Infinity: Based on a True Story Read online

  “Hmm.” He made a noise, his face inquisitive, almost like he had an idea but didn’t want to say it out loud. I wasn’t going to make him. He was probably thinking up cornier things to say.

  Silence fell between us and, seconds later, when I looked up, he was already looking at me, his gaze soft. Beneath the streetlights I could really see him. There was so much damage in his eyes.

  A world of chaos.

  Pain lay deep within them but he did his best to cover it up. Don’t get me wrong, his eyes were beautiful but I knew pain. I knew hurt. I could spot it from a mile away.

  Other than the sadness there, he was utterly breathtaking. I wanted to hold him, tell him that whatever it was, it was okay. I, of all people, knew how hard life could be. In that moment, I realized we had similarities.

  John Streeter wasn’t just some random guy that changed a helpless girl’s tire. He was there that night for a reason.

  We met accidentally but there turned out to be a greater reason behind it. To help one another cope with pain that no one but us could understand. To heal each other. Protect…and eventually love.

  That night, anything could have happened. But he happened. We happened. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

  I invited John into the club for a drink, on me, as a thank you for the rescue. He had no plans the rest of the night so I did my best to make sure he had a good time.

  He had even offered me a spare black T-shirt to wear. I’d knotted it in the back to attempt a smidgen of feminine appeal, but my jeans were still a little wet.

  It didn’t matter though. He wasn’t the best-dressed thing there, either, getting dirty looks from girls in slutty dresses. He couldn’t have cared less. He hardly paid them any attention.

  He was okay with chatting with me over the bar, bantering with me, laughing about how I thought he was coming back to kill me with a handful of tools and even how he soaked me with a random ass puddle.

  He was okay being around me and, while he was, I saw some of that sadness slowly fade from his eyes.

  I saw… light. Joy. It was rare for him. I wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy that deserved misery, and I wasn’t the type of girl that deserved it either.

  In some strange way, we were a match. We were incredibly undeniable together.

  From that moment forward, John Streeter was no longer just a stranger. He’d become a friend. Then a best friend. And then a boyfriend. And finally, my husband.

  I had no clue while at the bar that night that he would be the man I ended up marrying.

  A great man, he is.

  God, I still can’t believe he’s mine.

  Of course our relationship wasn’t steady. Nor was it easy.

  We faced challenges, him with his job and not spending much time with me, and me with my past… the past I never settled or came to good terms with.

  Max was still there somehow. It was hard to cut him off—get rid of him—but I finally did. At first, I couldn’t because I had no excuse, but when I was diagnosed I had the biggest one.

  It was bad to use my disease as justification, but Max had hurt me. Max went off the grid and John made me forget about the man that broke my heart for just a little while—that is, until he returned.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Present

  I’ve been awake for hours as my new doctor, Dr. Vivek Barad, tampers with my new device.

  As he checks vitals, marking things off his clipboard while also asking me questions about my levels of comfort, I’ve been practicing his name in and out of my head.

  “Vi-veck Bar-odd,” I pronounce, rolling it off my tongue.

  “That is correct.” He smiles down at me.

  Dr. Barad is a very young and handsome Native-American man. He has shoulder-length black hair and clear brown skin. His round glasses make him seem older than he really is. I’m sure he wears them purposely. For people like me to take him seriously.

  No one takes younger doctors seriously these days. That’s one thing I learned during my stay at the hospital. Dr. Barad can’t be too much older than I am.

  It’s a good thing, though. I like him. He respects my wishes, unlike Dr. David, who mainly respected John’s.

  “Okay,” he sighs, his accent heavy. “I’ve thrown out the old bag of OPX and have inserted a brand new one. You should change the bag out every six to eight hours.” He lifts up my new device, the one I now have to carry everywhere with me. “John and your sister, Sonya, have mentioned that you are tired of being in bed all day and would like to walk.”

  I nod. “Yep. I’d like to at least go downstairs without someone having a heart attack.”

  He laughs. “I understand, but you must realize this is a disease that can’t be taken lightly, Shannon. I had to go through hula-hoops just to get this device. No one believes the small doses will work for you, but I do. They’ll shoot into your lungs every few minutes to keep the lungs stable. The pills I’ve prescribed should give you plenty of energy to get through the day. But remember, any kind of extreme activity could damage your lungs even more. You are doing a lot better but you’ve hit a critical level. You are lucky that you are even breathing right now—that the OPX is even working.”

  “I understand.” I drop my head.

  “Trust me, I am not here to scold you,” he reminds me for the third time today, “I am simply here to make sure my patient is comfortable and happy.” I look up at his bright white smile, watching as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his large, narrow nose. “Now, this can be carried in a backpack.” He picks up the silver, jetpack-looking device, twisting it around for me to get a good look. “Or just carried like this. But, regardless of how you decide to carry it, you must have it with you at all times if you don’t plan on taking bags of OPX to last throughout the day.

  “It makes a small noise, but can be easily ignored. This was designed to be lightweight and personable for the patients to manage. That way you can go up and down the stairs and not feel as if you’re carrying a two-year-old child.” He places the device on the ground again. “The OPX will keep your lungs functioning properly as long as this device is running. It will beep when it needs a quick battery charge. I’d say it needs at least thirty minutes.”

  “Okay,” I say, “Thirty minutes I can do.”

  “Good. Now, you must remember to keep this tubing free from pinches and bends. Always keep an eye on it. If you can’t, have someone else be on the lookout. We don’t need the airways blocked.”

  I nod, looking down at the clear tubing running from my nose to the device. “Got it.”

  He nods. “So, what will you call this thing? There is some long name for it, but I won’t bother with pronouncing it.” He laughs, placing his clipboard down on John’s dresser and then folding his arms.

  “Um… I think I’m just going to call it my jetpack. With it, I can walk around again. Feel the sun. Go to the lake. Have a little fun at least. To be able to walk now is like being able to fly. Not all OPX patients can afford this thing, right?” I lift it up off the brown rug, resting it on top of the mattress.

  “That is right. Consider yourself lucky. John is a great man. He wants nothing but the very best for you, no matter the price.”

  I sigh. “I know.”

  “Well, anyway,” Dr. Barad blows out a breath, unfolding his arms and grabbing his clipboard, “I will be on my way and back in another three and a half hours. Remember everything I said and please do not get carried away. It can be easy to work your body more than necessary. Try walking down half the staircase out there, sit for a few minutes, and then go back up. If that feels like too much then stop and call me. The OPX should help you maintain control of your lungs but anything could happen.”

  He walks toward the door and I watch him, calling “See you later,” as he drifts down the hallway.

  I sit with my legs on the edge of the bed, turn forward, and grin at the window across from me. I get to walk on my own again. I g
et to live a little… again. This thing will be annoying to carry around with me, but it’s better than sitting on my ass in this bed, watching cartoons and reading books all day long.

  I push up with the strength I have in my arms, carrying my jetpack with me to my walk-in closet. When I walk in, I sit in front of the black chest, fold my legs and after collecting a few breaths, I open it, digging around and searching for my old black Jansport bag. When I come across it I smile so hard I feel my face might break.

  “There you are, old friend.” I unzip it, dumping out random sheets of paper, pens, empty water bottles and even snack wrappers. When it’s empty, I straighten out the tan leather on the bottom and then I tuck my jetpack neatly inside of it. I start to zip it, but then I realize the zippers might cause a pinch or bend.

  I dig in the chest again, looking for the hand-me-down pocketknife given to me from my father. As I search, I hear footsteps in the bedroom.

  Moments later and Sonny’s voice screeches, “What the hell are you doing?!”

  “Looking for something,” I tell her, completely ignoring her overreaction.

  “Well, let me do it. Looks like you’re struggling. Stop.” She swats me away, taking over my scavenger hunt. “What are you looking for?”

  “The old blue and brown pocket knife dad gave me.” I tuck the loose strands of my hair behind my ear. “It’s in there somewhere.”

  “Oh God.” Sonny’s eyes stretch, full of horror. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to kill yourself, sis!”

  I narrow my eyes, pushing her away from the chest and getting on my knees to search again. “Suicide and Shannon don’t mix.”

  “Hmm… I guess.” She looks down at my backpack, fingering the levers and knobs on the jetpack. “So this is the thingamajig John spent an arm and a leg on, huh?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Is it working?” She looks up.

  “Yep. Breathing better than ever. It feels ten times better to get smaller doses than having to sit and let a full bag stream into my veins.”

  She gives an inconspicuous look. “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, seriously,” I say, pulling out the knife and flipping the blade, “I feel great. Kind of like how I did before. I think the moving around is actually helping, not making it worse.”

  “I really wish you wouldn’t walk at all—at least, not so much, Shannon.”

  “Sonny,” I mutter, “I need to. Why can’t you guys realize that I’m not in denial but that I actually need this?”

  “If I was given the opportunity to lay in bed all day I would take it!”

  “Of course you would,” I laugh, sticking a hole above the label. I quickly take off my tubing, slide it through the slot and then put it back on, inhaling quickly.

  “How neat,” she says, fiddling with the hole.

  “Dr. Barad said no pinches or bending the tube. The zippers would’ve caused trouble.”

  “That’s true. Well, anyway, I came up to tell you that I went down to that bakery you like so much and got you a gluten-free bagel and donut. The donut has chocolate icing on it.” Her smile is mischievous as she stands and holds her hands out for me to grab.

  I take them and she pulls me up to a stand. “Ohh, good. I’m so glad John decided to go to work.”

  “Me too. I swear, Shanny,” Sonny groans, leading the way out of the closet and bedroom, “I love John like a brother, but I don’t know how you do it. He’s trying so hard to control everything with you. I know it’s all love, but come on.”

  “Well, that’s John for you.” I shrug. “I can’t do much about that. He is who he is.”

  “An overbearing prude?”

  I smack her shoulder. “He’s only looking out for me. At least he doesn’t sneak me chocolate.”

  Her jaw drops as she pretends to be shocked by my statement. “Are you saying I’m bad for you?!”

  I burst out laughing as she spins around, walking backwards. “I’m not saying that at all. Keep bringing the chocolate. A few bites of it won’t hurt.”

  “Right.” She trots down the staircase. I stop before taking the first step down, realizing just how many steps I have to take before getting to the first floor.

  Sonny reaches the middle and starts to say something as she turns at an angle, but when she realizes I’m not behind her, she frowns, looking up. “Shannon? You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I hold up my hand, giving her reassurance. “I’m fine. It’s just been so long since I’ve walked down any stairs.” I force a laugh. It’s winded. I can’t believe this.

  I haven’t walked down any of the stairs and I’m already breathless. The crazy part about this is I’m not even afraid of the staircase, I’m afraid of my lungs racing, trying to catch up with an activity I haven’t done in months. Isn’t it sad that I haven’t walked in two months?

  “You don’t have to come down, sis. I can bring the pastries up. It’s fine—”

  “No.” I cut her off, head shaking. “I got this. I can do it.” I take a step down and make a mental tally. One down, at least twenty-more to go. I take another, Sonny stuck in place as she observes me. When I’m four steps down I beam at her. “See,” I breathe. “I got this.”

  “Shannon, I don’t know…” her voice is uncertain, “you sound tired already. You don’t have to do this. Maybe you should start with walking down the hallway.”

  “No, Sonya. I can do this.” I take another step down and it’s then that I realize I’ve used her real name.

  I only use her real name when I’m serious… or showing a little too much pride.

  Her lips seal tight. I know she will no longer say anything until I’m down those steps. I look down at her sad eyes, the way she pities me, and I hate it.

  She shouldn’t feel sympathy for me, the older sister. It should be the other way around. She should be looking up at me, wondering just how I do it. But instead she worries. She fears losing me over a fucking staircase.

  Stupid fucking house.

  The doorbell rings and Sonny takes that as an opportunity to break the tension.

  “I’ll get it,” she calls softly, scurrying down the rest of the stairs. Glancing over her shoulder, she begs, “Just please be careful.”

  She walks down the hallway and I stop for a second, gripping the railing and collecting my breath.

  I’m already exhausted and feel like I’ve broken a sweat. My heart is racing. It’s been so long. I can’t believe how weak I’ve become.

  Sonny’s voice rings through the hallway. Though I can’t make out what she’s saying, she’s clearly upset.

  Several seconds later the door slams shut, shoes scuffle down the hallway, and right below the staircase is… Max?

  And holding onto his grey, sweat-dampened T-shirt, trying her hardest to drag him back down the hallway, is Sonny. She grunts and growls, but there’s no use. He’s a brick wall. He’s not going anywhere.

  My heart catches even more speed as he looks up at me with those beautiful brown eyes, rimmed with long eyelashes. His face evens out as he looks me over, focusing on the hands I have tightly wrapped round the railing.

  “You okay, Shakes?”

  “I’ve been better,” I admit.

  Sonny releases him, rushing for the stairs to get to me but Max, like a cheetah—swift and agile—beats her to the punch, picking me up in his arms and scooping up my backpack in the process.

  “Watch out for the tubing,” I tell him.

  He nods.

  Sonny smacks him on the back. “I had her!”

  “I’m pretty sure you can’t carry her, little sis. Nice try, though.”

  She growls at him.

  I shake my head.

  “Going up or down?” he questions, looking me in the eyes.

  “Up,” Sonny says before I can respond. “Back to her bedroom.”

  “Down,” I murmur.

  “Down it is.” A soft smile graces those plump, pink lips of his and he walks around Sonny, taking ea
ch step one at a time. Slowly. Carefully. Just for me.

  “This is insane,” she sighs. “I’ll be in the bathroom scrubbing the grime off my fingers. Can’t believe I actually touched you. Why in the hell are you so sweaty anyway?”

  “Long game of basketball and working out,” Max calls over his shoulder, drifting down the hallway. “Your sister is crazy, you know that?” he says when she makes a gagging noise.

  “I’ve been told.”

  “How are you feeling? Seemed a little stuck up there…”

  “I’m good. It’s just my first time using the stairs in a while. I had to prepare my body for the task.”

  “I can understand that. Sonny told me you got something new to help you get around. Is that what’s in this bag?” He gestures over his shoulder with his eyes.

  I nod. “I call it my jetpack. The thing’s like magic.”

  He laughs. “Glad it’s working for you, Shakes.”

  When he’s a few steps away from the door, I realize that he didn’t take the turn for the den.

  “Max, where are you going?”

  “Outside.”

  “No. Why? Put me down,” I say hurriedly.

  “Is that what you really want?”

  Honestly, no. But I can’t leave the house with him right now.

  “Max.” I struggle to get out of his arms. Realizing this will only cause harm to me, he stops walking and sets me on my feet immediately. “What are you trying to do? Kidnap me?”

  He cocks his head. “Can I? Just for an hour?”

  “An hour?” I reach for my backpack, sliding my arms through the straps. “Where will we go?”

  “Wherever you want to go.”

  “Paris?”

  He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, trying to fight a laugh. “I still want to take you there one day.”

  “And you’ll get me a French bike?”

  “I’ll pedal that baby for you.”

  “Then where will I sit?” I question, keeping the mood light and playful.

  “You can ride on my lap… facing me or the handles. You know I don’t mind either of the views.”

  I fight a blush and a laugh. “You’re a mess.” I looked back and sighed. “Okay. I guess we have some time. How about you decide where we go today.”