The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

“There’s a bed over there,” I mouth against the hollow in her neck.

“It’s not a bed,” she laughs.

I drag my mouth away and glance over to the paper-covered exam table. “It’s bed-like.”

“Nathan, this is my doctor’s office.” She tries to sound scandalized but at least half of her, hopefully the lower half, is intrigued.

Before I can summon up more arguments, the door opens and the nurse bustles in.

“Charlotte, can you come with me? I need to move you to another room.”

Charlotte stands and grabs her phone. “Sure, another test?”

“Oh no, the doctor just wants to chat.”

The sense of wrongness that I pushed away earlier comes flooding back. The nurse won’t look at us, and even Charlotte is starting to feel nervous. I rise and place my hand on her back.

“Just Charlotte, sir,” the nurse instructs.

“Nate’s my fiancé,” Charlotte objects.

The nurse purses her lips together. “Let me check with the doctor.”

She disappears, and Charlotte takes up the pacing. “I’m sure nothing is wrong,” she says, but there is no conviction in her voice. I shove my hands in my pockets because I’m afraid I’m going to punch a hole in the wall if someone doesn’t come in here soon and take away our anxiety.

I have the knob in my hand when the door pushes open. A slight, dark-skinned man with frameless glasses and a white coat appears on the other side. I move away so he can enter. Standing behind him, I cross my arms and look down my nose, daring him to give us bad news.

“Charlotte, why don’t you take a seat,” he begins.

She covers her mouth and stumbles into a chair. I’m frozen in my spot, unprepared for this news. I’ve been in danger, real danger where I thought I might not come out of a mission alive. I’ve walked among land mines with RPGs being cannoned around me, but the last time I felt this cold hand of fear was when Charlotte was fifteen.

“No,” I say as if by my command I can stop whatever is happening.

The doctor gives me a pitying look. “There are anomalies in your blood. I want to get you in for a CT scan. They’re ready for you now.”

“What do you think it is?” Her voice is barely a notch above a whisper, but the room is so quiet, we’d be able to hear a mouse squeak.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to guess. Let’s get these tests done, and then we’ll talk.”

The nurse arrives and leads Charlotte out because she’s turned into a wooden doll. I’m not much better. We shuffle down to radiology. I’m forced into a tiny sitting room while Charlotte is taken away.

Time moves sluggishly. After each test, she is increasingly worn out. The mental toll is exhausting her. Finally, they send us home after having taken a biopsy of her leg, a procedure so painful that Charlotte is biting back tears and I’m ready to tear the surgeon in half. They’ll call us, we’re told, but we don’t need confirmation for the news we don’t want to accept.

We stumble outside in shock. The late afternoon sunshine nearly blinds us as we stagger to her car.

“I can’t drive,” she says. Her hands are shaking. I look down and mine are too. I’m not in much better condition.

I call upon my training and somehow get us into the car and to her condo in one piece. I don’t remember the drive or if we talked. It is all a blur. When we get home, Charlotte runs into the bathroom and locks the door. Inside, I hear her crying.

On the other side, I stand like a worthless fool wondering what I should do. I want to break the door down and pull her into my arms, but this is one fight I can’t win with a gun or a knife or even a great plan.

There’s only one thing I can do, and that is be with her. This time, I’m prepared. I’ll go to every hospital visit. I’ll research every article on healthy eating and alternative medicines. She’s not in this alone. And no one is taking her from me. Not her parents, not my parents, and not the goddamned military.

I pull out my phone and call my commander.

“You’re supposed to be enjoying your shore leave,” my LT barks.

“I’m separating,” I say.

“Didn’t know you were married, son,” he says in confusion.

“No, from the teams. From the Navy.” I squeeze the back of my neck, trying to gather my thoughts into a logical and comprehensible form. “My fiancée has just been diagnosed with cancer, and I need to be with her.”

“You’ve got two more weeks of leave, Monk. Plus we’re just training when you get back. There’ll be plenty of time for you to be with her while she has treatment.”

“No, sir. I’m telling you now that I’m filing my separation papers ASAP. No more missions. Nothing. I’m out.”