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Helen had known that no matter when she told Nathan, he would be shocked by her announcement, given Wanda’s fatal battle with the disease. Even as he’d gently badgered her, she’d had every intention of holding her secret close. But his shocked, desperate expression when he thought her worries might be for Megan or Nora had made it obvious she couldn’t prevaricate any longer.
He had yet to respond to her statement. The colour had leached from his cheeks and his pale blue eyes were flat and cold as ice on a mountain lake. He hadn’t moved and his hands still clasped hers, but they were inert, motionless.
When he made no attempt to speak a wave of panic, dizzy and wild, swept through her. She tugged her fingers from his limp grip and twisted them together.
She’d known he’d be upset. But what if he couldn’t handle it? What if he broke off their relationship completely? She hadn’t even considered that possibility.
“Nothing’s for sure yet.” Her lips were dry, her tongue too big for her mouth. “I went in for an ultrasound after my annual mammogram revealed an area of concern. It confirmed a mass in my right breast. I have a biopsy scheduled for a week today. I should have the results seven to ten days after that.”
Nathan closed his eyes, as if unable to bear the sight of her, and her panic grew. While she couldn’t gamble on being his lover, she also couldn’t lose his friendship—didn’t know if she could make it through the weeks until her fate was determined without his support.
Nathan had become indispensable in her life in such tiny increments she hadn’t noticed the change. Now she had blurted out the one thing that could sever their friendship forever.
A flare of fury pierced her anxiety. It was his own fault she’d told him. If he hadn’t poked and prodded, had accepted her rejection, everything would have been fine.
He sat there, eyes shut, silent. Well, screw you, then.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” She intended her tone to be brisk and light, but the angry buzzing in her ears made it hard to hear herself. “I have very dense breasts, and it’s probably a benign cyst. I wasn’t going to tell anyone until I had more details. Which means Megan doesn’t know, so you’ll have to keep this to yourself. I don’t want to worry her unnecessarily.”
He raised his eyelids and his fierce look sent the breath rushing from her lungs. “You haven’t even told your daughter? Your doctor daughter? Are you some sort of superwoman that you can handle this all on your own?”
She bristled at his censure. “I don’t even know if there’s anything to handle. The results are weeks away yet. There will be plenty of time to figure things out after it’s confirmed to be c-cancer.” Horrified she’d stumbled over the dreaded word, she jutted her chin and repeated it defiantly. “And even if it is cancer, the biopsy will remove the entire lump, so that will be the end of it.”
“That’s what Wanda thought, too,” Nathan said bitterly.
The rollercoaster of her emotions took a deep, spinning dive. Helen jumped to her feet and glared down at him. “I don’t need this negative energy right now. Maybe you should go.”
Nathan’s hollow, pale look was eaten up by a wildness that made her lean away. Red flags burned his cheekbones and he looked as angry as she’d ever seen him. “So this is what last night was about? You’re afraid you’re dying and wanted one last fling?”
It was as if the air crystallized around her. Dying. She’d been avoiding that word, even in her thoughts. “Get out.”
Nathan rose slowly, one hand outstretched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’re not dying. Of course you’re not.”
“I told you. I don’t need any more negativity right now.” She bit back more recriminations. He wasn’t wrong about her reasons for sleeping with him. “Maybe I did want one last fling. What’s so bad about that? I was feeling alone and frightened. Breast cancer runs in my family, you know that. If I have it, it will be a severe, painful battle. I want to wring every last ounce of enjoyment out of life I can, starting now. And if you can’t support me in that—” She shrugged, hoping he couldn’t see the effort it cost her to appear unconcerned, unafraid.
She faced him, shoulders squared, separated by the air between them and a gulf of experience so wide and painful it echoed.
“I need to think.” Nathan sidled out from between the sofa and the table. “I need to decide what this means.” He headed for the stairs. “Goodbye, Helen.”
Ice closed around her heart at the finality of his words.
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GOLDEN DRAGON TATTOO Parlor was tucked into an awkward corner of a small strip mall a ten-minute drive from Helen’s house. Thursday morning she pulled into a slot in the rear parking lot and realized she didn’t remember anything between backing out of her driveway and turning off the ignition.
That wasn’t good. Not good at all. More than twelve hours after Nathan’s rejection and she was still swirling in a maelstrom of panic and sorrow and regret. And the discussion she and Sven needed to have this morning didn’t bode well for regaining her balance.
She entered the shop and headed to the front counter. Even this early in the day, she welcomed the air-conditioned comfort, as the heat wave showed no signs of abating. Sven and Jamie, his apprentice, usually arrived a few minutes before opening at nine o’clock, so she had the next half hour or so to ensure everything was ready—and clear her mind of the debacle with Nathan. The routine was soothing and she slipped into it with relief.
After Aaron’s death, she’d been desperate to fill her achingly empty days. Looking after Nora once a week helped but wasn’t enough. Starting the Silverberry Book Club had occupied a few more hours, but she was still left with too much free time. Time in which to think of all she’d had, all she’d lost, and the years left to endure. When she’d seen the post searching for a receptionist at Golden Dragon, she had applied on a whim, and never regretted it.
Even if the biopsy wasn’t casting its threatening shadow, though, deciding to buy a business wasn’t something a sane person did without careful thought. For one thing, she had no experience at running the shop, other than what she’d picked up casually from Sven. For another, she would never be able to match him for skill. He had bullied her into learning how to do single colour tattoos, declaring her art background was one of the reasons he’d hired her, and she’d practiced on oranges for months until she’d met his high standards. But there was no way she would ever compare to Sven, who was a true artist, inspired and dramatic and talented. Jamie was the one being groomed to replace him, but they still had a way to go.
Most importantly, though, she couldn’t even think about buying until after her biopsy results were in. Sven would just have to lump it.
As she sorted the colourful ink used in the more elaborate designs, she reviewed the days appointments in her head. Large tattoos took hours—and sometimes multiple visits—to create, so she knew many of Golden Dragon’s clients well because of the amount of time they spent in the chair. It also seemed that, for most people, one tattoo wasn’t enough, so return clients were plentiful.
Even she fell into that category. A vision of the stunned, lustful look on Nathan’s face when he’d seen her tattoos for the first-time riffled heat down her spine. She shoved it aside. The chances of seeing that expression again had evaporated like mist on water.
She was still a little shocked she’d allow Sven to badger and bully her into getting the designs. His argument had been she should know how it felt so she could give better advice. When she’d finally agreed, he’d inked the rose on her hip. It had been Aaron’s favourite flower. A few weeks later she’d asked for the heart on her upper breast.
At the time, she hadn’t been exactly sure why she’d had it done, but had come to realize it was a form of reparation. Though she still believed she’d done the right thing, motherhood and maturity had given her an understanding of her mother she hadn’t had as a teenager.
While checking the sterilization equipment was working properly and wiping down the chairs and beds with sanitizing spray, she contemplated a new irony. The tattoo was on the breast with the lump—the breast now trying to kill her. Maybe she could spin that into a positive. Was it possible her mother’s spirit would ensure the lump was benign? It was a nice thought, but she wouldn’t hold her breath.
The back door opened and closed, and she shook off past resentment to prepare for present tribulations. “Good morning,” she called.
Her answer was an unintelligible grunt and the thud of a heavy bag being tossed on the floor—a sign Sven was in an approachable mood. It was the mornings when he shouted “What the hell’s good about it?” that she had to worry his creative temper was flaring. Given the discussion she’d promised they’d have—and the question she needed to ask—his subdued response was the best she could hope for.
A moment later, he emerged from the hall leading from the treatment rooms. As befitted his first name, he was a blond giant with biceps that bulged from the weight training he did every morning. Those same biceps were covered in intricately inked designs, a few tendrils of which wound up his shoulders to circle his neck.
He planted his palms on the counter and stared at her, eyes narrowed. “So, what’s it going to be? You in or you out?”
It had taken a few weeks to get used to his intimidating attitude, but she knew now it was a by-product of his menacing size, gruff voice, and abrupt manner, and not a warning sign of an aggressive personality. “Aren’t you being hasty, deciding to sell because you want to travel for a while? Wouldn’t it be better if I managed the place? You and India could wander to your heart’s content and come back whenever you want, take up where you left off.”
Sven held up his hands. The knuckles were gnarled, the fingers curled. “I’m too crippled up to keep doing this work much longer. And no way in hell will I spend my days sitting up here making nicey-nice with clients. Jamie is doing amazing stuff and is ready to take over, even though they don’t think so. It’s time to push them out of the nest. That goes for you, too.” He crossed his massive arms over his chest and scowled.
“I need some time.” The yearning to say yes burned in her chest, but she’d already made one impulsive decision that week, asking Nathan to have sex, and look how that had turned out.
“Don’t take too long about it. And don’t chicken out.” Sven frowned over her shoulder at the online calendar that kept track of all appointments. “Who have we got first?”
Helen’s shoulders softened at his temporary—yet threatening—acceptance of the delay. “Daveed is in for the next stage of his sleeve. I’ve got you blocked off for four hours for that.” It struck her suddenly that Sven had been cutting back on his work for a while. When she’d started, a full day of inking was the norm. Today’s four hours was his max now. Maybe his decision to sell the business wasn’t as impetuous as it seemed. “Jamie has a couple smaller tats this morning, and is starting on Sierra’s back this afternoon.”
He grunted in acknowledgment. “You okay to handle walk-ins?”
“Sure.” With precise movements, she lined up the edge of the photo album Sven used as a portfolio with the edge of the counter, and then bit the next bullet. “I can’t work my usual days next week.”
He loomed over her and his gaze lasered in on her face. “Why the hell not?”
“I’d rather not say.” If he knew she might have cancer, he might renege on his offer, which would be a crushing disappointment. She wanted to take on that challenge—as long as she was healthy enough to handle it. She turned to face him, lifting her chin. “I haven’t asked for a shift change the entire time I’ve been here. Surely you can accommodate me this once.”
“You only work two goddamn days a week. A little notice would have been nice.”
She didn’t flinch at his bark. The only way to deal with a ferocious Sven was to bark right back. “I can do Monday and Tuesday for India if she can take my days.”
“You’re goddamn lucky she can.”
Helen didn’t bother asking how Sven was so certain of that. He could battle it out with India himself. Maybe they’d have a big blow-up fight and Sven would change his mind about leaving. Then she wouldn’t have to decide about buying the shop. It wasn’t relief she felt at that thought, though, but chagrin. “Okay. I’ll take that as approval.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is this going to happen often?”
“No.” It wasn’t a total lie. She knew how debilitating invasive surgery and treatments could be, but if that were necessary, she’d do the right thing and give her notice so Sven could replace her. It would complicate his plans to escape to Thailand, but she couldn’t think about that. Either way, she was going to miss his pugnaciousness and blazing talent. In the grand scheme of things, though, leaving Golden Dragon would be one of the smallest losses her future might hold.