If Tara wanted to celebrate life listening to a live band while drinking mojitos at MacDaddy’s on a steamy Thursday night, Gray was all in. Well, except for the mojitos part. Too much sugar. Not enough alcohol.
Speaking of alcohol, she waved her empty glass to get their favorite bartender’s attention. He held up one finger, and she countered with two before pointing at Tara’s half-full glass to indicate he should mix her a drink too. He grinned and shook his head.
“There he is,” Tara squealed, grabbing Gray’s forearm in excitement.
With vodka number two already in hand, she took it along for the ride as she swiveled her barstool to face the stage. “Which one?”
On a mission to shag a musician, Tara pointed with her delicate chin. “The drummer with the sleeves.”
Standing behind his drum set, the man with his arms covered in tatts looked around, caught sight of Tara, and waved. She sat up a little taller and waved back.
“Ooo, he looks like he could snap you in half in a good way,” Gray said. “Where’d you meet him?”
“Church.”
Gray choked mid-drink and damn near shot vodka out through her sinuses. Leave it to Tara to find herself a hottie mcnaughty fuck thy friend in the house of God. “Did lightning strike the altar when you creamed your panties?”
“I know, right?” Tara smacked Gray unhelpfully on the back several times. “He’s super nice too.”
Surprised, Gray turned her full attention to her best friend. Her blue eyes bright, her regrown blond hair a riot of curls, and wearing a frilly bumblebee-yellow sundress, Tara looked beautiful.
Young. Vibrant. Healthy.
If you didn’t know her, you’d never guess she’d spent the last three years of her life waging war against the disease that had attempted to steal her away. Super rare in nonsmokers under the age of twenty-four, Tara’s non-small cell lung cancer had gone undetected in the early stages.
By the time Gray had met her at Mount Sinai, she’d already been diagnosed with stage III NSCLC, and her right lung had been surgically removed. To say her recovery had been long and hard would be an understatement.
And it didn’t come with a guarantee.
The possibility of recurrence shadowed Tara’s every step, and she’d decided a long time ago to live only in the moment. She didn’t make plans for the future. And she didn’t do super nice when it came to who she hooked up with. Too much potential for heartbreak if her cancer ever returned.
“What?” Tara said, her cheeks turning pink as she dropped her eyes to the glass in her hand.
“You like him?”
Tara shrugged. “We’ve been talking. A lot. About different things. About life and death and faith.” She turned her gaze back to the stage where the band readied their instruments. “Travis is…different.”
“Holy shit, youreallylike him.” If anyone deserved a long and happy life full of love, it was Tara, and if she’d found someone worth taking a chance with, Gray would support her wholeheartedly. “What’re you waiting for?” Determined to be the best wingman ever, she nudged Tara in the arm. “Go over and talk to him.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, look. He’s waving you over.”
“What about you?”
“Oh my God, don’t even worry about me. Go say hi. I’ll save our spot.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute.” Tara finished her drink, put the empty glass on the bar, and slid off her stool. “How do I look?” she asked, running her hands down the back of her dress.
“Like hot fire. Here. Take this.” Gray handed Tara her second mojito. “Courage in a cup.”
Tara’s grin sparked hope and joy into the air around her. “God, I love you.”
“Love you more, little T. Now go forth and stake your claim on that hunk of a mountain before some other skanky ho tries to climb him first.”
CHAPTERTHREE
Oh God.Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit. Don’t—
