For the Win (Playing for Keeps Book 1) (15 page)

The only awkward part of the conversation was when Grandma asked about London’s parents. I had talked about London’s dad, but I’d never told my grandparents that London’s mom was gone. Maybe because I didn’t know the whole story. I had no idea what had happened with her mom. It was something I’d wanted to ask her on more than one occasion, but she seemed to shut down every time the subject came up. I’d surmised that it wasn’t something she was comfortable sharing. And I got that. I’d been that way for years about my parents, skirting the subject every chance I got. Therefore, I respected her need to keep it private. I knew she’d tell me when she was ready.

Grandma appeared embarrassed when London had to share that she didn’t have a mom around, and that it was just her and her dad.

But London made it okay by smiling and saying, “It’s not so bad being raised by a man. Sure, I dress like a boy and I know more about fixing a car than I do about girly things like painting my nails or fixing my hair, but my dad’s pretty cool. We make it work.”

I reached for her hand under the table, wrapping my fingers around her cold ones. That’s one of the main things I liked about London. Her ability to put people at ease. And to be honest, I loved that she wasn’t a typical girly girl. I’d been with enough of those, and they weren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

After dinner Grandma poured some tea and brought out a pie she’d baked. London’s face lit up as she bit into the flaky crust, strawberry sauce smearing her lips. Giggling, she wiped it away with a napkin and then dug in once again. She finished off almost the entire slice, and satisfaction sank into my gut. It was the most I’d seen her eat in over a week. Clearly she was a dessert girl. I filed the information away for later. I knew it would come in handy. Although, I had to admit the pie was amazing. I was still stuffed from dinner, yet I scarfed down my entire piece.

By the time we finished dessert, London’s eyelids lowered, and a yawn escaped. She threw her hand up to block it, but I still noticed it. Draping an arm over her shoulder, I leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“Ready to get home?”

I saw her wrestling with the decision. “I wish I could stay longer. I’m having such a good time.”

“I know, baby.” I rubbed her upper arm with my hand. “But you need your rest.”

She nodded, annoyance glinting in her eyes. But it didn’t offend me. I knew it wasn’t directed toward me at all. She was angry with the disease the same way I was. It was one more thing that we had in common.

London pushed her chair back, and stood. “Thank you for everything.”

“Of course,” Grandma said. “It was great having you. You’re welcome here anytime.”

“Awesome. I’ll be sure to come back next time you make that pie,” London joked, causing both Grandma and Grandpa to chuckle.

After saying a round of goodbyes, I ushered London out of the house and into my car. It was dark and the air was cooling. London shivered as she settled into the passenger seat. I slid into the driver’s seat and turned on the car. Light from the moon sliced across London’s face, illuminating her pale skin.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked, guiding my car away from the curb.

“Not at all. I had fun.”

“They loved you.”

“I think they would’ve loved any girl you brought home. They adore you, Coop.” Sighing, she rested her head against the window.

“Did you call me Coop?”

She pressed her lips together, a guilty expression cloaking her face. “Oops, I’m sorry. I didn’t even notice.”

I hated when girls called me that. It was my baseball nickname, reserved for my buddies on the team. But hearing it out of her mouth was maybe the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.

“I liked it,” I said.

She smiled. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Trust me, I’m the lucky one,” I said. “And for the record, they wouldn’t have loved any girl I brought home. They loved you, not because you were with me, but because you’re you.”

It killed me to go to school on Monday knowing London was heading to the hospital for her first round of chemotherapy. I would’ve given anything to go with her. To hold her hand when they injected the IV, to tell her jokes and make her laugh. I wasn’t sure her dad would be able to do that for her. Not that he wasn’t a funny guy. He was, in a corny kind of way. And he loved London in a way I never would. But still, he was hurting. Hurting like I could never understand. London was all he had, and she felt that every time they were together. She didn’t verbalize it, but it was there in her subtle comments, in her demeanor. She was more scared of leaving her dad than she was of her own death. And I was afraid that would only make today that much more difficult for her.

But London insisted I attend school. I had a game, and I wouldn’t be able to play if I skipped out on school. Usually nothing could tear me away from the game. But today all I wanted was to be with my girl. Baseball didn’t hold the same meaning when my girlfriend was fighting for her damn life.

Outrage filled me, and I slammed my locker shut with so much force it almost shattered in two.

“Whoa,” Nate came up behind me. “What did that locker ever do to you?”

I wanted to chuckle and throw out some witty comeback. It was our thing, after all. But I couldn’t. My mind was fixated on one thing, and one thing only – London. Blowing out a breath, I leaned my head against the hard metal.

“Uh-oh, what’s going on?” Nate narrowed his eyes.

“I could take a guess.” Calista swaggered in our direction, flanked by Lauren and Brooke.

I groaned. “Calista, go away. I’m so not in the mood for your shit today.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” she answered seriously.

Now my curiosity was perked.
What the hell did she know?

I shoved off the locker. “What does that mean?”

“C’mon, you don’t have to play dumb with me. I know what’s going on with nerdgirl.”

I fisted my hands at my sides, feeling the vein in my head pulsate. If she wasn’t a girl I’d pop her. But she was safe. I’d never hit a girl. Even one as evil as Calista. “Her name is London, and you’d be smart to start calling her that,” I ground out the words between my teeth.

“Or I could start calling her ‘your baby mama,’ couldn’t I?”

Her words confused me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, wearing a smug look. Her friends smiled by her side. Nate furrowed his brows in a look of confusion. At least I wasn’t the only one. “I’m not stupid, Cooper. You’re a manwhore. We all know that. And nerd---” she stopped. “I mean, London, isn’t exactly experienced, so I’m sure she’s not on the pill and doesn’t carry around condoms.”

I shook my head, knowing where she was going with this. My muscles buzzed under my flesh. “She’s not pregnant, Calista.”

She giggled. “Yeah, right. Who drops out two months into the school year? She’s totally preggers.”

I stuck my face in Calista’s. “She is not, and you need to stop spreading these goddamn rumors.”

“Really?” Calista raised her brows. A crowd was forming around us, and I needed to keep my cool. For London’s sake. “Then why’d she drop out?”

“She didn’t. She’s doing home school,” I said. All eyes were on me, everyone curious.

“Exactly. It’s what you do when you’re pregnant and trying to hide it.” Calista grinned. “I guess I should start calling you daddy.”

“Goddammit, Calista. What the hell is wrong with you?” I spat. “Are you really that jealous that I picked her over you?”

Her eyes flashed, and I knew my words had hit their mark. I should have felt bad, but I didn’t. This time she’d gone too far. My girl was having the worst day of her life and this bitch was spreading rumors about her.

“Are you kidding? Jealous?” Calista turned her nose up in disgust. “No way do I want to be barefoot and pregnant at seventeen.” Snickers sounded around us. Whispered words swirled, the word ‘pregnant’ being the main one.

Shit.
There was no way I could let people think London was pregnant. She didn’t want people to know about her cancer, but wasn’t this worse? Now they thought she was a slut who got knocked up. I slammed my hand into my locker so hard it stung.

Calista and her friends flinched.

Nate touched my back. “Calm down, man. Everything’s going to be all right. I mean, it’s not the worst thing.”

Did he seriously believe what Calista said? “She’s not pregnant, Nate.” I craned my neck. “She’s sick.” Without looking at anyone, I pushed off my locker and stormed down the hallway. My intention was to go to my first period class, but I never made it. Instead, I found myself on the baseball field, staring out at the dark green grass, at the shimmering golden sand. My chest expanded as I took it all in.

“Hey,” Nate’s voice sounded over my shoulder.

I pivoted.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

I swallowed down the emotion that threatened to overtake me. There was no way I was losing my shit in front of Nate. “Bad.”

“Sorry, man.” Nate shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet.

“Me too.”

“I think Calista feels bad too.”

“I don’t really give a shit what she thinks,” I said.

“I get it.” Nate nodded. “Is London going to be all right?”

I shook my head. “Not sure. She starts chemo today.”

“Shit,” Nate breathed.

“Yeah.”

We stood in silence for a few minutes, both lost in our own thoughts. Besides, there was nothing Nate could say to make this better for me, and I was glad he didn’t try.

London

My hair started falling out.

When I woke up this morning there was a clump of hair on my pillow. The oncologist told me this would happen, but nothing could prepare me for when it did. I stared at the golden strands, taunting me from my pillow. I had been on chemo for three weeks now, and none of it had been a picnic. I was sick after every goddam treatment, I was tired, and I had lost my appetite. But this was by far the worst side effect. Reaching up, I touched my head, running my fingers through the hair that was left as a lump grew in my throat. I’d never been a vain person, but my hair had always been my favorite feature. Not only was it the shield I used to hide myself from the world, but it was my one feature I shared with my mom. Her hair was a little lighter in color, but it was the same thickness, the same length. In fact, I’d always worn my hair straight and long because it was how my mom wore hers.

And now I would lose it.

Angry, I snatched up the hair and tossed it on the ground. A growl erupted from the back of my throat, and I flung myself down on my bed. I knew I was throwing a tantrum like a child, but I didn’t care. I was upset. I was hurt. But mostly, I was sad.

The squeak of the door opening sounded behind me, and I stiffened.

“Hey.”

I froze at the sound of Cooper’s voice. I had forgotten it was Saturday, so I hadn’t been expecting him so early.

“What’s wrong?” My bed sloped downward, creaking as he sat down. His hand rested on my back.

Keeping my head pressed onto my bed, I pointed to the ground, to the strands of hair shimmering in the carpet. “It’s my hair. It’s-it’s--” I choked on the words.

Cooper’s hands swept up and down my back, creating warm friction. “It’s going to be all right. You’ll still be beautiful no matter what.”

I shook my head. He meant well, but he didn’t get it. I wasn’t some shallow girl who was only worried about her looks. Hoisting myself up, I sat upright. Sniffing, I pushed the hair out of my face. “It’s not about that.” Lowering my gaze, I picked at a thread on my comforter. “I feel like I can’t control anything about this damn disease. It keeps taking from me, and I’m powerless to stop it.”

Cooper scooted forward until our knees touched. Snagging both my hands he gripped them tightly in his. “Then let’s take control.”

“How?”

“Hold on. I’ll be right back.” He stood up and glided out of the room. I heard him talking to Dad in the family room, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then I heard footsteps in the hallway. Curious, I slid off my bed and padded over to my doorway, peeking out. The sound of a cupboard opening and closing came from the bathroom. When Cooper stepped out of the bathroom, he held Dad’s shaver in his hand.

I reeled back. “What’s that for?”

“I told you. We’re taking control.”

My body went hot. “Please tell me we’re not shaving my head.” Instinctually my hand flew to my hair.

Cooper’s face softened. “You’re going to lose it either way. You can watch it fall out a little at a time over the course of weeks or months. Or you can decide when it all goes.”

I knew what he was trying to do, and I appreciated it, but I wasn’t sure I could do it. Biting my lip, I stared into his eyes as if wishing the answer was inside.

“Tell you what.” Cooper smiled. “I’ll go first.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I’ll shave my head first.”

My gaze jerked up to his thick hair. “But I like your hair.”

“Are you saying that you’ll like me less when I shave it?”

I shook my head vehemently. “Of course not.”

“C’mon.” Tugging my hand, he guided me into the bathroom. Our bathroom was small and cramped. It hardly fit two people in it at one time. Cooper stood in front of the mirror, and I plunked down on the closed toilet seat. In one fluid movement, Cooper took off his shirt. I inhaled sharply, my eyes resting on the defined muscles of his chest, his pants hanging low on his hips and showing off the V like indentation. I’d seen his chest before. I’d even touched it, but I’d never get used to it. That I was certain of.

Cooper’s lips tugged at the corners when he caught me staring. Blushing, I averted my gaze. What I wanted to do was leap up and touch him all over his bare skin, but I was acutely aware of Dad down the hallway, so I’d maintain some self-control.

After draping a towel around his shoulders, he turned on the shaver. It buzzed loudly in the quiet room. Standing up, I placed my arm over his. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” He smiled. “Trust me?”

Nodding, I pressed my lips together and sat back down. Hugging myself, I watched as he ran the shaver over his head. Clumps fell to the ground with each swipe. I winced as they crashed to the tile floor. Silence filled the room when he finished.

“What do you think?” He turned to me.

Standing, I ran my hand over his newly shorn head. The short strands were coarse and tickled my palm. I was used to burying my fingers in the thickness of it. “It’s different.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Neither, I guess. Just different.”

He stared into my eyes. “London, do you find me as attractive as before?”

“Definitely,” I answered honestly. Short hair didn’t change that much. He still had the same bright blue eyes, chiseled features, and strong jaw.

“Have your feelings for me changed at all since I shaved my head?”

I shook my head, knowing what he was doing.

“And mine won’t either.” He stole a quick kiss on my lips. “With or without hair, it won’t matter to me. I’ll still find you incredibly sexy, and my feelings for you won’t change at all.”

My lips quivered.
How had I gotten so lucky?
“Thank you.”

Cooper swallowed hard, his neck swelling with the effort. “Are you ready?”

I exhaled. “I’m not sure.”

“You can’t leave me hangin’.” He nudged me in the stomach. “I was planning on us twinning.”

“Twinning?” An involuntary chuckle arose in my throat.

“Yeah, isn’t that what it’s called?”

“Yeah, I’ve just never heard you say it.” Cooper never ceased to amaze me. Glancing up at his head, I summoned up my courage. I couldn’t believe he shaved his head like that. But he was right. If I did this myself, I couldn’t say chemo took my hair from me. It would be my choice. My decision. I would be in control. And wasn’t that what I wanted? Puffing out my chest, I stood tall. “All right. Let’s be twinning.”

“That’s my girl.” A broad smile swept over Cooper’s face.

Breathing deeply in and out, I stood in front of the mirror. “But I’m not taking off my top.”

“Man, that was the main reason I wanted to do this,” Cooper joked, draping a towel over my shoulders. I fisted it, cinching it around me.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

My eyes closed when the shaver’s loud buzz filled the quiet space. I squeezed them shut with such force I worried I might pop a vein. The shaver skated over my head, prickling at my scalp, but I couldn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see the hair fall. It was bad enough knowing it was happening. I didn’t want to witness it. Still, I felt it. I felt the strands as they slipped down my face, as they brushed my cheek, as they landed on my bare feet. Emotion swelled inside my chest, and tears rolled down my cheek. Each swipe caused more tears to fall.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” Cooper said, his hand stilling.

Flipping my eyes open, I gasped.
My hair
. It was really gone. A sob tore from my throat and tears streamed down my face, the salty taste lingering on my tongue. Cooper set the shaver down on the counter and swept me into his arms. I fastened my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek to his chest. Sobs racked my body as I cried into Cooper’s skin, my tears wetting his flesh. He held me securely, his palms circling my back.

When I’d finally calmed down, Cooper framed my face with his hands. “You look beautiful, London. You really do.”

Sniffling, I ran a hand across my nose. “You’re just saying that.”

“I never say things I don’t mean. You know that.” His thumbs wiped away my tears. “You have the most gorgeous eyes in the whole world, and now they look even more pronounced.”

I wanted to believe him, but I wasn’t sure I did. It was all too much. All I knew was that I needed to get out of the bathroom. I was starting to sweat, claustrophobia kicking in. And I didn’t want to look at my reflection anymore. Blowing out a breath, I stepped into the hallway. As I did, I bumped right into Dad who had been walking toward his room.

His eyes widened when he got a good look at me, and it caused fresh tears to spring to my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said, my voice wavering. “We- we- were trying to take control.”

“Oh, pumpkin, you’re beautiful.” He drew me into a large embrace. “It shows off those incredible peepers of yours.”

“That’s what I said,” Cooper interjected.

But he hadn’t said ‘peepers.’ No one except my dad used the word ‘peepers’ anymore. But for some reason his use of the word gave me comfort. It felt familiar. When everything around me was changing, it was nice that some things could stay the same.

Christmas was hands down my favorite holiday. It wasn’t so much the gifts, it was the entire season. It was magical, all the lights and decorations, the music, the feeling of joy and merriment. But nothing felt magical about this Christmas. When I woke up in the morning I felt groggy, weak, and sickly. Dad had Christmas music playing, and he was cooking bacon and eggs. He wore his Santa apron that I’d bought him years ago. I knew he was trying hard, so I vowed to make the most of it no matter how awful I felt. Besides, I was grateful to be home.

It was a hell of a lot better than being in the hospital like I had been for Thanksgiving. Dad and I had planned to spend Thanksgiving with Cooper and his family. It had always just been Dad and me for Thanksgiving. Some years we didn’t even make a Turkey. It seemed that when we did make the entire meal, most went to waste anyway. Therefore, a cozy Thanksgiving at Cooper’s house sounded perfect.

And it would’ve been. Only it never happened.

The week of Thanksgiving I acquired an infection and had to be hospitalized. So instead of an old fashioned Thanksgiving with Cooper and his family, I spent the day in a hospital bed, watching movies, reading books, and eating a few bites of hospital food.

As I sat down to Christmas breakfast with Dad, I was thankful to be in the comfort of my own home this holiday. Besides, I knew Cooper was coming over after he exchanged presents with his grandparents this morning, and I looked forward to seeing him.

I could only force down a few bites before queasiness took over. Dad must have sensed I was finished, because he wiped his mouth with a napkin and rubbed his palms together. “Ready to open presents?”

Following Dad into the family room, I dropped to my knees in front of the lit tree. Dad was bent over, his head hidden under the bottom branches. Pine needles brushed against his back, some of them sticking to his shirt.

Glancing up at the tree, my gaze swept over the array of mismatched ornaments. Decorating the tree was my favorite part of the holiday. Mostly because all the ornaments had been Mom’s. It was like taking a trip down memory lane. Dad had a story to share for almost every single ornament. As my eyes lit on them, I recalled their stories.

“Here you go.” Dad emerged, holding three small packages, a light dusting of pine needles in his hair and across his shoulders.

Sitting back, I ripped into the wrapping paper. After opening all three gifts, I leaned forward and kissed Dad on the cheek. “Thank you.” I smiled, forcing down the disappointment. Dad had bought me a couple of novels I wanted and a leather journal to write in. I knew I wouldn’t get my laptop. There was no way we could afford it now with all the hospital bills and Dad cutting back on his hours at the shop. Still, deep down I had hoped he could make it work.

To kill time until Cooper showed up, I decided to curl up on the couch with a cup of hot tea, a blanket, and one of the books Dad bought. It was called
Dazzle
, and it was the story of a group of warriors all with different special powers whose sole duty was to protect their town. It was funny because I could sort of see my relationship with Cooper played out in the story between the two main characters. The heroine and hero had gone to school together for years, but both had seriously misjudged the other. But the thing that made the biggest impact on me was the superpower of one of the sub-characters. Her name was Ariel, and she had the gift of healing. When I read that I paused, pressing the book to my chest. If only she was real. If only she could touch me with her healing hands, and make me better.

If only it were that simple.

But life wasn’t a fairytale. Real life wasn’t written in the pages of novels. It existed outside of the imagination of the author, and it couldn’t be contained in three hundred pages, tying up nicely at the end in a happily ever after. Real life was messy with a bunch of loose ends like ratty cords all tangled up and disheveled. There were even some knots that were impossible to loosen, some strands that were cut and frayed. And we never knew how many pages we got. Some were given a saga, while others only a novella or short story. Worse yet, there didn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason. Not like in books where the bad guy always got what he deserved while the good guys thrived. In real life it often felt like things happened opposite of that.