“I’ve had breast cancer for two years, Eric. Treatment isn’t working. The doctor has diagnosed me with stage four. Nothing else can be done. I’ve stopped all treatment.”
I blink at her in disbelief. She wouldn’t have hidden this from me. Plus, I would have noticed. I’m a fucking doctor. All this time I could have helped—I could have been here. I would have moved in. “What?” is all I can say because my mind is running so fast. I can’t think of anything else to say. “You hid this from me?” The truth and immensity of her lie hits me. I take my fork and stab it into the table. “You can’t… You … why? God, Mom! What the fuck? No. No! You can’t.” I push away from the table, and my chest tightens. Anxiety. No one understands. No one understands that my mom isn’t just my mom—she’s my best friend. She keeps me grounded, human. I’m not like my MC brothers. I’m not violent, but that’s only because of my mom.
I have violent tendencies, thoughts, and wants, but I do nothing about them. Cutting into human flesh helps ease the need to inflict pain. Being a doctor, that wasn’t a decision I made because I wanted to save lives.
I want to save the lives that matter, that are worthy. I want to be in control of the scalpel for once in my life.
“Eric, it’s okay. Everything is fine. Sit down.”
“Sit down?” I gape at her in disbelief. “You want me to sit down, finish my food, and pretend my own mom didn’t tell me she had cancer for two years and now she’s dying? Is that what you want? Okay,” I yank the chair out, biting back tears, and sit my ass down in the seat. “This?” I shove bite after bite in my mouth until I can hardly chew. Noodles slip out of my mouth. Alfredo drips down my chin. I nearly choke.
Jo slides her hand into mine. “Eric, stop,” she pleads.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew how you would react. I wanted to see if I could beat it before I said anything. I didn’t expect the treatments not to work. I’m sorry, Eric.”
I lean my elbows against the table and fold my hands in front of my face, thinking about what to do and say. I think about treatments and our next move, a way for my mom to survive this. “How long are they giving you?” I close my burning eyes and let the truth choke me. My mom is dying. I don’t think I can say it out loud. She’s young. She’s only sixty. Years. We were supposed to have years left. Good memories to be made to completely bury the bad ones.
“You know it’s all relevant. I could—”
“How. Long?” I punctuate with impatience and heartbreak.
“Three months, give or take.”
“Three…” I say on a long breath and cross my hands behind my head. “Three months? Months?” I swing my arm across the table and roar, letting the anger take root. The bowl filled with alfredo crashes, shattering against the wall. I take the Pellegrino bottle in my hand and throw it next, sending water everywhere.
“No, why didn’t you tell me? I’m a doctor. I would have helped you.”
“Eric.” She stands and hurries around the table to stand in front of me. “Because I knew you’d obsess over it, and it would’ve been unhealthy. I don’t want you to live like that. I’ve never wanted you to live in pain, only peace. You know that,” she says. “You know why I didn’t want to torture you with something you couldn’t have changed.”
“I might have,” I say weakly.
“No, baby. Not this time.” Mom cups my face, and I should be embarrassed for losing it like I did in front of Jo, but I risk a quick glance her way, and she has wet cheeks. “Nothing could have been done. Don’t beat yourself up over this. This isn’t the past, Eric. This isn’t something that can be changed like yours.”
“I can’t lose you.” I engulf her in a hug, squeezing her too tight. Part of me is afraid it will be the last time I’ll ever get to hug her like this. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You’ll live your life, with Jo, like you’ve been doing.”
“Mom, you’re… You can’t accept this. I can’t accept this.” I step away from her and open the sliding glass door beside us. “I need a minute alone. I need to think.” The night is cool, typical for the desert, but it doesn’t do anything for the heat in my veins. Am I overreacting? I’m supposed to be this big, badass biker who can take anything, but this… I don’t know how to process this. I’ve never been closer with another soul. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust my mom. We’ve been through hell together. We survived. We are survivors. Things don’t just come to an end.
I stare up at the sky, and the stars are finally out, twinkling beautifully. I clutch my chest as my heart breaks all over again, and I let it all out. I’m alone. No one can see me. I’m allowed to fall apart when the only company I have is agony.
I’m not as strong as everyone makes me out to be. I hold a lot inside because I don’t know how to deal with half of the emotions that I feel. Strength isn’t only about physical ability but mental too. Mentally, I’m torn in pieces.
“Fuck.” I drop to my knees and pound my fist against the sand.
I’m picturing cancer, my father, club enemies, and beating the shit out of it. My eyes cloud as I keep hitting, punching. I throw small rocks and dried twigs from dead plants. I cry, silently, and try to work out a way to come to terms with this on my own.
If I want to be honest, I’ve been lucky. I’ve never had to do anything on my own before, not really. I’ve never been alone. I’ve always had my mom and my MC. The only torment I’ve known is the kind I give myself and what my dad has done to me.
I sound like a momma’s boy, I know, but no one understands what she did for me all those years ago and now, the one time I could have been of use, I’m worthless. I have to sit back and watch her die.
My fingers dig into the sand, curling around the granules as they embed under my nails. I feel like that little boy at sixteen-years-old, tied to the bed, my back split open from my dad; only this time, Mom doesn’t come to save me. I have to sit through the torture and hope the pain stops.
But it never stops, does it? Life is a carousel that never stops spinning.
“Eric…” Jo’s hand lands on my shoulder, and the sudden touch has me opening my eyes. She’s seeing me raw, unhinged, and broken for the first time. She’s going to see how weak I really am. “I’m so sorry,” she says, climbing into my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck. “I’m here for you. I’m right here. Just like you’ve been for me. I’m here.”
My arms tangle around her waist, and I hold on tight, holding on to the woman I’ve been anchored to in some way. I bury my face into her neck and inhale, my wet cheeks rub against her skin, and I do my best to hold in my emotions.
I have to be strong for her.
“Let it out,” she says. “It’s okay. You’re in a safe place.”
This is why I’ve been so drawn to her. My heart knew he only place I’d be able to let go and be myself is with her. Jo is my safe place.
“I’m not picture-perfect, but I know what it is to hurt, Eric. It’s okay to hurt, right? That’s what you’ve taught me.”