Page 38 of One Night Only
Cautiously, I step out of the bathroom, pausing in the doorway at the sight of Dallas sitting on the bench at the foot of his huge bed, elbows resting on his knees as he stares out at the view of the city, wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts.
My God, the man is unfairly attractive.
“There she is.” That dimpled grin blooms across his facewhen he looks up, his eyes doing a slow, sweeping assessment of me wearing his jersey and nothing else. He stands, raking his fingers through his hair which is now a floppy, haphazard mess, and he huffs a hard exhale. “Damn, girl… I will never get tired of the sight of you in my jersey.”
With a shy smile, I tug on the hem of the jersey, flushing from his words and the look in his eyes as I walk tentatively toward him.
“Feel better?” His voice is soft and low, and it curls around me like a warm hug.
I nod, peering up at him.
Taking my hand, Dallas walks me back out into the loft, and I’m taken aback to see a fire crackling in the hearth, a blanket and a stack of throw cushions set up right in front of the fireplace, complete with an indoor picnic of wine, beer, and what I assume is Dallas’s idea of a charcuterie board which is really just various bowls filled with Cheetos, Skittles, peanut M&M’s, and a random bunch of questionable looking grapes I’m sure are for aesthetic purposes only.
Dallas takes a seat on the blanket, patting the space beside him, and I sit down, thankful for the much-needed glass of rosé.
“Okay,” he says, lying back and taking a sip from his Pabst can as he gets comfortable on the mountain of pillows. “Talk to me, Goldie.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit quietly.
“You can start from wherever you feel comfortable,” Dallas says, gently touching my knee.
I release a hard breath, considering my words. He knows something. He knows I can’t let him see me. He just doesn’t know why. When I refused to let him see me naked that first night, I think he thought I was just being modest. He kept the lights off like I asked, and he gave me something to wear. A jersey. I assumed he was just some slightly weird hockey fan. But, of course, I’ve since come to realize it washisjersey, hisname embroidered on the back. The same jersey I’m wearing right now. And I can’t help but grin at that thought.
“I was planning my wedding,” I begin nervously, watching Dallas’s eyes widen momentarily.
“I’d been with Luke, my ex, for eight years, and we were getting married.”
Dallas watches me intently, but he says nothing, just waits for me to continue.
“I was lying in bed late one night, Luke asleep next to me, and I was going over the final guest list, making sure we hadn’t forgotten anyone before invitations were sent out.” I take a sip of wine, remembering the night vividly. “I don’t even know why, but I was just idly touching my breasts. Not in a sexual way—” I offer him a wry smile, which he returns with a cheeky waggle of his eyebrows. “It was almost subconsciously. And I remember feeling something that didn’t feel… normal.” I shrug, at a loss for the words to use. “So, I let it go for a few days, assuming it was just something that had always been there, but because I knew it was there, it became like an obsession. I couldn’tnotthink about it. I couldn’t sleep. I could barely eat. It was constantly on my mind. I didn’t tell anyone, didn’t say anything, just kept it to myself, hoping it would go away. But of course, it didn’t.”
Dallas reaches out and gives my knee a reassuring squeeze.
“A few days later, I made an appointment with my doctor. I was hoping she’d laugh it off. Tell me I was being dramatic, that it was nothing. But I remember lying there on the examination table, watching the delicate crease between her eyebrows get deeper and deeper the more she poked and prodded, moving from one breast to the other, to my underarms, my throat, my groin, all over. She sent me for an ultrasound that day, and then I was fast-tracked for an urgent biopsy. And a few days later, I was back in her office, hearing her say the words I never thought I’d hear, especially at thirty-two. Breast cancer.” I sniff a humorless laugh. “She said a lot of other stuff too. Invasive. Aggressive.Hormone receptive. Triple positive. But I wasn’t really paying too much attention. All I knew at that point in time was that I had cancer. I was supposed to be planning a wedding for God’s sake.” I shake my head.
Dallas gives my knee another squeeze.
“This funny thing happens when you’re told you have cancer,” I continue, meeting his eyes. “It’s as if your life comes to a complete and sudden standstill but also flies by at the same time. A week later, I was still trying to process the fact that Ihadcancer, while subsequently being treatedforcancer. And then suddenly it was six months later, and I’d lost all my hair, and my boobs, and pretty much everything that made me feel like a woman. In six months, cancer had taken everything from me, and it left me as nothing but a broken shell of the woman I once was.”
I take another sip of wine. More like a mouthful. In fact, it takes everything I have not to go grab the bottle from the fridge and start chugging it. Hell, just tap it to my veins.
“What about… Luke?” Dallas asks after a moment, a sliver of disdain in his tone at the mention of his name. His brows dip lower like he already knows the answer.
“Luke stayed with me through the worst of it. But…” I trail off because there is so much more I could say about my ex. So many horrible, deplorable things that will likely haunt me forever, but this is a lot. I feel like I’ve said too much already.
I clear my throat, shrugging a shoulder. “Cancer is hard on everyone, not just the patient. The dynamic of my relationship with Luke completely changed. I couldn’t work. I was sickallthe time. I was depressed. Angry. And then when I had surgery, they weren’t able to… conserve mynipples—” I say that last part quietly because even now, it’s still a harsh reminder I see every time I change or shower. I can’t even stand the sight of myself, so how can I be mad at Luke?
“It was horrible for both of us. And, I guess that wassomething else the disease took from me.” I shrug dejectedly. “My happily ever after.”
Dallas stares at me, studying me, one of his eyes narrowed as if he’s trying to read between the lines. But before he gets too deep into the detail, I continue.
“Even now, cancer keeps taking things,” I say. “Blood tests and scans, follow-up appointments. Hours spent in waiting rooms full of people who know all too well the never-ending crippling fear of recurrence and constant anxiety. I don’t think it matters how much time passes; I know my life will never be the same. And that’s probably the saddest thing about all of this… no matter what, my life will never be what it was before.”
I look down to see Dallas staring into the fire, a pensive look in his eyes, that same crease etched between his eyebrows. He almost looks angry. And if it weren’t for his thumb tracing deft circles over my knee, I’d assume it was me he was pissed at.
“So, that’s it…” I say, nervously filling the void.
Dallas tears his gaze away from the fire, looking up at me.
