Page 18 of The Game
Chapter 9
Alyssa had slept fitfully, torn between memories of Dean, the fun they’d had, how he’d made her feel, and the sadness that sat like a rock in her gut.
It had seemed like such a good idea at first. She’d needed to forget about where her life was headed, about everything she’d left behind. And recruiting Dean’s help had seemed like a stroke of genius. He knew how to have fun, and he wasn’t the kind of guy to let his heart get involved. Not only had history shown her that, but he’d admitted it unashamedly.
Except she hadn’t counted on him becoming such an important part of her life. Over the past few weeks, she’d grown increasingly dependent on him. Each night when she went to bed, memories of their time together filled her head, and she woke up each day anticipating the next time she’d see him. He’d been like a drug to her; the stress and anxiety that had been threatening to engulf her since the moment she’d received her diagnosis had been reduced, manageable, since he’d come back into her life. She almost wished she could tell him how much he’d helped her—but that would mean telling him the truth. Doing that now would only hurt him, and she wasn’t prepared to inflict that kind of pain on him. Thankfully, he’d taken the news of her departure well, so she could rest easy in knowing he’d get on fine without her. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss spending time with him, wouldn’t miss seeing his cheeky grin and feeling his seductive touch.
At some point, after tossing and turning all night, she’d become aware of the pale morning light filtering through her window, heard an incessant buzzing coming from somewhere in the room, footsteps and her mother’s murmurs, a hand on her forehead, a weight on her bed. Only she hadn’t been able to open her eyes, couldn’t utter a word. It was as if a switch had been flicked and she could no longer function properly.
Now, gaining consciousness, she caught snippets of a conversation wafting through her open bedroom door from downstairs, sensed the light in the room had grown brighter. She managed, with intense concentration, to crack her eyelids open. Frowning, she blinked. Was that Dean’s voice?
‘Has she left for the airport yet? I tried calling early this morning. I need to talk to her. It’s important.’
‘The airport?’ Her mother’s voice. ‘I’m not sure what you mean. Alyssa isn’t going anywhere. She’s … still in bed.’
‘She told me she was leaving.’ A pause of bewilderment, then, ‘Is everything okay? Is she sick?’
Silence. And panic. Though she’d mentioned to her parents weeks ago that she’d run into Dean, she hadn’t told them about spending time with him. Deep down, she knew they would have made her feel guilty for keeping the truth from him. And now that truth was about to crash down on all of them.
Needing to act, to minimise the impact, Alyssa willed herself to move, but it was as if her limbs were anchored with weights.
She whimpered. The doctors had said this might happen. Chronic fatigue was a likely symptom as the disease progressed.
Her mother’s voice drifted through the door once more, only Alyssa couldn’t make out her words.
No!Shehad to be the one to talk to him. To tell him in her own words.
Focusing on one movement at a time, she managed to haul herself from the bed. Dragging her feet, she made it to the doorway and then to the banister at the top of the stairs.
‘Mum …’ She’d tried to make herself heard, but her voice came out weak, feeble.
Please stop talking!
Her mother appeared below, Dean at her shoulder, their faces white and drawn.
‘Alyssa, what are you doing?’ Her mother lifted her hands in warning. ‘You’re not well enough to be out of bed.’
Dean bounded up the stairs and was by her side in a second. Alyssa was suddenly conscious of wearing only a T-shirt and her underwear, but she didn’t care. She’d been desperate to interrupt the conversation.
‘What’s going on?’ Dean’s voice cracked, his eyes wide with fear.
She opened her mouth, though she didn’t know why; she had no answer prepared.
‘Come on, sweetheart, back to bed.’ Her mother made it to the top of the stairs and motioned along the hallway.
Alyssa let go of the banister and tried to turn, but instinct had her reaching for Dean, and she latched on to his hand.
He had her in his arms in one swift movement and, with a worried glance, carried her to her room. After lowering her onto the bed, he pulled the covers over her.
Alyssa’s mother stood at the door, concern etched in her features, the corners of her mouth turning down as if she were only seconds away from bursting into tears.
‘I’ll leave the two of you to talk,’ she said as she pulled the door closed, her chin wobbling and her voice breaking.
Alyssa understood her mother’s reaction, her emotion. It was as if they’d been waiting for a bomb to go off. Now that it had, her health was likely to spiral downhill fast.
She closed her eyes and sank into her pillow, trying to contain the deluge of tears that threatened to escape. One broke free and trekked a path over her temple.
The mattress moved as Dean sat beside her, his thumb warm on her skin as he dried her cheek. Summoning what little courage she had, she opened her eyes. He stared at her, worry creasing his brow, though she could see he was trying to stay calm.
