The Saint's Wife (18 page)

But the walls were up. He could see it in her rigid posture and the shine in her eyes—she was struggling to hold herself together and keep him out at the same time.

Maybe someday. Maybe after she’d had time to heal. But right now, she was far too raw, and right or wrong, her conscience wouldn’t let her near him.

David pushed his shoulders back. “I should probably go.”

Joanna didn’t look at him but gave a slight nod.

“Take care, okay?”

Another nod.

It took everything David had not to cross the room, hug her and press a soft kiss to her forehead. That touch wouldn’t be welcome now, though. And the way she looked, huddled in on herself and on the brink of either trembling or getting sick, he was sure she’d crumble under the gentlest contact.

So he just inched toward the door and whispered, “Good-bye, Joanna.”

She turned away and disappeared back into the living room. David’s stomach flipped. His guilty conscience was going to destroy him, he was sure. Chris could kiss his ass, but David was going to collapse under the weight of knowing that Joanna was in this fragile, depressed state because of him.

Staying here a moment longer was only going to make it worse for her, so he walked out and headed back to his car. He drove a block or so, until he was well out of sight, and then pulled over. Engine idling, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat, not sure if he was closer to puking or crying. Maybe he’d do both.

Everything he knew was gone.

His friendship was over. The business was no longer his. Even his daughter wasn’t—

No. Tiffany was still his daughter. Maybe not biologically, but he’d been her dad all this time. DNA didn’t change anything where Tiffany was concerned.

But it changed everything else, and there was nothing David could do about that.

He wanted his friend back. He wanted his ex-wife to be able to look him in the eye again.

And goddammit, right or wrong, he wanted Joanna.

But it was over.

All of it.

Chapter Twenty

“Chris is in the hospital.”

Joanna cringed, clutching her cell phone tighter. She’d heard those words so many times, and they always made her blood turn cold and her knees turn to liquid, but this time, her stomach was sick with guilt too. “What happened?”

“An infection,” Hilary replied. “It seems to be under control for the moment. He was touch and go for a solid week, but his doctor thinks he’s out of the woods now.”

“A week? He’s been in the hospital for a week and no one told me?” Her eyes flicked toward the divorce papers on Kaylie’s kitchen counter. They hadn’t moved—or been signed—since they’d arrived three weeks ago.
Oh. Right.
And David hadn’t said anything, so either he was also no longer in contact with Chris, or he wasn’t speaking to her. Or both. Which meant all of them were alone.

“I was, uh…” Hilary hesitated. “I was told not to contact you.”

Joanna swallowed, tamping down the hurt and anger about the whole situation. “Why are you contacting me now?”

“Because Chris asked me to. He wants to talk to you. In person.”

“What for?”

Hilary didn’t respond right away, and when she did, her voice was soft. “He didn’t say.”

Closing her eyes, Joanna rubbed her forehead with her thumb and forefinger. “Where is he?”

“Methodist. He’s still in the ICU, but he can have visitors. Family, I mean.”

She cringed. On paper, she was still family, but it felt like fraud even thinking of walking in there and claiming to be his wife. “Could you text me with his room number? I’ll…probably forget.”

“Sure, I’ll do that. And I’ll send the visiting hours along too. They’re fairly limited.”

“They always are.”

“Mmhmm. I’ll send the information as soon as we’re off the phone.”

“Thank you.” Joanna paused. “How is he doing? I mean, all things considered.”

The silence on the line gave her chills. Hilary finally said, “He’s pretty weak. The infection was rough. He’s more lucid now, though. Ever since they took him off some of the heavier drugs and the fevers have come down.”

The hairs on Joanna’s neck stood on end. A fever could be a death knell for an immunocompromised patient. There’d been numerous occasions where a fever had signaled an infection that’d had doctors essentially telling her to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. One thing was for certain—this had been a close call.

She swallowed. “I’ll head over there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks,” Hilary said. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

Somehow, Joanna doubted “happy” was the word Chris would’ve used.

Joanna knew pretty much every hallway of this hospital by heart. Chris had been here so many times—surgeries, treatments, infections, setbacks, emergency room visits, more infections, more surgeries, more setbacks—that she didn’t even need to look at the signs to get to the correct ward.

At the entrance to the ICU, she stopped at the nurses’ station. “I’m here to see Chris McQuaid, please.” She paused. “I’m…his wife.”
As long as he needs me, apparently.

The nurse had her sign in, and then gestured down the hall. “Room twelve.”

“Thank you.”

The first time she’d come here, it had seemed like something out of a horror movie. The smell of cleansers and things she didn’t want to identify. The constant beeping and clattering of machinery. Tubes, wires, syringes, basins—she’d never imagined she’d be so used to a place like this.

Outside of room twelve, Joanna paused. Why was she doing this to herself? Another round of letting Chris berate her for things she had and hadn’t done? Was this going to be some sort of guilt trip? Maybe the infection was her fault. She hadn’t been there when he’d started showing symptoms. Hadn’t taken him to the hospital soon enough. Or everything she’d done—cheating, leaving, forcing him to face a divorce right now—had stressed him out and fucked up his health, and he wanted to make sure she knew it.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She didn’t have to do this. Chris had sent her divorce papers. The marriage was over. She was no longer obligated to be there in sickness or in health, never mind to take whatever venom he’d called her in to take.

On the other hand, she had no idea how bad his condition really was. If he wasn’t doing well, there might not be much time left. Infections and cancer patients didn’t mix well. It was entirely possible this would be her last chance to make peace with him.

Or hear, from his possible deathbed, all the reasons why this was her fault.

She glanced back at the nurses’ station. All she had to do was sign herself back out. There was no minimum time, no need to prove she’d actually visited the person she’d come to see. No one would ask any questions, except maybe Chris.

Shifting her gaze back to the door, she pushed out a breath. He’d asked her to come here, and she had. Self-preservation tried to send her running for the hills, but curiosity and that lingering sense of obligation kept her feet planted.

She squared her shoulders and set her jaw. If he decided to get ugly with her, she could leave. She was done walking on any eggshells, and she wasn’t running away. Not yet.

“Ma’am?” A male voice turned her head, and she met eyes with a young nurse in green scrubs. He raised his eyebrows. “Do you need help finding a room?”

“No. No.” She gestured unsteadily at the door. “This is where I need to be. I just…needed a minute.”

“Oh. All right. If you need anything…” He nodded past her at the nurses’ station.

“Thank you.”

He offered a pleasant smile, and with some effort, she returned it. After he’d gone, she glanced skyward, whispered “God, help me,” and pushed open the door.

The beeping sounded completely different in here. The monitors were probably identical to the ones in the other rooms, but in this room, the sound strafed her nerve endings. Especially as she closed the door behind her, sealing herself in with the beeping, the blinking, and…

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep
.

Him.

Chris didn’t speak, but he was definitely lucid. They fixed their gazes on each other.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep
.

For a moment, she just took in the near silence and the sight of him. Tubes and wires could make anyone look fragile and frail—they’d had that effect even in the early days of his diagnosis when he still appeared perfectly healthy most of the time—but it wasn’t the medical equipment and the white-with-blue-snowflakes hospital gown. Chris’s face was horrifically pale and gaunt. His arms were thin and covered with vicious-looking bruises. On the heels of an infection, he always looked terrible, but she hadn’t seen him like this in a long time.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep
.

“Joanna.” He shifted gingerly and adjusted the bed so he was sitting up. He gestured at a chair. “Please.”

She hesitated for a moment, then accepted the offer and took a seat. Sitting right on the edge, her spine ramrod straight, she folded her hands tightly in her lap and waited. Her heart was going ninety miles an hour, which at least drowned out some of the incessant beeping.

He took a sip of something—probably just water—from a plastic cup on the tray beside him. Setting it down took some effort, and he cursed softly as the slight tremor in his hand nearly knocked the cup off the tray.

Joanna fought the urge to steady it. The man had his pride, and he refused to accept his inability to perform simple tasks. Fumbling in front of her would already be enough to mortify him—her help would’ve been insult to injury.

Finally, the cup was where it belonged, and Chris pushed the tray aside. He started to lace his fingers together on his stomach, but the IV in one got in the way, so he just rested both hands on top of the blanket. “You, um, got the papers?” There was a bizarre lack of accusation in the question. No underlying
I know you got them, so why the fuck haven’t you signed them?

She nodded. “I did, yes. I haven’t signed them yet.” She cringed, expecting him to demand an explanation.

Instead, he sighed. “It probably doesn’t matter. I don’t think proceeding with the divorce is an option at this point.” He laughed humorlessly. “I probably wouldn’t live to see it finalized unless you arranged it in Las Vegas.”

Joanna set her jaw. “Our marriage is over regardless of what’s on paper. I think we’ve both known that for a long time.”

Chris nodded slowly but didn’t say anything.

“If it’s any consolation,” she said quietly, “I didn’t stay with you for your money. I don’t want your money.”

“I know. You were always better than that.”

She replayed the comment in her mind, searching for the sarcastic edge or double meaning, but found none.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, um. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Since you left, and since David and I had our falling-out.”

Joanna cocked her head. “What happened with you and David?”

His thin eyebrow rose. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No. We haven’t…we haven’t spoken. Not since…” She shook her head. “We haven’t spoken.”

“Oh.” He seemed genuinely taken aback, his eyes widening a little and his forehead creasing. “I, uh…we haven’t either.”

Uncomfortable silence descended. She was accustomed to that with Chris, but not like this. Usually, she was squirming under his scrutiny, waiting for some criticism or backhanded compliment. The air between them was different this time, though. Tense. Awkward. But not hostile.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

Joanna shifted in her chair. “You said you’d been thinking about something?”

“Yeah, I…” He fidgeted again, fussing with the pillow tucked behind his back, and finally settled. “I’ve been doing a
lot
of thinking. And this”—he gestured at the IV stand and monitors beside him—“setback has driven a few points home.” He met her eyes. “I don’t have a lot of time left, Joanna.”

She swallowed. “I know.”

“I mean…there’s
really
not much time.”

Joanna’s chest tightened. “How much?”

He shook his head, then rested it back against the pillow as if that gesture had taken all the energy he had. “It’s hard to say. They had to do some X-rays and scans while I was sick, and found more tumors in the process.”

She almost choked on her breath. “More?”

“Yeah. A lot more.” He half shrugged, his frail shoulder moving as if it weighed a hundred pounds. “They’re still small, but…”

Joanna chewed her lip. Chris didn’t have to spell out what that meant. The cancer was spreading. Fast. The next time he had an MRI or a CT scan, there’d probably be more. And the existing ones would be bigger. The doctors had warned them of this last time, and now…now it was real.

“I almost didn’t make it,” Chris said suddenly, whispering over the beeping machinery. “The doctor on this floor still doesn’t know why I did.”

Joanna swallowed. She had no idea what to say.

Chris shifted slightly, wincing as he pulled himself just a bit more upright. “Jo, this was the first time I went through this alone.”

Her heart dropped, as did her gaze. “I’m sorry.” It seemed like a useless comment, but no other words would come.

“No, don’t be.”

She met his eyes. “What?”

He moistened his pale lips. “My body definitely didn’t need this, but…maybe I did.”

Joanna blinked.

He cleared his throat, wincing a bit, and then went on. “You’ve been there. Every time I’ve been sick, or needed to go to the ER, you’ve always been there.” He tilted his head toward her. “Right there.”

She shifted slightly. How many hours had she spent in chairs just like this one, kneecaps touching the side of the bed while he fought invisible microscopic battles beneath a coarse hospital blanket? “I should’ve been here this time.”

“Except I sent you away.” He held her gaze. “The thing is, the last few days, ever since my mind cleared enough, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. At first, I wanted to be angry that you weren’t here, but then I thought about all the times you were. And about what happened before you left.” He paused. “Before I kicked you out.”

She didn’t break eye contact, but she didn’t speak either.

Chris gazed at her for a long moment. “I need to know something.”

She stayed perfectly still, refusing to let her nerves or discomfort show. “All right.”

“Did you ever love me?”

Joanna jumped. “What kind of question is that?”

“One I wouldn’t be asking if I knew the answer.”

“I…” She coughed to get the air moving through her constricting throat. “Of course I did.”

“When?”

She searched his eyes, wondering if the question was a demand or if it was the soft plea it sounded like. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He clenched his jaw. She gritted her teeth.

Then she blew out a breath. “Chris, you don’t need this. You should be recovering.” She started to get up. “I should—”

“Wait.” He put up a hand, but only for a second before he had to drop it back onto his stomach. “Don’t go. Please.”

She paused but sank back into the chair and folded her hands again.

“I don’t want you to go.” He exhaled slowly. “To be honest, I…I need you, Joanna.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“I’ve lost my best friend and business partner. I’ve lost my wife. All I have left is money and time. One isn’t going to do me a damned bit of good, and the other…well, it’s running out quicker than anything.”

Joanna flinched. For all their battles and bitterness, it was still hard to believe they were nearing the end. The last few grains slipping through the hourglass, and she had no idea what to feel. What to say.

“The thing is,” he said, “I’ve had more time to come to terms with it than most people in my position, but I’m still afraid to die.” He swallowed hard. “And after this last week, I’m—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Jo, I’m terrified of dying alone.”

She shut her eyes, squeezing a hot tear free. There were no words. Nothing she could possibly say. “Chris…”

“It shouldn’t have taken me this long to figure it out, but…” He laughed softly. “When have you known me to learn something easily?”