It’s a replay of what happened all those years ago between us. I’m going to have to hurt him to save him from himself. To save him from me.

The water’s still running upstairs, so I go back to my computer to work. But my mind is a mess. My stomach aches, my heart hurts, and my fingers shake. Why does doing the right thing, the best thing for someone you love, have to hurt so much?

Thirty minutes later, Lucas comes back downstairs. He looks into the living room, but seeing I’m on the phone, he heads into the kitchen. Once I am done speaking with a customer, I disconnect from the call center that transfers customers to my line and head into the kitchen myself to find my husband leafing through the pile of mail on the island and eating a turkey sandwich.

I straighten my spine, hoping the improved posture will give me the strength to get through this. “I think we should talk.”

He tosses the phone bill he’s holding on the table and takes the last bite of his sandwich. I walk to the island across from him, shoulders back and chin up. “I’m having some problems because of my Crohn’s.”

His gaze shoots to lock with mine. “Okay. How bad is it?”

His brows furrow, like he thinks this is a problem he can solve. But he can’t. I place my hands on the cool granite, as if it can support me both emotionally as well as physically. “It’s pretty bad. Worse than I let you think. In fact, it always has been. I’ve been a mess pretty much since the beginning. My meds stopped working not too long after I moved here.”

“That’s why your doctor’s appointment was an emergency? Why you couldn’t pick up Mason?” He looks so tired. I hate dumping this on him right when he’s come home from such a long time away, but if I don’t do it now, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to do it later. Another night in his arms and I may not be able to make myself leave.

“Yes, and it’s why I was hoping I could be part of a clinical trial, get access to some new drugs that might help.” I square my shoulders. “It hasn’t been easy. The drugs are expensive. So are the scans and the surgeries. It’s why I had to rely on my parents for everything. I hated it. I felt like I was suffocating. As soon as I went into remission, I moved to get away from them, but then I had to figure out how I was going to pay for what I needed to stay alive.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there and listens.

“I started having flare-ups and nothing I was doing helped. Everything that I might be able to try was too expensive. At least, it was with my insurance. But not with the kind of insurance a military spouse gets.”

I look down at my hands and fidget. I hate the things I’m going to say next. Time to come clean. Regardless, this was bound to come out sooner or later. “It’s why I joined the program.” I lift my head and look him directly in the eye, trying to keep the tears from forming in mine. “You kept saying something didn’t add up, that I was holding something back. You were right. I joined the program to get health insurance. It’s the whole reason I’m here. It’s the only reason I’m here. It’s why I’ve been trying to make you believe we’re really together again.” I watch the impact of my lie hit him.

Without a word, he picks up his keys and walks out the door.

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