Found: His Family

‘I don’t want your forgiveness, I want your help,’ she said, her defiance startling when he almost expected her to fall apart if her pale face and bloodshot eyes were any indication.

Not that he wanted her to. He didn’t want to play knight in shining armour, not when he had more pressing matters like trying to assimilate the fact he was a father.

‘That’s right, you’re desperate,’ he sneered, pushing away from the table and striding to the window, hating himself for pushing her like this but unable to stop. A deep, perverse need to punish her egged him on, to make her pay for keeping him in the dark because she hadn’t trusted him enough.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her soft touch on his arm made him jump and he jerked away, needing distance between them before he did something even more out of character, such as walk out the door and never look back.

Though to Aimee’s way of thinking, that wouldn’t be so unexpected. For all he knew, she probably expected him to run. Again.

Staring blindly out the window, he saw a guy with a stroller unbuckle a little boy from the contraption, swing and settle him on top of his shoulders, both grinning madly as they trotted off down the street. He’d seen kids and dads a thousand times before and the scene had never affected him the way it did at that moment, a hard, tight knot forming in the pit of his stomach, making him feel sick that he had a little boy of his own and knew nothing about him. That he’d never be any good at any of that father-son stuff that was expected of dads.

Though Aimee wasn’t asking him to be a father to Toby. She only wanted him to get tested as a donor. Somehow, that made him feel a whole lot worse.

Ignoring the churning dread in his gut, he turned to face her. ‘I can deal with the anger stuff. Right now, tell me what I need to do about Toby.’

Her gaze searched his face for a moment, apparently satisfied by what she saw. ‘OK. We don’t have much time so I took the liberty of making an appointment with the doctor tonight for you to get tested and ask any questions you might have.’

Her presumptuousness—her assumption that he’d drop everything and help her after the way things had ended between them—rankled like nothing else.

He needed more time. Time to come to grips with the bomb she’d just dropped on him, time to grasp the full reality of what being a dad meant, time to gain control over the slow-burning anger that made him want to explode all over again.

However, three little words penetrated his dazed brain. Not much time…

Aimee had approached him out of desperation and the little guy didn’t have much time.

He couldn’t wallow in his anger or stew over her deception, he had to make a choice. Now. And just like five years earlier, it was a no-brainer.

‘Fine. I’ll do it. When do I get to meet Toby?’

She averted her gaze, staring out the window behind him. ‘It will be too late tonight so it’ll have to be tomorrow. He’s so tired all the time and the hospital keep pretty strict visiting hours.’

‘Even for parents?’

‘N-no, parents are welcome any time.’

Her slight hesitation had him on full alert. She was hiding something. Something else, and suddenly it hit him like an exploding volcano: swift, scorching, devastating, and burning an agonising trail right through his soul.

She didn’t want him to meet Toby.

If he had the test and wasn’t compatible, she wanted him to walk away. To leave as if nothing had changed, as if his son didn’t exist.

Well, he had news for her.

‘I know you don’t see me as father material but I’m here now and I’d like a chance to meet my son.’

The words fell out of his mouth in a rush, as if by saying them he couldn’t take them back. And right then, it hit him. He didn’t want to take them back, despite the fear he’d be lousy father material.

My son.

He still couldn’t comprehend the two words and had no idea how he really felt or what he’d say when he came face to face with Toby, but suddenly he was damn sure about one thing. He wanted a chance, a chance to meet his son.

Aimee nodded, her shoulders slumped in weary defeat as if she’d gone ten rounds with him and lost. ‘You ready to go to the hospital now? It’s not far.’

‘Let’s go.’ He tried to inject some life into his voice but it fell flat as he mulled over the truth he’d just learned and the implications for them all.

Aimee moved around the shop like an automaton, flicking off lights, pulling down blinds and setting the coolers for the cakes. His protective instincts urged him to help her but he didn’t move, sensing she needed to do the simple, repetitive actions as a way to buy time to steady her emotions.

If she was feeling half as punch-drunk as he was after their confrontation, she’d be an emotional wreck on the inside.

Besides, she didn’t need his help. She’d made it clear that she’d been doing fine on her own without him these last five years and it stuck in his craw, fuelling his latent resentment that she viewed him as some sort of stopgap measure.

‘Jed?’

He jumped, surprised by the quiver in her voice as she snuck up behind him.

‘Yeah?’

‘Thanks for doing this. For being here with me.’ Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked up at him, as if beseeching him to understand. ‘For being here for Toby.’

He was angry, shaken, confused, yet when she finally gave into the tears that had been threatening he had no option but to envelop her in his arms, smooth her hair and make soft, soothing noises as his anger shifted slightly to be replaced by an emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge, an emotion that had fuelled his actions years earlier, an emotion that could only lead to more pain.

Guilt could be a terrible thing.

CHAPTER THREE

JED stared at the doctor’s lips, watching them move, hearing the words but having trouble processing them.

Acute lymphoblastic leukaemia.

The diagnosis sounded so much worse coming from the uptight medic in a too-tight white coat, the word ‘leukaemia’ reverberating around Jed’s head till he wanted to run from the room, find a secluded corner and curl up in a tight ball with his hands over his ears.

He’d had a similar gut-wrenching reaction when the head juror had pronounced his father guilty, and later when the judge had sentenced him to ten years behind bars.

‘You sure about this?’

He met the doctor’s disapproving gaze that read ‘how dare you question me?’ straight on, praying this was a mistake, that the doc would clear his throat, apologise and send them on their way with a prescription for antibiotics.

However, he’d given up on prayers being answered around the time his dad had done his first stint in jail and he knew without a doubt that his current plea to God was just as futile.

The doctor shook his head, his fingers toying with a fancy gold pen as he reinforced the news that sent a chill down his spine.

‘I’m sorry. We ran extensive tests and they were conclusive. Toby’s loss of appetite, fatigue, frequent nose bleeds and bruising had me concerned when Aimee first brought him in and I had a fair idea what we’d find.’

‘I see,’ Jed said, not seeing in the slightest, questioning the injustice of a world where the bad guys usually won and a helpless little boy had to cope with an illness like this.

‘What’s the treatment?’ To his credit, his voice remained steady while his insides roiled in one huge, anxious mess.

The doctor continued to fiddle with his pen, rolling it over and over with his fingers, and he had the sudden urge to lean over and slam his hand on top of it.

‘There are several components to treatment,’ the doctor said, his cool detachment annoying him almost as much as his fiddling fingers. ‘Toby has a good prognosis as his white blood-cell count is less than thirty thousand, and with chemotherapy and radiation therapy his chances of remission are high.’

Chemotherapy…radiation therapy…remission…

The words echoed through his head, banging and crashing their way through the neurons and triggering a blinding headache that left him paralysed.

Toby didn’t deserve this. Nobody deserved this. He’d seen the suffering on TV and in the newspapers, seen kids with pale faces, bald heads and brave smiles. His heart had gone out to them and now the son he’d only just discovered would go through the same torture all in the name of survival.

‘Of course, a bone-marrow transplant gives the best hope for not having a relapse.’

‘Is a transplant always necessary?’ Jed asked, bracing himself for the next bombshell this cruel man dropped. Though in all fairness, it wasn’t the doc’s fault. He was here to help them, and from now on they’d be placing a lot of faith in his skills. If only he’d stop tapping that damn pen on the file in front of him!

‘Not always. Some people are cured after just chemical intervention. However, it’s best to consider all possibilities.’ The doctor tilted his head forward and stared at him over the top of his steel-rimmed spectacles as if willing him to comprehend what he was telling him.

Damn, this wasn’t fair. The diagnosis, the fact Aimee hadn’t told him about Toby before this, the chance to be a dad to Toby ripped from him before he could try, even if he sucked at it.

In the midst of his self-pity, it struck him. Aimee had already gone through this, had heard the diagnosis, the treatment, the chances. Alone.

She’d gone through this horrible experience by herself, and suddenly the guilt returned. Guilt at how he’d treated her, how he hadn’t been around, how he’d never known his son and might not have that chance now. He needed to get over it and move on, for all their sakes.

‘Tell Jed about the transplant,’ Aimee said, a hint of steel threaded through the softness of her voice, and his admiration for her skyrocketed.

The doctor nodded. ‘An allogenic bone-marrow transplant usually comes from a sibling donor, from a relative or even a compatible stranger. We harvest the bone marrow, which is the liquid centre of bone, from the donor and the recipient gets it in an IV over one to five hours.’

‘IV? Oh.’ Jed winced, hoping his son didn’t have his phobia for needles. ‘What does the harvesting procedure involve?’

Though he had a sneaking suspicion he knew. His high-school biology wasn’t that rusty and he remembered covering BMT—bone-marrow transplants—in an assignment.

The doctor’s pen tapping increased as if he didn’t have time for such mundane questions and Jed briefly envisioned ramming that pen in a few places a pen shouldn’t be.

‘The donor is given an anaesthetic, a needle is inserted into the hip bone and the marrow drawn out. Harvesting the marrow takes about an hour and is more uncomfortable for the donor than the recipient.’

‘Great. About time you gave me some good news,’ Jed muttered, his sarcasm not lost on the doctor, who actually looked as if he might crack a smile for all of two seconds.

‘Anything else you’d like to ask?’ The doctor paused for a moment before rushing on, obviously none too keen on further questions. ‘If not, I’d like to have you tested as soon as possible.’

‘Just one more thing.’

All this medical talk of various treatment methods was fine but what if none of it worked? What if the unthinkable happened? What if Toby died?

The thought made Jed feel faint and he dropped his head forward, taking deep breaths till the spots before his eyes cleared.

‘Is he going to live?’

Aimee’s sharp intake of breath reverberated around the room and she tried to smother it with a forced cough. As if the scenario the doctor had painted for them in plain, harsh language wasn’t bad enough, he’d had to force the issue, to hear the reassurance he desperately craved.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment his mindset shifted but at some moment in time, as the doctor rambled on about treatment and prognosis, he’d suddenly realised that he wanted a chance with Toby. A chance at what he still hadn’t figured out, but he knew that just meeting the little guy wouldn’t be enough.

He may not know how to be a father.

He may not even want that kind of responsibility.

But right now he knew he wanted to take a chance and see what kind of man he was, what kind of a dad he could be.

And the realisation scared him to death.

The doctor pursed his lips in disapproval and sent him a glare over his specs. ‘We can’t give guarantees.’

‘No, I guess not,’ Jed said, the sudden realisation that even if he was compatible, that even if Toby underwent every form of life-saving treatment known to man he could still die hit home with the force of a hurricane with the potential to leave as much devastation in its wake.

‘Right. Let’s get this underway, then.’

If the doctor had appeared cold and detached before, he seemed positively frosty now. Must be his way of distancing himself in a world filled with bad news and worse.

‘You OK?’ Jed turned to Aimee as her hand fluttered nervously near her face, pushing a frizzy blonde strand out of her eyes, determined to show she wasn’t intimidated despite the solemnity of the occasion.

He’d always admired that about her, her ability to take on anyone and anything. Bold, brash and undeniably feisty, his Aimee had been a woman going places. Unfortunately, she wasn’t ‘his Aimee’ any longer and the only place they were both going for the next few months was straight to a living hell.

‘Yeah, how about you?’

‘I can do without the whole needle thing but I’m OK.’

Her lips twitched in a small, tight smile, drawing his attention to their shape, their fullness, reminding him how they had once contoured to his so perfectly. Before he felt like an absolute bastard for remembering something like that when Toby’s life was at stake.

‘Still don’t like needles, huh?’

‘I’ll survive,’ he said, wanting to kick himself for his poor choice of words as her mouth drooped and she paled.

‘I’m sorry—’

‘If you’ll follow me, we can get started.’ The doctor bustled back in the room, preventing him from trying to make up for that horrible gaffe. Though what could he do—take it back?

Hell. He hadn’t even met Toby yet and he was already bumbling along like a loser. What hope did he have?

‘Come on.’ Aimee stood up, her movements stiff and jerky, and before he knew what was happening the doctor had ushered them out the door and into the cold, sterile corridor that led to a waiting room jam-packed with people. People with pale faces, worried faces, people hoping for a miracle just as they were.

‘He’s going to be OK. We have to believe that,’ she said, her voice so soft he had to lean forward to catch her words, as if she was reciting an often practised mantra.

This was crazy.

A few hours ago he’d been a guy on top of the world, Australia’s answer to Jamie Oliver, whipping up gourmet meals in his award-winning restaurant in Sydney while hosting his own TV series on a weekly basis. A guy who enjoyed life, who valued fine food, good wine and cherished his private down-time when he loved to sail. A guy who’d been looking forward to catching up with an old flame, curiosity quickening his heartbeat in anticipation as to why she’d wanted to see him.

Now all that had changed. That carefree guy had become a father, a father of a sick child, and nothing would ever be the same again.

‘Your strength is amazing,’ he said, wanting to cup Aimee’s cheek, to savour the soft skin beneath his palm but unable to broach the huge emotional gap between them. That comforting hug back at the shop had only served to push them further apart; he’d been annoyed for being a softie when his anger was still raw and she’d looked downright uncomfortable. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re spot on. Toby’s going to be all right.’

He has to be, for all our sakes.

Her eyes misted but she didn’t cry, the gold flecks shining through her unshed tears, her bravery setting a clamp around his heart and squeezing, hard.

‘Yes, he’s going to be all right,’ she echoed, staring at him with fervent hope in her eyes, as he wished he had half her conviction.

Aimee slipped into Toby’s room while Jed underwent testing, being careful not to wake her sleeping son. She tiptoed across the faded linoleum floor imprinted with bunnies, wrinkling her nose at the pungent disinfectant smell so characteristic of hospitals. She hated it. Give her the smell of warm chocolate, cinnamon and baking any day.

Reaching his bedside, she stood over her beautiful son, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the dark blonde hair plastered to his scalp in messy whorls, his long eyelashes casting shadows against his pale cheeks. Swaddled in sheets, he looked so small, so helpless. So sick.

Toby had rarely been ill over the last five years, apart from a bout of chickenpox as a toddler and the occasional cold. He was a strong, resilient boy who loved to run along St Kilda beach, kicking his feet through the sand and frolicking in the waves during summer. He’d climb anything, jump off anything, his daredevil attitude leaving her with her heart in her mouth on several occasions.

But nothing like this.

Nothing like this totally useless feeling that consumed her, that ate away at her till she wanted to scream. Her son could be dying and there wasn’t one darn thing she could do about it.

Though contacting Jed had been proactive even if it was the last thing she’d wanted to do. She didn’t want him in her life, in Toby’s life. It could only lead to pain and disappointment and she’d already been there, done that.

Jed wasn’t a family man. He didn’t know the meaning of the word, while she’d raised Toby, built a flourishing business and created a comfortable home for them.

Uh-uh, there was no room for Jed in their lives yet fate had changed all that, had taken away her options.

And now he was here, bristling with anger, blaming her when he had no right. He’d given up his rights the minute he’d walked away from her without looking back.

Though at least he’d come when she’d asked and that had to count for something. Not only that, but she’d also seen him push aside his own feelings and concentrate on Toby, the son he’d just discovered. It took a big man to do that and, despite her own twisted bitterness towards him for ruining their future and breaking her heart in the process, she had to admire him for standing up when it counted.

Toby stirred, his head thrashing from side to side as if he was trapped in a nightmare. Her heart clenching with fear at the real, live nightmare they all faced over the next few months, she leaned forward, smoothed his brow and dropped a light kiss on his clammy forehead.

‘I love you, Tobes,’ she murmured, inhaling his little-boy smell the way she had used to when he was a baby, savouring their closeness, thanking God that he’d come into her life.

He snuffled and turned onto his side, snuggling into the blankets, a small smile playing around his mouth.

Yes, he was definitely a precious miracle she was thankful for every day. Now, if only Jed was compatible, the treatment worked and Toby lived the long, happy life he deserved, that would be a true miracle indeed.

Stifling the sob that rose in her throat, she swiped at her tears and crept from the room.

And walked straight into the man who held Toby’s life in his hands.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘TOBY’s sleeping,’ Aimee said, her gaze fixed on Jed’s lapels.

She couldn’t look him in the eye, not with the strange fluttering in her belly that began the minute he’d steadied her, his hands warm and firm against her bare upper arms. Darn it, she remembered that feeling all too well, the buzz of being held by him, the yearning to get closer.

But what was the deal now? Those feelings were long gone. She’d seen to that with the many nights she’d spent talking to the baby she carried, focusing on the new life growing inside her rather than the guy who’d helped create it. Being pregnant had been a godsend, channelling all her energy into a positive outcome rather than the assured pity party she would’ve thrown had she returned to Melbourne alone and broken-hearted.

‘Is he OK?’ Jed dropped his hands and looked at the door to Toby’s room as if he wanted to barge in there and see for himself.

‘Uh-huh. He’s always been a good sleeper, thank goodness, so once he’s out for the night he’ll sleep right through.’

‘Good.’

Their stilted conversation came to an abrupt end and she fiddled with the stitching on her bag, eager to escape Jed’s intimidating presence but unsure how to extract herself gracefully.

He was here and he was here to help. She needed to remember that, no matter how uncomfortable he made her feel.

‘I’m heading home,’ she said, trying not to squirm under his intense stare. Why was he looking at her like that, as if sizing her up?

‘Aren’t you staying?’

She heard the censure in his voice, the silent accusation that what sort of a mother was she to leave her sick child alone in hospital?

Hating her compulsion to justify herself to him, she said, ‘I hate leaving Toby but sleeping on a fold-up bed next to his bed wouldn’t help either of us. He’s a bright boy; he knows he’s unwell but not the severity of it. If I start staying over, he’ll know something is dreadfully wrong and I don’t want that. He needs to stay positive and I need to stay alert for the both of us.’

‘I see.’ By the thinness of his compressed lips, he didn’t. ‘What time will you be back in the morning? I’d like to meet our son.’

Our son.

Why did the sound of Jed’s deep voice saying those two simple words have such a devastating effect on her?

Maybe because she’d always thought of Toby as hers.

Maybe because there hadn’t been ‘our’ anything between them for so long.

Or maybe she was so darned scared of what letting Jed into their lives could do.

She needed calm right now, not havoc, and though Jed’s presence here was important for medical reasons she could do without the emotional complication.

‘I have to speak to Marsha, the manager at the shop, first thing in the morning but I should be here about ten.’

He didn’t look happy. So what was new? He hadn’t stopped giving her dirty looks since she’d told him about Toby, his anger a palpable entity that radiated off him in nasty waves and all directed at her.

‘Look, I know this has to be tough on you but you’re here now and waiting another twelve hours isn’t going to make a difference.’ She laid a tentative hand on his sleeve, once again annoyed at the little sizzle of heat that arced between them.

This couldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t be happening, not with Toby lying in there, fighting for life.

Dropping her hand quickly, she was unprepared for his light touch under her chin as he raised her face to look into his.

‘Stop trying to tell me how I’m thinking or feeling. You don’t know how tough this is on me. In fact, you don’t know anything about me any more. So just drop it, OK?’

The pain in his eyes ripped into her and she blinked in an effort to shield herself from it. For a guy she’d assumed would make lousy father material, he sure was more emotionally connected than she’d given him credit for.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her whisper hung in the awkward silence between them, till the faint beeping of a patient’s monitor disrupted the unnatural quiet in the corridor.

‘Sorry for what? Sorry for lying to me all these years? Or sorry you’re going to have to let me into Toby’s life now?’

‘That’s unfair.’ She averted her gaze quickly but his grip on her chin tightened, forcing her to look at him.

‘Is it? Rather rich, seeing as I’m the one who should be crying unfair right about now.’

‘Why are you doing this? Punishing me isn’t going to help Toby. I thought we sorted the problems between you and me back at the shop.’