I dragged in a deep breath.
“C’mon,” Amanda said. “You need some sleep as well. Real sleep. I’ll take you home . . . to my apartment, I mean. You should probably call your mom and dad as well, let them know you got here safely.”
I shook my head. “No.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t want to call them?”
“I’m not going to stay at your apartment.”
A stillness fell over her. She swallowed. “Why . . . where are you going to go?”
Closing my eyes for a moment, I let out a slow breath. “I need to think, Amanda. I need some space to get my head around everything, to work out where I stand on it.”
“It? Do you mean Tanner? The bone marrow trans—”
“Us, Amanda,” I interrupted her. “I need to work out where I stand on us. When it comes to Tanner’s treatment, I don’t need to work anything out. I’m here for him until he doesn’t need me any more.”
Teeth catching her bottom lip, she nodded. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not . . . for not leaving us . . . leaving him.”
I stared at her over our sleeping child, separated from her by the width of Tanner’s bed and a chasm of pain I had no hope of ignoring.
“I’ll get a SIM for my phone while I’m out,” I said, “and text you my US number.”
She nodded again. “Okay.”
With one last lingering look at Tanner, I turned and left. Every fiber in my body screamed at me to turn and go back. What the fuck was I doing? I was walking away?
What. The. Fuck.
But I had to. At this point in time, I had to. I was, to put it mildly, raw. I hadn’t been lying to Amanda when I said I needed to think. And I couldn’t do that clearly near her.
Angry, hate, desire, love, contempt, sympathies . . . all warred for control of my next word, my next action. Until I had regained control, it was better I wasn’t with her.
Hot Southern Californian air blasted me as I left the hospital. I squinted against the glaring sun for a second, welcoming the discomfort, before covering my eyes with my sunglasses. If I cried again – and seriously, I was expecting to – while trying to clear my head, at least passersby wouldn’t be subjected to a six-foot plus Aussie’s tears.
It took me just a few minutes to find a taxi. I asked the driver to take me to the closest telco store. A few minutes after that, we pulled up outside an AT&T. In those few minutes, I refused to let my mind turn to Amanda. As stupid as it sounds, I was forcing myself to deny she existed for a moment. I needed to get my phone happening so I could talk to Mum and Dad. I needed to function for a moment as Brendon, single guy, with one mission and one mission only: getting my phone to work here in the US. Once I’d achieved that goal, I wouldn’t feel so . . . adrift, cut off from the life I’d known without any support.
Which should tell you how fucked up I felt. Reaching out for support was not the norm for me.
A ridiculous amount of money later (damn, my bank manager was going to have a fit when I got home), my iPhone was connected to the US network. The first thing I did was text Parker Waters my number, then Heather back in Australia, and then Amanda. I tried not to focus on how much it hurt to see the previous messages she’d sent to get me here. Mysterious messages that lied via omission. Trouble is, if she’d sent me a photo of Tanner and said “This is your son and we need you” would I have reacted any different? Or would my rage, my shattered trust, have kept me in Sydney? Would my wounded heart, my wounded ego, have prevented me from coming here and saving my son?
My phone chirped in my hand with an incoming message.
Thanx. A. xo
Fuck me, how many times had Amanda sent such a text when we’d been together? In response to simple, inane things like: I’ve just left uni. Shall grab some dinner for us on the way home. B.
Shutting down the conflicted heat trying to creep over me, I shoved my phone into my hip pocket and went searching for sustenance. I needed some protein, some carbs, coffee and a bottle of water.
One turkey-lettuce-and-Swiss on wheat later (Subway is a discombobulated tourist’s friend), I found a quiet park overlooking an even quieter street. The park was crowded with gum trees, the familiar foliage and distinct scent of eucalyptus filling me with a surreal sense of homesickness and comfort. Dropping onto a bench beneath one particularly large tree, I placed my water on the table in front of me, cupped my coffee with two hands, and closed my eyes. I drew in a deep breath, and then released it. I meditated like that for ten minutes, holding my warm coffee and letting my senses dance on the edge of awareness. Sunlight dappled my face, peaking from behind the leaves swaying in the gentle breeze, a breeze that played with my hair and rippled my shirt.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
But no matter how much I focused on my breathing, on slowing my heart rate and letting the tension flow from my muscles, in my mind was Tanner and Amanda. My gut tightened. Opening my eyes, I reached for my phone, scrolled through my contacts and dialed Mum.
A cautious Hello? filled the connection after the sixth ring (yes, I counted them). It hit me then I had no idea what time it was in Sydney.
Shit.
“Mum,” I said, guilt slamming into me. I wasn’t being the best of sons at the moment. “It’s Brendon.”
“Brendon?” Caution gave way to worry. “Is something wrong? Are you okay? What are you doing calling so early in the morning?”
“I’m fine, Mum,” I lied. Man, what was I doing? “Actually, no I’m not.”
“Do you want to come around?” Worry still laced her words, but now so did protective control. When it came to taking charge of delicate situations, Mum was brilliant. “Or do I need to send your father to get you? Where are you?”
“I’m in San Diego.”
Silence greeted my confession.
“Okay, it may take him a little bit longer to get there, but if you give me an address . . .”
I snorted out a laugh. God, I loved this woman. I don’t remember the last time I ever told her that, but I really loved her. “It’s okay, Mum. No need to send the cavalry. Or wake him up.”
She snorted in return, a warm sound of affection. “Honey, it’s breakfast time. He’s standing right beside me, frowning. As is Caden. And Aunty Rachel. See? You’ve interrupted all our breakfasts. Now tell me why you’re in San Diego.”
Scrunching up my face, I dropped my head to the table and head-butted its surface twice. “Ah man, Aunt Rachel’s there? And Caden?”
“They are. I take it you forgot it’s your father’s birthday the day after tomorrow?”
I head-butted the table again.
“Brendon’s in trouble,” Caden chanted in a sing-song voice in the background.
My cousin Caden O’Dea is twenty-two, studying to be a veterinarian at the University of Melbourne, and rarely takes anything serious. He’s great, dedicated to a cause – animal welfare – and looks so much like me we’re often mistaken for brothers. Of course, I’d never tell him I thought he was great.
Mum laughed. “That he is. Unless he has a good reason for being in San Diego. Brendon? That reason is . . .?”
Okay, here goes. “I have a son.”