Brendon Osmond Didn’t Hug Himself

At the sound of a male throat clearing I stiffened.

Tanner stopped patting me, the shift in the mattress beneath my butt telling me he was now bouncing. “Papa!”

Great. Just what I needed, Charles Sinclair catching me in a blubbering mess with my face rammed against his daughter’s breasts. Awesome.

I straightened, wiping my eyes furiously as I turned away, my back to the new arrival.

There’s no point in lying, I was shaken.

Rattled.

And her father had witnessed it. I know it sounds like some wanky male ego thing, but I wasn’t comfortable with that. Nor happy with myself for unraveling.

“Hello, Tanner,” said an unfamiliar male voice with a strong Southern accent. “Who’s your visitor?”

“Da, pa,” Tanner answered, patting my back again, this time with gusto, as I turned to look at the speaker.

A short man with scruffy black hair and a worryingly large paunch stood just inside the door. He was wearing the most vivid green glasses I’ve ever seen, and a bowtie of the same color, dotted with bright yellow rubber ducks. But the white medical coat and stethoscope slung around his neck told me he was a doctor.

He fixed me with a pair of piercing blue eyes, his smile wide. “Hello, you must be Brendon.” Hand extended, he crossed to where I sat on the edge of Tanner’s bed. “I’m Parker Waters. Tanner’s doc.”

He had my hand in his before I could register, pumping it with zeal. He had a good grip on him, firm and confident. Yeah, men really do judge each other’s handshakes. I guess it’s the contemporary form of chest thumping.

“I only just got the message you were here,” he went on, those eyes of his behind the green-framed glasses a brilliant blue. And so happy. It messed with my head, seeing that kind of jubilant emotion after I’d just lost my shit.

“Otherwise I’d have been here sooner. Although the nurses told me you’ve been asleep.” He grinned at Tanner, who was now sitting beside me, swinging his legs back and forth over the edge of the bed. “Your dad’s got some muscles there, Tanner. Do you think you can show him yours?”

Tanner grinned back, and curled his arm until his small fist mashed against his cheek.

“Whoa,” Parker exclaimed, staggering back a step and gaping at Tanner. “When did they get so big? Have you been sneaking push-ups when I’m not looking?”

Tanner giggled, throwing himself against me in one of those full-body laughs little kids do, and waving Optimus Prime in the air. “Da tuck.”

“Did he do that?” Parker gave me a look of awe. “He made Optimus Prime? Well now, we know he’s a keeper then, yes?”

Tanner giggled again, patting my thigh. I stared at him for a moment, thrumming with an energy I couldn’t comprehend. It wasn’t like a workout high, and yet it was. Like I’d pushed myself to a limit I’d never reached before and come out on the other side. What that other side was still eluded me, but with Tanner patting my thigh, leaning against me as he swung his legs with carefree calm, I was okay with being there.

As if sensing my gaze, he looked up at me. “Tuck?” He offered me Optimus Prime. “Oppimus?”

With a laugh, I took the toy truck and turned it back to a robot.

“Oppimus!” Tanner crowed, plucking the Autobot from my hand to hold it up for Parker. “Oppimus, Pa.”

I drew in a steadying breath. How was it I’d just bawled myself raw barely a second ago and now wanted nothing more than to swoop Tanner up and laugh?

Smoothing my hand over his head, I turned back to the doctor. “G’day, Dr. Waters. I’m Tanner’s—”

“Father.” Parker chuckled. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard a lot about you. Not just from Amanda” – he shot her a smile where she stood beside me – “but from Chase and Jacqueline.”

I didn’t want to ask what a lot comprised. I also couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t mentioned Charles.

“Oh,” Parker smacked his forehead in a melodramatic way, causing Tanner to giggle once more. “And Tanner’s grandpa.” He gave Tanner a wide grin. “How could I forget him?”

“Parker,” Amanda said, warm humor in her voice. “Don’t scare him away.”

Parker winked at Tanner and then smiled at me. “Something tells me that would be hard to do. Now,” he smacked his hands together, “are you ready to get the ball rolling, Brendon?”

Ball rolling? It took my befuddled brain a second to catch up with this vibrant man. Ball rolling. He was Tanner’s doctor. He needed … I had no idea what he needed. To check if I was a match? The medical science suggested I wouldn’t be, but there was still a chance I could be. I was Tanner’s father, we shared genes. And all we needed for me to be a match was a compatible gene, right? If he found that gene – no, when he found that gene – was he going to remove my bone marrow straight away?

For a wavering moment I remembered the harrowing grief on Amanda’s face earlier when she’d admitted she wasn’t a match for Tanner, and the callous anger I’d directed at her. Fuck, I needed to tell her I was sorry for that. I needed to let her know I understood now, how she felt. How wretched and helpless and—

“It’s not going to hurt.” Parker Waters wriggled his eyebrows. Tanner laughed. “We try not to do any hurting here, don’t we, Tanner?”

“No,” he answered, patting my leg faster and looking at me. There there. There there.

How much did he understand? Did he understand I was there to help? If I could.

“Where do you need me?” I asked Parker, smoothing my hand over Tanner’s head again. It was like I was trying to make up for eighteen months of no contact. “Will I be out for long? I’ll have to ring Mum and Dad before I go under anesthetic. I should probably let them know I’m in the States, full stop. To be honest, I’d been so impatient to get here I didn’t tell Mum or Dad – or any family member, for that matter – I was going.”

Parker chuckled. “I like his enthusiasm, Amanda.”

Tanner giggled, and whacked Optimus against my shoulder. “Manda! Mommy!”

Amanda smiled at our son’s reaction to her name. Even though it reached her eyes, it was still sad. “Me too.”

“A simple blood test is all we need to start with,” Parker went on, his tone growing serious. For the first time since he’d entered Tanner’s room, I saw the medical professional he was. The vivacious, animated doctor who’d made Tanner giggle was gone. “There’s some papers to be signed, some release forms, a jab with a needle, and then we’ll know the initial outcome in a couple of hours. Whether we proceed to the tissue-matching test for final confirmation of a match comes after that.”

I ground my teeth, frustration eating at me. I wanted to get the ball rolling, and by ball rolling, I meant I wanted Tanner cured now.

“Hey?”

I started at Amanda’s soft voice. Or maybe it was her gentle nudge of her hip against my thigh.

“Two hours is okay, Bren,” she said. “You need to come up for air anyway. The little catnap you took with Tanner isn’t enough to keep you going.” She made a hesitant move, maybe to brush her fingers through my hair, maybe to give my face a smack, I couldn’t tell which, but pulled her hand back before she did either. “You’ll crash soon, no matter how healthy you are, if you don’t have some down time.”

I wanted to remind her our son had leukemia, that down time was a luxury we couldn’t afford. Instead, I returned my attention to Tanner. “Be back in a bit, okay, buddy?”

He nodded, engaged in a heroic battle with Optimus and an invisible enemy currently flying around the air near his head. “’Sokay,” he said.

I wondered who the Transformer was fighting – Megatron? Or an even more malevolent foe determined to destroy life as Tanner knew it?

“Excellent.” Parker rubbed his hands together again, smile wide. “Let’s punch it, wookie.”

“Chewie!” Tanner burst out, grinning up at the doctor. “Chewiebacca!”

Parker dropped him a wink. “The best wingman a space pirate can have, eh, Tanner?”

I watched the exchange, in awe of the man’s exuberance. And I thought I was all about enjoying every minute of life? Considering what Parker Waters faced every day – sick kids – his energy and happiness were inspiring.

Rising to my feet, I gave Amanda a smile. It felt weird. Not forced, but … weird. I wish I could explain it better than that, but I can’t. We’d been through an emotional grinder and I had no real idea what the result was going to be. I’d been furious with her, I’d yelled at her. I’d lost myself to the pleasure of my love for her, I’d lost myself to the lust I felt for her. I’d been shocked by her, resentful of her, contemptuous even. I’d been saddened and dismayed. I’d found joy and laughter and happiness with her, even as I wanted to walk away from her and never see her again. I’d wanted to strangle her. I’d buried my face as close to her heart as I could and openly sobbed there.

All those things, all those emotions, left me adrift. Confused. My mind was in chaos, a mental state I didn’t like experiencing at all.

One thing I did know, I was still wounded by her. Deeply. I doubted I could ever trust her again. Which made the hope I saw in her eyes now, as she smiled back at me, harder to take. Her whole world was laid bare before us. Everything that propelled her, motivated her, petrified her, was exposed. And hanging over it all – the cold, cruel presence of cancer, ready to destroy that world.

If I wasn’t a suitable match for our son … I felt … can you say pressure? Can you say expectation? Can you say sickened, churning, hope?

Hope. A concept I’d never found myself falling back on before. Sure, I was an optimist, but I never approached anything in my life with the hope it was going to work out the way I wanted. I approached it with the firm conviction it would. If I wanted it hard enough, trained hard enough, worked hard enough, dedicated myself completely to the desired end result, I would get it. Hope, in my opinion, was an excuse to curse fate when we didn’t get what we wanted.

And yet, here I was, hoping to fuck, hoping to a higher power I truly didn’t believe in, that the result of the blood test was going to be positive.

Huh, positive. Yeah, it put a whole new meaning on the word.

“I’ll have your daddy back as soon as I can, Tanner,” Parker said as he extended a hand toward the door, indicating for me to go ahead.

Was that because he anticipated me running away? Was he preparing to crash tackle me if I did? An image of the rotund doctor slamming into me from behind filled my head. I even heard the sports reporter’s commentary: Water’s half the size of Osmond, but whoa, what a tackle! What courage! And there’s the faceplant to the floor. Yes, yes, Osmond has been taken down. It’s going to take a while for his ego to recover from this, Bob.

“Bye bye.” Tanner’s happy farewell made me turn back. Amanda had taken my place on the edge of the bed and was now holding him on her lap. They both looked up at me, Tanner waving Optimus at me in a robotty goodbye, Amanda watching me with eyes that swam with tears and hope and fear.

“See you in a bit,” she said, drawing him closer to her with a wobbly smile.

I left with a nod. My chest ached. So did my gut. It was like I was heading toward a firing squad, not going for a blood test. But no matter how much I berated myself for my ridiculous state, no matter how much I tried to calm my pounding heart, tried to find my center, my optimism, each step I took away from Tanner’s room filled me with a cold dread I couldn’t fight off.

Until, halfway down the corridor – a corridor brightly painted with happy cartoon animals on both walls – I stopped. My feet didn’t want to move any more. I dropped my burning gaze to them, staring at them with blank confusion.

Why was I here? What was I here for?

I started to shake. I wasn’t cold, and yet I couldn’t stop shaking. My guts felt like they were in a blender. My head roared.

What the hell?

A warm, firm hand closed over my shoulder and I flinched, looking up to its owner.

“It’s okay, big guy,” Parker murmured, his eyes holding mine with a steadiness I couldn’t fathom. Okay? How was it going to be okay? How was it—

“The shock’s hit you,” he went on, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It happens. For everyone, it’s different. But from everything I understand about you, everything Amanda has told me, I know you’re going to ride it out well.”

I stared at him, shaking. I had to hug myself. When was the last time I’d done that? Had I ever done that? Shit, I was Brendon Osmond. Brendon Osmond didn’t hug himself. But I was so cold. So cold and shaking like a—

“Breathe for me, big guy.” Parker held my stare, a gentle smile in his eyes, on his lips. His voice flowed from him, calm and commanding at once. “Take a deep breath and let it out. C’mon, you know how to do this. Breathe in …”

I pulled in a lungful of air. It tasted dry and like disinfectant.

Parker nodded, his smile widening. “Now out …”

I let out the chemical breath in a slow, choppy stream.

Parker nodded again. “Excellent. I think a cup of tea is in order before we do this.”

If his intention was to yank me out of my shock, it worked. I’ve come to realize everything Parker Waters did, no matter how clownish or lighthearted, had deeper purpose. And he saw to the very soul of people the moment he met them. Perhaps that was why I was okay with him seeing this side of me? It’s not often anyone gets to see me in a vulnerable place, a weakened place. But this stranger had just witnessed me crumpling, had guided me through it (although something about the rawness of my nerves told me it wasn’t entirely done yet), and I was good with that.

Shaking my head, I dropped my arms from around my torso and willed my heartbeat to slow. “I’m good,” I declared. Okay, I reassured. “It’s all good.”

The sounds of children in hospital – a surreal, disquieting mix of carefree laughter and subdued crying – enveloped us. I’d grown up familiar with that sound, what with the times I’d visited Mum at work, but I’d never understood the profound heartache behind it until my own child was a contributor. I’d never really thought about the torment and grief of the families in their rooms, sharing precious moments together, maybe moments all too soon taken from them …

The shakes started to build again. Damn it. Closing my eyes, I pulled in another breath, let it out, and repeated the action. Parker didn’t rush me, or say a word. His hand stayed on my shoulder, his silence a strength I was grateful for.

Finally, my tenuous calm returning, I opened my eyes and nodded. “I’m good,” I said again. It was almost a mantra now.

Parker smiled. “It’s going to be all good, Brendon. You and me? We’re going to make sure of it, okay? For Tanner.”

“For Tanner,” I repeated. The shakes had left me. In their place, a strange sensation had taken up residence – a holding pattern of emotions.

Parker grinned. “Then let’s, in the words of the esteemed Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the Starship Enterprise, make it so.”

I chuckled. The guy was definitely a geek. What were the odds he sometimes came to the hospital wearing Spock ears?

It only took us a few minutes to reach Examination Room 4. We stopped at a nurse’s station first, where I signed a form giving permission for my blood to be taken and tested. I’m assuming that’s what I signed. To be honest, I didn’t read it, I just took the word of the nurse explaining it. Not like me at all.

A few feet farther down the corridor, and we arrived at our destination. A different nurse waited for us there, a kidney-shaped dish on the counter beside her. As with the rest of the hospital I’d seen so far, the colors and images painted on the walls gave it a joyous atmosphere. Strangely, I appreciated that more than I thought I would. I guess I was seeing this place through Tanner’s eyes.

“Carla,” Parker said, moving past me to enter the room, “this is Tanner Sinclair’s dad, Brendon.”

Tanner Sinclair.

Sinclair. Not Osmond.

A faint lick of anger stroked up my spine, and I squashed it just as quickly. Ego can be a stupid thing. I’ve never let it govern my emotions before, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let it now.

Carla beamed at me, her wide brown eyes warm and friendly, if somewhat curious. “Hi Brendon. I can see where Tanner gets his looks from.”

“You’re not the first to say that,” I replied.

The syringe in the stainless steel dish seemed to mock me. I had no fear of needles. I did, however, have a fear of what the result would be from this test.

“Okay,” Parker slapped me on the back. “Let’s do this.”

Carla twitched her head toward the armchair beside the counter. It was upholstered in fabric adorned with the characters from Toy Story. Buzz, Woody, Slinky Dog, Jessie, Mr. Potato Head all cavorted on the blue background, waving and smiling and generally making me want to do the same thing.

“It’s comfy,” Carla said, smiling. “Comfy enough to sleep in.”

“Ah,” Parker guffawed at my side. “Did you hear about Brendon’s powernap with Tanner in his bed?”

Carla’s smile turned devilish. “Heard about it. Saw the pics.”

I frowned. “Pics?”

She grinned, eyes twinkling. “You think the nurses here are going to pass up an opportunity to photograph a sexy Aussie your size, curled up asleep in a kid’s bed? No way.”

I chuckled as I crossed to the chair. “Hope they got my good side.”

Carla raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down. “There’s a bad side?”

“Watch her, Brendon.” Parker dropped onto a stool near the door and cocked a smirk at Carla. “She’s Dominican and a heartbreaker. She stole mine five years ago and has never given it back.”

Carla pursed her lips, eyes twinkling as she reached for a multi-colored elastic strap. “Of course I’m not going to give it back. I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Parker laughed. Carla winked at me.

It took me a moment to realize the bruised rawness I’d been feeling had eased, soothed by the obvious warmth and care of Parker and Carla. I suspected they were handling me like they would a scared child, but I was okay with that.

Carla tapped my left forearm, her smile now for me. “Just rest your arm out please, Brendon.”

I did as instructed, and a flurry of butterflies swarmed into my stomach. I watched her stroke the skin of my inner elbow, trying to coax a vein to make itself known.

“That is an impressive arm you’ve got there,” she commented, prodding at one slightly raised vein as it appeared beneath my skin. “Give it a curl for me?”

Once again, I did as asked, my left bicep flexing.

“Oh yes.” Carla grinned up at me, the laughter lines around her eyes and lips creasing. “There’s the money shot.”

I burst out laughing.

“You didn’t need him to do that, did you, Carla?” Parker admonished from the stool.

“Nope.”

I laughed again.

Carla grinned, looping the elastic strap around my upper arm, just beneath the bulge of my bicep. “Okay, game time. If you promise not to cry I’ll give you a lollipop after.”

“Hey,” Parker said, “if I promise not to cry will I get—”

“Shush, Doctor.” Carla tapped at the vein in my arm again. “Bunch your fist a few times for me.”

As I did, the vein in my inner elbow popped, turning into a bluish-green ridge straining against my skin.

“Now, there’s the money shot,” she murmured, stroking it with two fingers. Without looking up at me, she wiped at the vein with an alcoholic swab a few times, and then reached for the syringe.

“So Brendon,” – Parker’s calm voice drew my attention – “tell me what you know about Tanner’s leukemia.”

The question set off the butterflies in my stomach. I let out a slow breath, glancing at my inner elbow. Carla was just about to puncture my skin with the needle. I stiffened, preparing for the sting.

“Uh-uh,” she scolded me, her voice gentle. “Don’t do that.”

Forcing my muscles to relax, I looked back at Parker. “To be honest, I don’t know that much,” I confessed. Yeah, those aren’t words I liked saying that often. Saying them now … it was like a fist twisting in my chest. “He has Philadelphia chromosome-positive leukemia. He was diagnosed a month ago. The doctors … you, I guess, have only given him six months to live if he can’t find a suitable donor match. Going by the fact he’s lost most of his hair, he’s undergone chemo, but I don’t know how many rounds.” I stopped, swallowing. “That’s it.”

Which was pathetic. I should’ve demanded Amanda tell me everything the second I learned he was sick. Everything. Instead, I’d ranted and raved and lashed out and bawled.

Parker watched my face. I wondered what he saw there. “It’s a start,” he said.

A tiny sting pierced my awareness, so faint I barely registered it. I gave Carla a smile. “You’re good.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Hell yeah.”

Chuckling, I turned back to Parker. “Can you tell me more? I have no clue what Philadelphia leukemia is. How is it different from normal leukemia? Amanda said it’s like leukemia decided to … screw with itself, and said something about abnormalities, but I don’t know what that means.”

Parker shifted on the stool. “Philadelphia leukemia is a very rare condition, especially in someone Tanner’s age. It’s classified a high-risk abnormality and the only treatment that holds any promise of a cure is a bone marrow transplant.”

I couldn’t help but notice the man before me now was nothing like the Parker who’d first appeared in Tanner’s room. Nor even the playful flirting doctor who’d introduced me to Carla. The man speaking now was serious. A serious man, for a serious conversation.

A part of me desperately wanted the fun doctor back.

“How is it different?” I needed to understand this. It was how my brain worked. In much the same way I approach exercise – go hard or go home – I approach knowledge and learning. Despite what Amanda’s father thinks, I know how to exercise my mind. I know what my brain is for, and it isn’t just to get me out of bed so I can hit the gym every day. “From normal leukemia?”

“In Philadelphia chromosome-positive leukemia, an abnormal chromosome is produced when part of two different chromosomes get swapped over, for want of a better explanation. It’s called translocation, but essentially, they get swapped. This translocation creates a specific gene that makes cells resist treatment. And as I said earlier, chemotherapy is not enough. A stem cell or bone marrow transplant is required as well for any hope of a cure.”

“And that’s why I’m here?” I asked, needing to hear it from a medical professional. I think I was convinced if a medical professional told me I was here for that reason, I’d be less angry, less destroyed by Amanda’s deception.

I wasn’t.

Parker adjusted the glasses on his nose with a push of his finger. “Well, yes and no.”

I frowned, something tight balling in my chest. No. I didn’t like that word at all.

Parker gave me a smile that showed he recognized my uncertainty. “Do you know it’s a common misconception that a parent will be a suitable match for a child needing a bone marrow transplant?”

“I do,” I answered, that ball in my chest growing tighter. I think a part of me had expected Parker to tell me I was going to be a match regardless of what I already knew about the odds. Eternal optimism can be a bitch at times.

He adjusted his glasses again, regarding me with a steady gaze. “After Tanner was diagnosed, we began chemo straight away. We knew it wouldn’t cure him, but we needed to get him into remission in preparation for finding a donor. We can’t transplant healthy bone marrow into a person with cancer cells, that would obviously be counter-productive. Unfortunately, Tanner’s leukemia is very aggressive and we’ve had to give him a complete round of chemotherapy already, which makes him very sick and puts a great toll on his body. In the interim, we looked for a donor, hoping against the odds Amanda or her family would match. They didn’t.”

Before I could stop it, an image of Tanner lying weak and crying filled my head. “And if I’m not a match?”

“We find one,” Parker answered. “Before Tanner’s leukemia beats us.”

The sentence hit me like a wild punch. I drew in a slow breath, fighting the grief, the anger threatening to overwhelm me. Parker regarded me, his expression contemplative. Perhaps he was waiting for me to crumple again? Perhaps he knew I needed time to digest the finality of his statement.

I sat motionless, the faint pulling sensation in my arm telling me Carla was still drawing blood. “What chance is there I will be a match?” I finally asked, my gut a churning, knotted mess. “Don’t sugar-coat it. I need to know.”

The slight slump in Parker’s shoulders answered my question before he spoke. “Unfortunately, the percentage of parents being a match is low, even with all the advancements made in medical science recently. Thirty percent at best. There are options available. And I could throw fancy terms at you like haploidentical donor, but until we test you to determine if you are remotely suitable, I think bombarding you with that kind of information will only stress you out more. For the immediate present, we test your suitability and wait and see. And hope.”

Hope. That word again. I don’t think I’ve ever hated a word before, nor hung so much importance on what it defined.

“And if I am? How is the transplant … how does my bone marrow get into Tanner?”

“Let’s see if you’re a match before we go into detail.”

I wanted to tell him I was going to be a match. I wanted to tell him to get ready whatever room was needed for the transplant. I wanted to believe that. But as optimistic as I am, I’m also a realist. And false hope is as dangerous to a person’s mind, to their psyche, as hope.

“Done.”

At Carla’s soft voice, I turned to face her. Withdrawing the needle from my inner elbow, she pressed a cotton wad against the tiny puncture in my arm and then smiled up at me. I didn’t fail to notice how sympathetic that smile was. “Lollipop time?”

I gave her a shaky laugh.

“Brendon?”

Heart racing, I turned back to Parker. He was frowning. I didn’t like that. No one wants to see the doctor in charge of curing their child frowning. “Yeah?”

“There’s something you need to understand. I wish I could sugar-coat it, but it’s better I don’t.”

“What’s that?”

“The numbers for long-term survival for patients with this type of leukemia are not fantastic. Unfortunately, approximately thirty percent of patients experience relapse. In someone Tanner’s age … that percentage is higher.”

I stared at him. A lump filled my throat. My pulse pounded in my ears. “But not a hundred percent, right? The percentage for relapse isn’t a hundred percent.”

“No. It isn’t a hundred percent,” he answered.

“Then Tanner will be in the percentage that kicks cancer’s arse.”