Page 82 of Riding the Edge

Chapter Twenty-five

It was a lot to absorb. One minute we were holding hands, silently praying for a miracle, the next we were both frozen with shock, scheduling an appointment for a double mastectomy. If I was having a difficult time taking it all in, I could only imagine how she felt and what she was thinking. While I kept reminding myself, the prognosis was good she was digesting the fact she would be losing a piece of herself and I didn’t know how to make that right.

“I have to call my kids,” she says hoarsely.

It’s the first time she’s spoken since we left the doctor’s office and it causes me to tear my eyes away from the road in front of me.

“You want me to do that for you?”

“No,” she says, glancing back at me. “I’d like it if you were with me when I told them though.”

“Whatever you need,” I reply.

She nods before looking away and getting lost in her thoughts. Five minutes later, I pull the Charger into her driveway. Before I can round the car and open the door, she slams it shut and walks past me. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I blow out a breath and follow her up the walkway. She fumbles with the keys for a moment before, I take them from her trembling hands. Unlocking the door, I step aside and let her in. I close the door behind me and watch as she digs inside her bag for her phone.

Giving her some privacy, I work at taking my boots off and make my way into the kitchen. Finding a half open bottle of Rosé in the refrigerator, I pour her a glass. Bracing my hands on the counter, I hang my head as I realize this is the first time I can’t fix something.

I can’t ride to her rescue.

I can’t scour the country for a cure.

All I can do is stand here and hold her hand.

Pour her a glass of wine and pray.

Remembering my grandmother’s rosary, I pull them from my back pocket. My thumb traces the cross and I send up a silent prayer. After a moment, I collect my bearings and grab the glass of wine. As soon as I step into the living room, I hear her release a sob. Setting the glass on the coffee table, I kneel in front of her and pull her into my arms. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I assure her I’ve got her, that she’s not alone.

“Let it out, Lady.”

“What am I going to tell them?” she cries.

“You’re going to tell them you have cancer and then you’re going to tell them you’re going to fight with everything in you,” I say, stroking her back. “You’re going to tell them the truth they already know, you were a survivor long before you were diagnosed with anything,” I add softly.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s the only truth worth knowing.

Maria has survived some shit in her life.

This is just another thing on the warrior's list.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pulling back from me. Sniffling, she wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Here,” I say, reaching for the wine glass. “Maybe this will calm you down.”

“I’m going to become a drunk,” she jokes.

“That’s what AA is for,” I reply, running the tip of my finger down the slope of her nose. “We’ve got this, Lady.”

Holding the glass in one hand, she reaches up and wraps her delicate fingers around my wrist without tearing her eyes from mine.

“I’m only going to say this once.”

Judging by the sorrowful look in her eyes, I already know what she’s going to say, and I quickly shake my head.

“Let me just say it,” she pleads.

“I thought we already said everything we needed to say.”

“That was before we knew.”

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