Page 3 of Sassy Surrogate
For the first time since she broke the news of her ill health, I see a spark of animation – a flare of irritation in her eyes. That’s more like it. I hate seeing the devastation in them.
“What exactly is it you’d like me to say, Heath? Would it make you feel better if I said that the tumour will continue to grow until it kills me as my brain is squashed like a helpless bug between my skull and the mass? Does that satisfy your need for a less ‘clinical’ approach?”
Each harsh word is like a blow, highlighting the stark reality she faces. And instead of understanding her situation, I behaved like a dick. Pushing her. So typical of the way things have become between us since I asked for the divorce.
“Jesus.” Scrubbing a hand over my face, I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I repeat in the space of a couple minutes. “That was insensitive of me. I’m kinda on the back foot here. That, however, doesn’t excuse being an ass. So, I repeat, I’m sorry.”
Astonishment flashes across her face, but she doesn’t say a word.
Getting to my feet, I pace away to the opposite side of the room and back. As I scramble for something to say, I stare at my feet as if the answer I seek is in the shiny patent leather of my shoes. Being at a loss here pisses me off. Control is essential to my equilibrium. Without it – well, let’s just say it’s a place I’d rather not go.
“So where does that leave us? Where to from here?”
Grief replaces the irritation in her eyes. “At the risk of sounding dramatic, today is goodbye for you and me, Bear.” I feel the slice of emotional pain at her use of the childhood nickname she gave me so many years ago. “My doctor has given me the name of a facility in Switzerland that can give me the treatment I need to slow the tumour’s growth. It’ll buy me a little extra time to put my affairs in order and make peace with my situation as best I can. So I’m relocating there. I leave for Lausanne in a week.”
“Fee –” The lump in my throat prevents me from saying more. I clear it and try again. “I– surely you’re not going on your own?”
She shakes her head. “No, my sister’s going with me. She’ll stay with me until…”
Jesus. How did we go from fighting every time we’re in the same space to this– this… I don’t have words for whatthisis. My heart aches, but I need to put it away. I have a million things to do and, if I’m being brutally honest, I’d rather not deal with this right now. Yes, that makes me a selfish bastard, but I struggle with emotion. Or, more specifically, dealing with emotion.
At the thoughts that riot through my mind, I’m ashamed of myself, knowing Felicia doesn’t have the luxury of “dealing with this later”. This is her reality. One she now lives with daily. A desperate need to get the hell off this call crashes over me, and I tug at my shirt collar, which suddenly seems too tight.
“I have to go,” I blurt. I reach out to disconnect the call, but at the last second a thought pops into my mind. “I’d like to see you, if you’re willing?”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
“Okay, good. Great. I’ll, er– I’ll call you to make arrangements before I fly out.” Turning to Noah, I say, “I’ll be in touch.”
Not looking at either of them again, I disconnect the video call. Reeling at Felicia’s news, I’m uncertain as to what to do. I abhor feeling helpless or out of control. It makes me want to throw something. Anything. God, I need to get out of here.
Reaching into my pocket for my cell phone, I dial Kieran’s number as I dash out of my office. Thankfully my executive assistant, Rebecca, is away from her desk. I wave a hand in the air in acknowledgement of the receptionist’s goodbye as I dash down the hall, not stopping until I reach the bank of elevators.
“Heath?” Kieran answers my call.
“Where are you?”
There’s a beat of silence before he replies, “I’m downstairs, three bays down, to the left of the front door.”
That silence tells me Kieran has tuned into the fact that something is wrong. He’s far too perceptive for comfort. But I guess that’s what makes him so incredibly good at his job as my bodyguard, driver and long-time friend. And after working together, first in the military and now in the private sector, there are days I swear the man knows me better than I know myself.
I push impatiently at the elevator call button, cursing it for being so slow. Feeling like my collar is chocking me, I yank my tie down and undo the top button. As I reach to punch the button yet again, the car arrives with a muted ding.
2
Danica
An almighty commotion at reception has the office staff craning their necks to see what’s going on. There’s scuffling and yelling, and then the sounds of furniture crashing. It takes a moment to penetrate, but when it does, everything in me freezes.
“Get your filthy hands off me, damn it.”
The yelling sounds like my dad. A pretty drunk one at that.
Please God, tell me I’m hallucinating.Pleasejust let it be my imagination. Because if it is my dad, guaranteed things will not end well for me today. My boss has been gunning for me for forever, just waiting for an excuse to get rid of me. Any excuse. Ever since a “confidential” complaint to HR was passed on to her, she has gone out of her way to make my life here a living hell.
Although, on second thought, maybe her firing me wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all. It means I’d be able to get away from her sooner rather than later. Sighing, I decide to take the bull by the horns and go find out for myself exactly what’s happening out there. However, all I get a chance to do is push my chair back from my desk when three grown men come crashing through the glass doors to the inner offices.
The sound of glass shattering, men cursing, and bodies hitting the ground is loud in the suddenly silent space. Not so much as a murmur. Even the telephones are unnaturally quiet. Just this weird silence that hangs in the air until a voice bellows.
