I'd Rather Not Page 2

  She looked down at me with tears streaming down her face.

  “I’m going to make sure that you get the best of the best when it comes to prosthetics,” she promised. “I will not stop until we have every grant imaginable. You will walk again, Pascha Eidolon Vineyard.”

  The promise in her tone was enough to make my heart pound.

  I just hoped she was right.

  The idea of being bound to a wheelchair for the rest of my life was scary stuff.

  And my mother was right about something.

  I hadn’t wanted to do anything else with my life but be in the Army. Without the Army as my job…what would I do?

  Chapter 1

  Oakley: Your vagina is named after the last TV show you watched. What is it?

  Ford: Supernatural

  -Text from Oakley to Ford

  Oakley

  “Her kidneys are not functioning properly,” the doctor said to the room at large. “Her kidneys are functioning at about twenty percent. I suspect, by the end of the week, they’ll be at zero.”

  My mother’s voice hitched.

  “So what does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means that, for the rest of her life, or until we can find her a kidney, she’ll have to be on hemodialysis. It’s when the blood is cleaned using a machine,” he explained quickly.

  “I just don’t understand. How did this happen?” my father asked.

  The doctor looked just as baffled about it as we were.

  “The virus that she acquired got out of control fast.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how or why it happened, just that it did.”

  That was true.

  “What’s the life expectancy for someone on dialysis?” Dad asked.

  “Five to ten years. But there are certain cases where the patients have lived up to thirty years.” The doctor shrugged. “Unfortunately, we just don’t know.”

  “And we’re not a match,” my mother repeated.

  “No. None of you are,” he continued.

  He’d already said that earlier in the conversation, but I knew that they were just as shocked as I was to learn that I’d have to be tethered by a cord for the rest of my life.

  Three times a week, unless I could find a kidney, I’d be chained to the hospital for hours at a time.

  My job would be no more.

  My life as I knew it before this illness was now gone. In its place was a bleak existence.

  I couldn’t have kids—that was too risky.

  I wouldn’t be finding a husband. Why subject him to a life—a possibly short life at that—of living like I was going to have to now?

  At my age, I was now considered damaged goods.

  I would never get the fairy tale that I’d always dreamed of, and that sucked.

  I’d gone to school for years, become exactly what I wanted to be in life, and what did I have to show for it?

  Nothing, that was what.

  “Is there anything else…”

  “Dad,” I said quietly. “Stop.”

  My father’s jaw went tight as his eyes turned to me.

  “Baby…”

  I shook my head. “Y’all were tested yesterday. Ford was tested. All of the Dixie Wardens were tested. Stop.”

  My father seemed to just…deflate.

  “But I can’t,” he whispered, sounding broken.

  My mother’s breath caught, and I turned my gaze to her.

  “It’ll be okay,” I promised, telling her that it would even though I was sure that it might not be.

  “I know.” She sniffled. “We have time until you for sure need one.”

  ***

  Four and a half years later

  Unfortunately, that time came and went, and all of a sudden, four and a half years had passed.

  I’d always kept my hope that one day a kidney would fall in line. That someone would die so that I could live.

  Except, it never happened.

  Even worse, my kidneys just got more and more inadequate until all of a sudden, they weren’t doing anything at all.

  Then, to continue my streak of bad luck, neither was the dialysis.

  I blinked as the doctor said the words to me again.

  “Unfortunately, the dialysis isn’t working anymore,” the doctor said. “We either find you a kidney in the next few weeks or…”

  Or I die.

  I looked over at my mother who always made sure to make every hemodialysis appointment. Then at the doctor.

  “But we’ve been looking,” I pointed out.

  “We have,” he agreed. “The next step is to reach out to alternate sources. Put the word out. Someone out there will be able to donate to you. They just have to be willing to do it.”

  That was the thing, though.

  No normal, healthy person would be willing to donate their kidney to a stranger.

  I was going to die.

  I knew it in my heart.

  I’d gotten my degree. I’d become what I’d always longed for. I’d moved out of my parents’ house. I had a dog.

  I had a life.

  Except that life was now coming to an end.

  I would never get married.

  I wouldn’t be able to run a half-marathon like I’d always wanted to.

  I wouldn’t be able to have children or watch my grandchildren.

  I wouldn’t get to have sex again.

  I wouldn’t find that one man that I looked at with my heart on my sleeve.

  Because in just a few months, I would die.

  Chapter 2

  If anybody needs me, I’ll just be over here putting laundry away until I fuckin’ die.

  -Pace’s secret thoughts

  Pace

  I didn’t know why I was on social media. Honestly, it was just something to do to pass the time.

  Mostly what I did on the stupid website was keep in touch with old friends from my unit. Sometimes, Facebook was the only thing that worked over there. Over there being in the middle of the goddamn desert, in a hostile, foreign country. A country that I both missed and hated all at once. I missed it because I missed my friends—my unit. I hated it because it’d also taken some of my friends from me, too. Some of those being in the permanent way.

  Anyway, Facebook was my go-to to keep tabs on my boys.

  Which was how I saw Ford’s latest post.

  I stared at it and felt my heart constrict.

  ‘Oakley Spurlock Needs a Kidney’ it read.

  I clicked on the picture that was next to Ford’s name and felt all the air leave my lungs.

  On the flyer was a photo of Oakley. The one that I’d seen quite a few times when I’d been in the military with Ford. The one he used to keep as his lock screen on his phone.

  Next to that picture was a picture of another smiling Oakley, only this picture was much different from the other one.

  This picture, she looked gaunt. This picture, her normally vibrant hair was lifeless and in a complicated bun on the top of her head. She didn’t have any makeup on, and her eyes looked sunken. She had rings around both eyes so deep and dark that it looked like she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a very long time, and she was so pale that she looked like she was on the verge of death.

  But that smile.

  It still had the power to bring me to my knees.

  Years ago, when I was deployed with Ford, every time he showed me a new picture of her, things inside of my chest would clench.

  That picture, though? Knowing that something was wrong with her was like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

  I wanted to fix it, badly.

  Then my eyes strayed to the long paragraphs underneath the photo.

  But, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to read the whole thing without seriously losing my shit—dyslexia was an asshole—I skimmed it. Which was how I mostly went through life—skimming it.

  Years ago, my daughter contracted an
illness that subsequently took her kidneys. She started hemodialysis shortly after the doctor explained that her kidneys were no longer properly functioning.

  We held high hopes that she had the time to find a kidney, only that time has come and gone. The hemodialysis is no longer working for her, and if we don’t find her a kidney, she will be taken from us. The doctor gives her another two months, max.

  Please, I beg you, get tested. My daughter needs you.

  Trance Spurlock

  I was sure that Trance, Ford’s father, had put a lot more work into the letter that he’d written, and I was pissed at myself for not reading it. More, I wanted to know everything there was to know about Oakley Spurlock.

  Hell, if I was being truthful, that had been why I’d gotten Facebook in the first place.

  I practically needed to hear about Oakley. Ford wasn’t very forthcoming with his posts and pictures, but his sister and family were. They always tagged him in photos, which would give me the chance to see her.

  And I was always sure to look through them all.

  How had I not known that she was sick?

  The answer, however, was obvious. Because every time we talked, Ford always asked how I was doing. His guilt knew no bounds. And when I did finally get him to give it a rest, we talked about our buddies. Not about Oakley.

  And not wanting to seem like the love-sick fool that I was—for a woman that I’d never met in my life—I’d refused to ask about her.

  I pulled the stuffed bunny out of my pocket.

  It’d gone a lot of places with me.

  During that blast that had taken my lower legs, I’d managed to hold on to it.

  From there, it’d gone to the hospital with me in Germany—apparently, I’d never let it go, and they hadn’t tried to take it away from me since it hadn’t been bothering anything—then to the hospital in Florida. That was followed by the rehab facility in Texas.

  It went to every single outpatient rehab appointment, then continued to go with me to each subsequent appointment.

  Now, I’d fashioned it into a keychain and took it everywhere I went.

  I wasn’t sure why.

  Honestly, it was dirty, had dried blood on it from numerous occasions—most of it mine—and I was fairly sure it could be a health hazard. But it’d gotten me through a lot of times.

  I squeezed the bunny, then stood up and looked through my contacts on my phone.

  I was on lunch break at work, which meant I had another thirty minutes max before I had to be back on the streets.

  Before I hit dial on Ford’s phone, though, I paused and decided that I needed to call my doctor first.

  I should make sure that I was a match.

  Otherwise, calling him and telling him that I would give his sister a kidney would be just plain stupid.

  We may be the same blood type—which was something I’d figured out when Ford and I had been deployed—but I was sure that other things were put into consideration before they said, “Oh, hey. Your kidney will do.”

  Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I unearthed my keys then walked to my police unit.

  Five minutes later, I was at my doctor’s office.

  The woman that was at the front window smiled at me.

  “You’re back!” she said, standing up and opening the glass window wider.

  “Kind of,” I admitted. “That blood that I had drawn the other day. Is there any way that I can get them to run it to find out if I’m a match to donate my kidney to someone?”

  The woman frowned, then tapped her lip.

  “Honestly? I have no idea. But let me go ask,” she whispered.

  Twenty-two minutes later on the dot, I called into dispatch that I was back in service.

  I also had a newly stuck arm that had what felt like a pint of blood drawn from it.

  The slight pain from the needle stick was comforting.

  The idea that I might be a match for the woman that I couldn’t stop thinking about was exciting. I hoped beyond hope that I was.

  ***

  Oakley

  Three days later

  My eyes were closed, and I was contemplating my eulogy—would it be weird to have my brother read what I had written out?—when I heard a throat clear.

  I blinked my eyes open to see my savior and my nemesis standing at the door, hand raised as if to knock.

  “Come in,” I said, smiling tiredly.

  He didn’t waste time, marching into the room like he owned the place.

  “We found you a match.” The doctor came into my room, all business. “Well, he found us, actually. He said that he saw your father’s Facebook post. He went to get tested, and he’s a match.”

  I felt something inside of my chest burst with excitement.

  “Really?” I breathed.

  I was relieved that my mother and father weren’t here.

  They’d gone to get food, and honestly, I was happy. I’d needed some time away from their sadness. It was breaking my heart that they were looking so sad all the time—and that unfortunately, I was the cause of all that sadness.

  Which, I guess was to be expected. Their daughter was dying and there was nothing that they could do about it.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dr. Page said. “I have him coming in for a few more tests. But, ultimately, if everything goes as I expect it to go, you’ll have his kidney in two days’ time.”

  Two days.

  I had two more days and then someone was going to give me their kidney. Some stranger was going to give me a piece of him.

  I felt things start to culminate inside of me, and all of a sudden, I was crying.

  “Can I meet him?” I whispered. “Will he come talk to me? I want to…”

  Then I began crying too hard to become understandable.

  Which was about when my mother came into the room, followed right by my father.

  They took one look at me and thought the worst.

  “Oh, God,” my mom breathed. “What is it?”

  My father surged over and caught my hand, but I was already yanking it away from him and waving both arms in the air.

  “Someone came forward and got tested. They found me a match!” I cried out.

  There was a long moment of silence before even my father started crying.

  Which sucked.

  I’d never seen him cry.

  Not when our dog died to protect him. Not when my brother went into the military. Not when he came home changed. Not when I was diagnosed with the mess that had started it all.

  But now, knowing that I wouldn’t die? He started to cry.

  Which was worse.

  I hated seeing the man that was my father be brought to his knees. He was strong and invincible. He wasn’t supposed to cry.

  “Dad,” I whispered. “I’m going to be okay.”

  His wet eyes met mine. “Yeah. You are.”

  Chapter 3

  I’m fat because I’m full of experiences. Experiences that took place at a Mexican restaurant.

  -Oakley’s secret thoughts

  Pace

  “What do you mean you’re donating a kidney and you’ll have to take six weeks off?” Sergeant Jackson asked.

  I felt my lips twitch.

  “I was hoping to give you a little more lead time than two days. But I went and had tests ran yesterday to see if I was a match. I am, and the doctor that’s in charge of the woman’s case that I’m donating to suggested we do this a whole lot sooner than was usual. They said that the woman didn’t have four to six weeks—which is the typical wait time.”

  Sergeant Jackson just shook his head. “Don’t expect your job to be here when you get back.”

  I didn’t think it would be. I had a feeling that Sergeant Jackson would find anything and everything there was to make sure that I didn’t return to the Kilgore Police Department.

  “What am I supposed to do with one man down?” he snarled.r />
  Typically, one would fill that void with another person. But everybody hated working with Sergeant Jackson so much that they were out of his department before anybody could settle in.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  ***

  Ford looked up as he heard the click of my prosthetics hitting the tiled floor.

  He looked back down, dismissing me at first, until what he saw registered in his brain.

  It took him all of two seconds to shove his phone into his pocket, then he was rushing toward me. Seconds after we got close enough, both of us were totally hugging—in a manly kind of way, though.

  “Who’s this?” I asked, gesturing toward the younger man with him.

  He had to be at least a couple years younger.

  “That’s my brother, Banner,” he said, gesturing for his brother to move forward. “Banner, come ‘ere. I want you to meet one of my good buddies.”

  Banner came over, moving with the same lethal grace that his brother possessed.

  He held out his hand, and I took it.

  Banner’s eyes went to my feet—or lack thereof—when he let my hand go.

  “Nice,” he said softly. “I have a buddy that has his prosthetic painted camo.”

  I grinned. “I know. It’s badass, isn’t it? Nothing is more patriotic than painting your prosthetics to look like the flag. I had them done at a custom bike shop. They’re totally one of a kind.”

  “Which one?” Banner asked.

  “Free,” I answered. “They did them fast, too, considering the fact that the longer they had them the longer I had to use my shitty ones that weren’t really up to par with my lifestyle.”

  Ford broke in then.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. “It’s good to see you, but I don’t like that I’m seeing you on this floor.”

  That’s right.

  None of them knew who I was.

  All of the talking had been done between me and Oakley’s doctor.

  I grinned then.

  “I saw your post on Facebook. I went to my doctor since I’m the same blood type, and we were a match,” I told Ford. “I’ll be giving your sister one of my kidneys.”

  Ford’s face went slack.

  Then, swear on the goddamn Bible, the man teared up.