“It’s really too soon for that, Mr. Sinclair,” the doctor protests. “If it gets severe enough, it may be an option to consider, but let’s look at less aggressive treatment plans first.”
“No,” Blaise says firmly, and as much as yes, he is a man who takes charge in his own way and knows exactly how to get attention on him when he needs it, I’ve never seen him look so fierce and focused. “I’m not saying I want a bone marrow transplant done now, but I need to be ready, and if I’m not compatible, there’s no one else who would be—”
“Blaise,” I say softly, hoping to calm him again because he’s spiraling again.
He’s not having that. His look softens when he turns to me and squeezes my hand again, but it’s only sympathy. “It’s only me. You’ve had chemo, so you’re not . . .”
His words fade like he doesn’t know the right way of politely reminding me that my body is sewage. “No, it’s not that, it’s just . . . it’s not like blood, not for this. It’s only the biological relatives who can.”
“It’s rare for even parents to match,” the doctor says. “The donors usually need to be siblings. Are there siblings?”
I shake my head as it all turns into a whole new nightmare. I will have to find John and explain this all to him. I’ll have to admit that I was never going to tell him and there’sanother man who’s laid his claim to Donovan, and if John wants to be in Donovan’s life, it’s going to be tricky.
And if he’s willing to have another child with me, is it even ethical? The idea that Donovan might have a sibling has never crossed my mind, and the first time I think of it, it’s to be a bone marrow donor? How screwed up is that? Is it just once or repeatedly? I know I’d love the hell out of another baby, and if it were just a single marrow donation, that doesn’t sound too bad, but I can barely manage one baby, even with Blaise’s help. If I had another baby, just to take their bone marrow over and over again?
No. Absolutely not. I’m not okay with that. Not even a little bit.
How do I ruin everything?
“We’ll figure it out,” Blaise says confidently. “But that’s why I want to get tested now. If I’m compatible, we won’t need to figure anything out.”
I slip my hand out of his so I can pivot in my chair and look directly at him. I know the words I have to say are going to sting, that they’re going to hurt his feelings, but I don’t want to be a coward about it. “Blaise, it’s the father’s marrow that they need.”
“Right, me.”
“No, thebiologicalfather.”
Again, I expect hurt. I figure he’s going to cling more to Donovan and storm off or start a fight. But I don’t expect his eyes to go every bit as venomous as they were that first night in the hot tub. I don’t expect the fierce, frigid way he says, “Fuck you, Tilly. I’m tired of this game.”
“What game?”
“This game of you acting like you don’t know I’m his father.”
“I—what?” I blink as though to clear this moment away, to prove I’m asleep or hallucinating or something. God, but I did have those moments where I wished that were true and he was John, how much simpler life would be. But it’s all just fantasy.
And then he says, “Just fucking stop, Trixie.”
Everything blurs. Shifts. Everything is wrong but goes right again. Most people, including Blaise, know the broad strokes of what happened, but I’ve never mentioned to anyone about his calling me Trixie. Yeah, I named him John, but I never explained that it wasn’t his real name or that it was a sex work game.
Blaise can’t possibly know that name.
Unless he’s telling the truth.
But it can’t be true.
But . . .
He’s John.
He’s . . .
He’s John.
Unquestionably.
And I don’t understand how he’s pissed at me. Why didn’t he say anything? What has this been this whole time? What could he have possibly been thinking?
He’s been lying to me from the beginning. He recognized me that first night in the hot tub. He recognized me then, and he was a raging asshole to me. He was a raging asshole over and over again, even as he lied to me.
