Wilde Love (Forever Wilde 6)

“No, sweetheart. It’s good news. It means you’ll get a chance to wear both wigs we got.”

She laughed through her tears and wrapped her arms around me. “The second one was supposed to be for you.”

“I was never meant to be a redhead. Besides, your dad wouldn’t let me live it down. I still hear stories about him finding Roger in a dress that one time. I’m not so sure George Hobart can handle any of his hands expressing their feminine side.” I squeezed her in a hug. “But if you end up having to get your whole head shaved, I’ll do the same so we can be twins. How about it? I think the girls would laugh until their sides split, don’t you?”

I shouldn’t have mentioned the girls. It set off another round of tears. When she finally slowed down enough to catch her breath, she tilted her head up at me and ran her slender fingers through my hair.

“Don’t shave it. I love it now that it’s grown out some. Goes well with the beard.” She sighed and laid her head back on my chest. “I don’t want to tell him.”

“There’s nothing to tell right now.”

“It’s cancer. Why else would the doctor have taken so much out?”

I knew she was probably right, but maybe they’d gotten it all. Maybe she was cancer-free now and we didn’t have to worry.

“The doctor said they’d have the results back in about a week,” I said. “Let’s not worry about it until we have something to worry about.”

“My father won’t survive this,” she said in a small voice. “Major…”

“Shhh. Betsy, we’re not going to worry until there’s something to worry about. Okay? Promise me.”

She lay on my chest for a while longer before looking back up at me again. “We’re not telling either of them anything right now. You got me?”

She was asking me to keep something important from both my boss and my best friend, but I would do it in a heartbeat for one reason. Both of those men wanted Betsy to be happy more than anything. And if me keeping her confidence made her happy, I would do it without fail.

“I got you,” I said firmly. “I promise.”

“Good egg,” she murmured sleepily. “Told you.”

I kissed the top of her head as gently as I could and let her doze for a while on my chest. Despite growing up in the church, I’d never been a religious man. God and I had issues, to put it mildly, but I wasn’t afraid to admit I was a colossal hypocrite. I prayed that afternoon like I was a newly baptized devotee. I prayed for this strong, sweet woman who made so many of us happy every day. I prayed for her father, who truly would collapse and wither away if something happened to her. I prayed for the four children at home whom I loved like my own. The idea of them watching their mother battle a serious illness made me feel hollow inside.

And of course I prayed for my best friend, the man who was on the verge of finally having the perfect life he’d worked so hard for. Who deserved the smart, beautiful wife he adored. I offered up every single thing I could think of if God would just keep this woman alive and well.

But God was a son of a bitch. And life wasn’t fair.

She was diagnosed with cancer, but the doctors felt confident she’d get past it if she accepted an aggressive treatment plan. That was the only reason I’d agreed with her pleas to hold off telling Doc until his residency was complete.

We lied to everyone about her disease. When chemotherapy began, I had to take her to Dallas every three weeks. She told the family we were visiting a friend of hers from when Doc was in med school there. She really did have a friend named Kathryn who’d lost her husband in the war and was left with two small children. But because we used that as our excuse, I insisted on stopping by Kat’s house while Betsy was getting her infusion so I could fix anything that Kat needed fixing. That way it wasn’t a complete lie.

Or so I thought. Until Doc found out about it.

Chapter 19

Liam “Doc” Wilde

I don’t recall much from that summer. By the time I got home from my residency, riding high on the knowledge I was finally going to have everything I ever wanted, Betsy was already weak from the chemo and horribly immune-suppressed.

And I seethed with anger. My anger was a living, breathing thing. Since there was no way in hell I was going to direct my anger at my beautiful, sick wife, I thrust it all at Major Snake-In-The-Grass. He’d kept her secret from me instead of telling me she was sick. And because of that, he’d cost me five extra months with her. Five months of caring for her and making sure she was getting the best medical attention.