Page 40 of Be My Baby

“What is the strongest drink you have? Nothing mixed.”

The chills shed goosebumps over his whole body. Lucy didn’t drink. Ever.

“Scotch? I have a really nice one in my office that’s not for sale. Happy to share it with you.”

She nodded, that dead-eyed look threatening to stop his heart.

He hurried to grab it, coming back to the bar within moments. He poured her a finger and placed it on front of her.

“I’ll be right back.”

Max practically ran to the front door of his bar and locked the latch with a sudden, deafeningclunkand flipped the sign in the window of the door toclosed. The sound of the lock engaging chilled his blood. By the time he’d returned, Lucy had finished the drink and pushed it toward the bottle, her demand for another obvious.

He poured himself a drink and splashed a little more into her glass.

“Play a game with me, Maximus?”

Max couldn’t even bring himself to smile at her favourite pet name for him. Something was very, very wrong and he had a horrible feeling deep in his gut that his life was about to change forever. He swallowed to relieve his dry throat.

“Sure.”

Lucy flicked the glass, spinning it around on the coaster.

“Three words. Give me three words that describe something important in your life.”

Max blinked and leaned forward, his elbows on the bar. He tried to catch her gaze, but she kept her eyes firmly glued to the wooden bar top.

“Okay. Family; friends; Cow. Now you.”

A slight, pained smile flickered at the edges of her mouth.

“Six. Months. Left.”

Max frowned. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, then the gravity of the words began to sink in.

Surely not?

He must have made a noise because she looked up and chugged the scotch in her glass, grimacing at the taste. Her unwavering gaze pierced him right down to his soul.

“Here’s another three for you, Maxie-boy—inoperable, brain, and tumour.”

Max gave up any attempt to speak. He could barely breathe. He shook his head.

Not Lucy.

She pushed his glass into his unresponsive fingers. “Drink up, buddy. Your face looks just like mine did after the doctor told me,” she looked at her watch, “oh, about half an hour ago.”

Max glanced down at the amber liquid in his glass, sparkling in the shaft of sunlight streaming down from the skylight above. It seemed indecent, that something so innocuous as a glass of spirits could look so nice sitting in a shaft of sunlight, when he’d heard such horrific words come from Lucy’s mouth.

“No,” he whispered.

Lucy tilted her head. “No to the scotch, or no…?”

Max shook his head harder. “No. It can’t be. This is some sick joke, right? The doctor has it wrong.”

Something resembling sympathy passed over her face. She reached over and grabbed his hand.

“I just came from Doc Farrell’s office. He had the results from the scans and blood tests I had done two days ago. You know, for the headaches I’ve been having? It’s a glioblastoma. Fast-growing and pretty much guaranteed to do me in. It’s in a spot they can’t get to without basically either killing me or incapacitating me beyond functioning.”

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