Don't Hold Back (Love Hurts Book 4) Read online

  Copyright © 2017 Missy Johnson

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Printing: March 2017

  www.facebook.com/MissycJohnson

  Don’t Hold Back

  (Love Hurts #4 – Complete standalone novel)

  By Missy Johnson

  Love Hurts – A series of ugly cry standalones.

  Always You: http://a.co/cB0fYPA

  Out of Reach: http://a.co/eJNPgEk

  Words Left Unsaid: http://a.co/gkxF03z

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  Prologue

  “So that’s it, then?”

  “Erin, I’m sorry.” Doctor Martin looks at me, the sadness in his eyes only fuelling my anger. “There are options we can explore to make you comfortable, and maybe buy you some more time—”

  “What about surgery?” I say. I already know the answer, but I want to hear him say it again. There’s something about hearing that you’re dying that makes everything else irrelevant. The only things that matter in this moment are him, and me, and the words that are coming out of his mouth.

  “Surgery isn’t an option,” he says. “The tumour is too complex to even consider touching. Even if we could manage to remove it without killing you, there is no way we could get it all, and the chances of damage are so high that . . .” He hesitates, his dark eyes clouded with sympathy.

  My jaw clenches as I will myself not to cry.

  “I’m the best in the country and even I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “If it’s going to kill me anyway…” My voice breaks as his expression doesn’t change. It finally hits me that I have no other options. This thing has finally gotten me. It’s won. “How long do I have?”

  “There are things we can do to make you comfortable, and they may even prolong—” He stops and glances away, embarrassed. He can’t even say it, but it doesn’t matter because I know what he’s talking about.

  “How long?” I repeat, keeping my tone level.

  “A few months. Maybe six. With some more chemotherapy, maybe a year.”

  Wow. I’m struggling to wrap my mind around everything he’s telling me. Are the extra few months worth how crappy the treatment is going to make me feel? I shudder, thinking about how I was during my last rounds of chemo. Nothing is worth that pain.

  “I have to go.” I jump up and throw my bag over my shoulder. I shove my shaking hands deep into my pockets, willing myself not to cry in front of him.

  He gives me that sympathetic look again, which makes me want to punch him. Empathy and support are rare in a surgeon, but they’re so not what I need right now.

  “Can I call someone for you? You shouldn’t be alone right now, and you certainly shouldn’t be driving.”

  “My mother is waiting downstairs,” I lie.

  He nods, studying my face closely, like he can tell that I’m lying. “Come see me in a week, when you’ve had time to process all of this. I’ll have Mandy call you to make a time.”

  I simply nod and sprint from the room. A week could be a quarter of the rest of my life gone. I reach the elevators and hit the floor down button four times in an attempt to make it work faster. It doesn’t, and by the time the doors open, I board the car with four other people. Can they tell? Do they look at me and see a young woman who is dying? I eye myself in the mirrored wall, looking for any signs that other people can tell. My long blond hair is tied loosely back in a ponytail, covering the fact that it’s dry from all the radiation I had before surgery. I study my face. I look tired, but that could be from a night of heavy partying. I could stand to gain a few pounds, but nothing about me screams “death.” I look as healthy as the next person. How is it possible that I probably won’t live to see my twenty-fifth birthday?

  The doors open and I step out. It feels surreal, like I have no idea what to do. I can’t just go on about my day normally, as if I haven’t just been informed that I am going to die. Everything seems pointless now. Why bother going back to work and pretending to care about everyone else’s problems? I can’t go home. Either Calli or my parents will call, wanting to hear how my appointment went. I can’t tell them yet because I’m not ready to admit that it’s over. My whole life has been consumed by this fucking disease, and now it’s won.

  I feel helpless, lost and alone, and there isn’t a fucking thing I can do to fix it.

  Sinking down onto my knees, I try to block the cold gust of wind as it hits my bare arms. It’s still dark—at a guess, I’d say around five in the morning—and the roar of the river is so powerful that I can barely hear myself think. I’ve been sitting in this same spot since yesterday afternoon, since I left the hospital. I came down here to think and now I can’t move. I’m stranded. I haven’t even been to the toilet, which tells me I’m probably dehydrated. I’ll add it to the list.

  This place holds so many happy memories. We used to come here and camp when I was a kid—before my illness took over our lives. I stare across at the old oak tree that towers over the river, my heart sinking. Things were so much easier back then. I felt safe and loved, and no matter what the situation, I knew everything would be fine because my parents would protect me. But they can’t protect me from this. They can’t save me. Nobody can.

  I lean forward so I’m hanging over the rock face. A fresh gust of wind hits me and my body rocks forward, making my heart race. For a brief second, I consider something that has never, ever even crossed my mind. The drop below isn’t much—not enough to kill me—but the fast-flowing current will finish off the job. Especially considering I can’t swim.

  This can all be over in a second. My heart races as I bite my lip, the searing pain comforting. Could I do it? Because once I jump, that’s it. There’s no turning back.

  Two days ago, I never would’ve thought I’d be capable of this. I’d prepared myself for positive news, that my cancer was in remission. I went into that appointment thinking everything was going to be fine.

  I should be feeling relieved. I should be crying tears of happiness that my cancer is in remission—but instead I sit here, feeling empty, scared, and hopeless.

  Yesterday at least I had a fighting chance. Today I have nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, I stand up, stretching my long legs out beneath me. My cream-coloured sleeveless shirt flaps in the wind. My hair, now tangled and wet, sways around my shoulders. I push it from my eyes and clench my fists at my sides as I step towards the edge of the embankment.

  My toes curl over the edge, digging into the soil as I summon up all my courage. This is it. I’ll close my eyes and jump, and then this whole nightmare will be over.

  “Little cold to be out for a morning stroll, isn’t it?”

  I jump, my heart lurching into my throat. I spin around, losing my balance as I tumble into the water. Gasping, my lungs burn as I take in water. The freezing temperature is unbearable. My body is numb and I feel myself weakening. Just as I’m about to
let go, strong arms wrap tightly around my waist and yank me to the surface.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” His voice is soft, yet commanding in my ear.

  Tears roll down my cheeks, because I couldn’t even get killing myself right. I’m limp in his arms as he hoists me back onto the safety of dry land.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. He cradles my face in his hands, searching my eyes for answers.

  I stare back at him and nod dumbly, knowing that if I speak, I’ll say something stupid.

  “What the fuck were you thinking? Are you drunk? Stoned?”

  I shake my head. I’m angry that I’m still alive and yet I’m grateful that he saved me.

  “Come here,” he mutters, wrapping me in his arms.

  I flinch against his touch, something he notices.

  His expression softens. “Let’s get you dry.”

  He leads me over to his car. I get in, no questions asked. If I wasn’t in shock, suicidal, and oh-so-freezing I’d have laughed at my stupidity. Did the years of self-defence classes Mum made Calli and me take teach me nothing? I’m getting into the car of a strange guy I know nothing about, except that he likes to frequent deserted rivers at the crack of dawn.

  He helps me into the passenger seat, then jogs around the front of the old jeep to the driver’s side.

  “Can you tell me your name?” he asks, glancing at me as he plugs in his seat belt. He sweeps his dark, curly hair away from his eyes as he waits for me to answer.

  “Erin,” I mumble.

  He reaches over to the backseat and retrieves a blanket, which I take gratefully. The shivering won’t stop, and my lungs burn with every breath. I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing.

  “Should I be calling someone for you?”

  I shake my head. That is the last thing my family needs. I sigh as tears sting my eyes. I turn and look out the window in an attempt to hide my swollen eyes, but I can feel him watching me. I feel like I owe him an explanation, but I don’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorry. I’m okay—or at least I will be when get home,” I croak.

  He frowns at me, as if he’s not convinced. “Look, I have to be honest. I’m about five seconds away from taking you to the hospital. You tried to kill yourself. How do I know if I take you home and leave you that you won’t try it again?”

  “Because I’m telling you I won’t.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t want to just take your word for it.”

  “I’m not suicidal,” I respond testily.

  He snorts and I shoot him a look, angry that I’m having to justify myself to him repeatedly.

  “I just got some bad news and I panicked. Trust me, the last thing I want is to die.” If only I had a choice in the matter.

  “Then I’ll take you home,” he says after a moment.

  I nod, not seeing a way out of this. He revs the car to life and speeds out of the parking lot, past my little white Corolla, parked alone at the top of the lot. I’ll get Calli to drive me out tomorrow. I remember my phone, sitting on the front seat of my car. How many missed calls will I have? I smile in spite of myself. I can’t deny that my family loves me.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  I jump, his voice ripping me away from my thoughts.

  “I found out I’m dying.” I push the words out, my voice breaking. Anxiety rips through my chest. Saying it aloud is a thousand times worse than thinking it, and it makes it more real.

  “Shit,” he mutters.

  I nod, a small smile on my lips. In a weird way, I find it comforting that he’s lost for words. It’s like validation that I’m not overreacting to this whole mess.

  “What is it? Cancer?” He spits the word out in such a way that I wonder if it’s hurt him before.

  I nod. “Brain cancer.”

  “Fuck me,” he mutters. “So the whole thing back there was you deciding to help it along?”

  “That was me panicking. I lost myself for a moment. I wanted to see what it was like not to fight this anymore.”

  “And?”

  “It felt great. And wonderful. And terrifying.” I hesitate. I don’t even know this guy, but it’s so much easier talking to a stranger about this. I could never be this honest with my family. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I was just upset. Have you ever felt so angry at the world that you just think ‘fuck it’? I’ve done everything right my whole life, and this is what I get? How is that fair?”

  “I get it,” he murmurs. He rubs his forehead and glances at me. “I mean, I have no clue what you’re going through, but I get what it feels like to think life hates you. The thing you have to realise is, it’s not over yet. Nobody is guaranteed a life till they’re ninety. It’s rough that you know you don’t have much time left, but that’s how we all should be living anyway, right?”

  He makes a good point. How many people wake up and have no idea that they’re about to live their last day? Maybe I should be thinking of this as a blessing rather than a curse. I stifle a yawn. I’m so tired, and my vision is beginning to blur—a sure fire sign that it’s probably not going to be a good day. I rub my aching head and close my eyes.

  “Where do you live?” he asks.

  “Do you mind if we get something to eat first?” I ask. It sounds stupid after getting into his car and leaving with him, but I’m wary of giving him my address. I don’t know anything about him.

  How am I going to get away from him? The last thing I want right now is company, especially his. I’m embarrassed and ashamed that he saw me at my most vulnerable. I can only imagine what he’s thinking about me.

  “Sure,” he says. He sounds surprised. “Burgers okay?”

  I nod, and he swings into the twenty-four hour Burger Barn we are passing. The thought of food is making me feel sick, but I have no intention of still being here when he gets back.

  I glance down at myself with a sheepish smile. “I’m kind of a mess. Would you mind going in?”

  “What do you want?” he asks.

  “A cheeseburger and a Coke,” I reply.

  He nods and opens the door. I wait until he disappears from my view before I inch open the car door and step outside. Quickly, I jog towards the sidewalk and detour down a side street, only slowing down when I’m confident I’m safe. I’m barefoot, but I don’t even acknowledge the pain searing through the soles of my feet as they hit stones and God knows what else.

  I’m still a few miles from home, but the brisk air feels soothing as it blows gently on my face. The sun is just starting to rise as it breaks through the clouds, lighting the sky a beautiful orange. I stop for a second to take it in, goose bumps forming on my arms. I should be up this early more often. I swallow past the lump in my throat. How many sunrises do I have left? For a second I almost forgot that I’m dying. Almost. Then, just like that, reality comes crashing down on me and I can’t breathe.

  There is so much I need to organize. My funeral. Hospice care for when things get too much. Who will get the few assets I have? All the little things I don’t want my family to have to deal with. But none of that compares to having to tell my parents and my sister that I’m dying.

  They knew it was a possibility, but we all thought I could beat this. On the days when I was really sick, we would talk about the future. Life after cancer. It’s that hope that got me through the hardest days, and now that’s gone.

  It’s not over yet.

  I didn’t even get his name, but his words stay imprinted in my mind, because he’s right—it isn’t over yet, especially for my family. I’m dying, and that sucks, but there are people I’m leaving behind who I need to put ahead of myself. I need to think about their future, even if I don’t have one of my own.

  Life after Erin.

  Because, just because it’s ending for me, it doesn’t mean it finishes there for them. Life still goes on, and there will be a hundred little things that remind them of me that I can’t do anything about. I hate that I won’t be able to take that p
ain away from them. Don’t think about that. I have to focus on the here and now, or I’m going to fall apart.

  And if I fall apart, they will too.

  Chapter One

  Erin

  “Craigslist?”

  I nod and smother a smile at the look of horror in my sister’s eyes. Under any other circumstances this would be quite funny, because I’m supposed to be the straight-laced one and she’s usually the one doing crazy stunts like this. Any other circumstances…meaning if I weren’t dying. My heart pounds. Dying. Yep, I’m actually dying.

  After a few seconds, the sweaty palms and the difficulty breathing begin to subside and I start to feel better. The mini panic attacks I have whenever I think about where my life is at right now are actually a big improvement from how I was even a few weeks ago. These days, I can actually say the word dying without bursting into tears, but the fear is still there.

  There was a time I when thought things were going to be okay. Then I heard the words that no cancer patient actually expects to ever hear. Terminal. Exhausted all options. I mean, it’s always in the back of your mind, but you fight it off because if you don’t have hope, what do you have?

  What keeps you going—what kept me going through all the treatment—was the small chance that I could still beat this. Every night following chemo that I spent with my head over the toilet bowl or passed out in a pool of my own vomit in my bed because I couldn’t make it to the toilet was with the thought that it was worth it. It had to be worth it, because life couldn’t be that cruel, could it? Not only am I going to die but I get to waste my last few half-decent months feeling like death would be an improvement? Nice.

  “Ez, are you insane? What the hell are you thinking?” Calli’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She throws her hands up in frustration, her dark eyes blazing. “Do you want to wind up dead—” She stops, her hands flying to her mouth as she realises what she has just said.