​Great news! Pass Me the Ball is now available on Amazon and FREE in Kindle Unlimited! -Julie
 

Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

​Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!

Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

​Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

Note: this scenes comes shortly after the end of Opening Act: Infusion Deep Meets Buxton Peak (which is FREE on Amazon!)​

​Finn
 
She’s here again. As usual, her outfit doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Looking up into the glare from the lights, I focus on the feel of the music and open my mouth to sing. It’s enough. My spirit soars as I lose myself. As the song ends, I notice the crowd again. They’re starting to sweat as the warmth from thousands of bodies adds to the summer heat. Taking a moment, I grab a drink from my water bottle and smile into the crowd. I make eye contact with as many of the fans as I can. I can tell when they know I’m looking straight at them and it gives me a rush. A natural high – the only sort I get these days. Her, I ignore. She’s been at every gig on the tour so far and I don’t want to give her any more encouragement. Another obsessed fan is the last thing I need right now.
I rest my hands back on Jude, my favorite guitar as the band starts playing. My band, the one I started when I was fifteen. Back when I thought I was invincible. Now I know better. The words are a part of me. This song always makes me feel the pain. I close my eyes as I sing.
 
I can fly
Ain’t nothing gonna stop me
Watch me soar
Bow to the applause
Feel me, feel my song
 
Invincible
Thought I was invincible
But now I know
When the illusion shatters
Ain’t nothing there 
To stop me falling
Invincible…
 
The crowd goes crazy as the music ends. They love this one. They think they know about my battles, my demons. But they don’t know the reality, the truth I’ve kept hidden. God willing, I’ve moved on. No one ever needs to know. I slip my guitar off my shoulder and hold it high as the applause grows deafening. The lights dim and I bow my head. Another show done. Another crowd convinced they know me through my songs.
Adam gets up from behind the kit and high fives Drew. They’re laughing; they must be happy with how the show went tonight. Sometimes I can’t tell anymore. Was it a good show? I need to find Wes. He usually waits for me after the show, but he’s already left his usual spot behind the keyboard. Something must have happened. Wes is the serious one – he takes care of all the day-to-day stuff the rest of us don’t care about. Wes has known me since second grade when his family moved onto our street. He knows me better than anybody.
Backstage the hallways are crowded with roadies, groupies and who knows who else. I turn around to look for a place I can find some peace and quiet to try and ground myself.
“Finn, hey…wait up.” Trent’s voice is the last one I want to hear right now. As a tour manager he rocks. As a person, he’s a turd. Like sewage that seeps up from the ground and taints everything it touches.
“Yeah?” I reluctantly turn around.
“Did you forget the Meet the Ultimate Fan promo?”
“Ahh, that’s tonight?”
“Sure is. Come on, I made sure the winners were hot.”
“You’re such a sleaze.”
“Used to be you didn’t mind so much.”
“Yeah, well some of us grew up.”
Trent’s voice takes on a hard edge. “Well, it’s in your contract, Pretty Boy, so suck it up.”
“Where’s Wes?”
“He had to take care of something.”
“What?” Sweat breaks out across my forehead. “What things?” Wes is always around after the show. He knows how hard I find this crap.
“Doesn’t matter, you can ask him later.”
Trent practically pushes me back down the hallway, and I let him. This is a part of my life I can’t escape. I just hope I can hold it together long enough. Please let it be enough, I pray silently as I’m shoved into the crowded room. The noise level intensifies and my head starts to pound. My eyes half close as I try to take it all in. The sudden squealing is impossible to ignore. Before I can take another step I’m surrounded.
“Finn! I love you so much. I’m your biggest fan.” A curvy brunette with too much make-up and too little clothing presses up against me. Before I can say anything a camera phone is right in front of my face as she snaps a dozen pictures.
They never ask, they just take from me as if I’m not even a real person. I can’t stand it, I want to vomit. As she finishes, another girl takes her place against me. A blonde this time. She doesn’t even seem to care that I’m not answering her inane questions. As long as she has her photos to post all over social media. She’ll probably make up some absurd story about our time together. It won’t be the first time.
The girls move off to sit with Drew and Adam, where they get a much more accommodating welcome. Drew pulls the blonde onto his lap and she giggles. I need to get out of here.
“Finn?” A quiet voice says beside me. I turn towards her, glad for the less-demanding voice.
I can feel the blood drain from my face – it’s her…my stalker from the last dozen gigs.
“Um,” she says, twisting her pale hair around her finger. Her face flushes.
Not what I was expecting from the outfit and the suggestive dances she’s been performing for the past few weeks in front of the stage.
“What’s your name?” I ask, taking pity on her for some reason. It’ll probably come back to bite me later when I have to take out a restraining order.
“Ah, Autumn.”
“Like the season?”
“Yeah.” Autumn's face turns as red as the leaves her name represents.
“At least they didn’t call you Fall,” I joke.
Autumn smiles and her face lights up. I have to concentrate on breathing again. She’s beautiful, breathtaking. Her smile disappears as quickly as it came, and I can breathe again. What am I doing? There’s no way on earth I’m getting involved with an obsessed fan.
“What’s your favorite song?” I ask. I may as well spend my required time talking to the one fan who doesn’t seem to think she has a right to my body.
“Downwrite,” she says, surprising me again.
Downwrite wasn’t even a single. The record execs said it was too melancholy. It’s one of my favorites and I still include it in our set list sometimes. It means a lot to me; it was the song I wrote after I hit rock bottom and realized I had to change my life.
“Why that one?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
“It just spoke to me when I was going through some stuff.”
I smile for the first time. “I’m glad. It was cathartic for me as well.”
She doesn’t pry, and I am beyond grateful. Perhaps she doesn’t want me to ask her about her life either. I can’t believe how different she is to what I thought. Perhaps the clothes and the make-up are just a shield. Far be it from me to judge someone else’s coping mechanism.
“What are you working on now?” Autumn says, finally asking a question.
“I haven’t written anything for a while actually.”
“I hope that’s only temporary, I don’t know how I’d function without any new Infusion Deep music.”
“You’d probably go into marketing or something.”
“Heaven forbid! The last thing the world needs is more people trying to sell us stuff we don’t need.”
“Yeah, like the world needs more Snuggies.”
Autumn laughs and I laugh with her. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this. Adam and Drew are staring at me like I’m an alien with two heads. I guess I’ve been a mopey prick for the last few months.
Trent blows back into the room like a flatulent gorilla and rounds up the meet and greet girls. Before I can take stock, Autumn is gone.
Drew comes over and flings an arm around my shoulders. “What was up with you and the hot blonde chick? Did you get her number?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Looked like it from where I was.”
“We had a…a… connection.”
“Ha!”
“No, like on a personal level, we connected.”
“Yeah, connected. I’d totally connect with that.”
“Get over yourself, Drew,” I push his arm off my shoulder. Drew and Adam still carry on like horny teenagers. I shove the door open and exit as fast as possible. Maybe now I can find some peace somewhere.
​
Click on the link below to read Infuse by Lara Wynter. See where it all began (and see a new side of Buxton Peak!) by reading Opening Act: Infusion Deep Meets Buxton Peak by Lara Wynter (with a little help from me!)

Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

​Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

Great news! Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire Gamer? Love Letters Series Book Two is now available on Amazon!
 

​Great news! Pass Me the Ball is now available on Amazon and FREE in Kindle Unlimited! -Julie
 

​Their second meeting led to a third and into September. Mikaela didn’t mention her budding, albeit terminal, relationship to her brothers who continuously noted her penchant for strays and lost causes. They were married. They didn’t understand how fully her parents had filled every empty moment of her life not dedicated to work and school. But her parents were gone now, and Mikaela hadn’t found a personal connection to fill the emotional gaps and holes that remained when she finally crossed her doorway at the end of the day.
 Matt, and thoughts of him, filled every empty nook and cranny with humor and kindness. She grew in his light, and he frequently told her that he benefited from time with her. Was the pleasure of his company worth the self-inflicted pain of knowing she would likely watch him die? That was the question. She had handled loss before, stunning loss and the agonizing anticipation of it, and she knew she would not have forfeited joy just to spare herself sorrow. 
She pulled her shoes on and scanned her lonely living space. Apartment life denied her the right to bring home anymore stranded kittens or puppies, and the gifted carnival-prize beta fish had finally succumbed. She was as alone as she had ever been, and perhaps that made her reckless enough to welcome a dying friend into her heart with eyes wide open. She knew they were living a dream of denial, but their individual loneliness was diminished by having someone fill the empty hours, and for that even temporary joy, she proceeded.
They spent their time together simply, with strolling conversations in the gardens on Prospect’s Baltimore medical campus, or in Baltimore’s harbor area where they asked one another questions as they watched the autumn tourists, and boaters enjoying the end of the season. The game was tit for tat. Mikaela asked a question of Matt, and he responded by turning the light of introspection on her as they became comfortable with each other. The questions were generally fluff, delaying further discussion of the ultimate reason they had found each other.
 “Favorite music?” asked Mikaela as a yellow leaf fluttered to the ground.
 “Favorite music . . . well . . . my parents taught me to appreciate and love classical.” One corner of Matt’s mouth curved upward into thoughtful smile. “But when I’m feeling deeply introspective, I turn to classic folksy rock—Cat Stevens, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. The smooth older stuff.”
“And what constitutes deep introspection?”
Matt rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “Mostly self-pity.”
The answer put a temporary chill on their game. Matt guided their walk to an ice cream vendor where he broke the conversational ice by supplying frozen treats.
“Where do you live?” asked Mikaela as she licked her single-dip cone. 
“I have a brownstone in Georgetown. Very Feng Shui. Or Spartan, depending on how you look at vacant, undecorated rooms.”
Mikaela’s shoulders rose as a single giggle escaped. Her five foot eight inches softly collided against his toned six feet, like a physical rimshot in response to his joke. He absorbed her assault with a smile, and she couldn’t help but notice how well they meshed.
“Your turn.” 
“Where do I live?”
He nodded and licked a drip on his cone.
“I have a tiny studio apartment over a consignment shop on Pratt. It’s perfect for me right now. I’m hardly ever there, it takes about three minutes to clean, and my landlord, who owns the shop below, gives me great bargains on things I need.”
“Very efficient for a busy life.”
Mikaela noticed how their steps just naturally fell into sync.
“Tell me about your family.”
Matt cleared a lick of ice cream from his lips and began. “My father’s people have been in the rye whiskey business for generations, and my father noticed that most of them died young from overindulging in their own goods. He and my mother were fortyish, childless, and unhappy. My father knew he was heading down the same destructive path that took his father and his grandfather, so he had an epiphany of sorts. He granted my mother’s long wish to adopt a child.”
“You’re adopted?”
“Yes, when I was still an infant. Then my father asked his siblings to buy him out, and we moved to New York. My parents bought a small import/export business which they built into a conglomerate of over thirty-five companies.”
Mikaela focused on her cone and shivered as she considered how different their worlds were. “You’re a conglomerate owner’s son.”
“And a principal in my own venture,” he added defensively. “I moved to the D.C. area and built Great Expectations. We create high adventure experiences for clients.”
“Sounds pricey.”
“What is a dream come true worth? Clients name it, and we do our best to make it happen exactly as they want—travel, food, accommodations, and the most exclusive, exotic locations on earth. We’ve sent families on safaris, round-the-world cruises, Arctic adventures to see polar bears and seals, you name it. Now you know what my family and I do. Tell me about yours.”
She looked down and shook her head. “My family is nothing like yours.”
Matt stopped and squared himself to her. “It made you who you are, so it must have been pretty spectacular.”
She smiled up at him, awed by how adept he was at making her feel his equal. She wriggled up ramrod straight and sniffed comically before breaking into cockney accent. “I suppose we were in our own way.” They laughed and continued their stroll. “We were a large working-class family. Seven sons, all named after presidents.”
“Republican or Democrat?”
“Mostly historical. George, Thomas, James, John, Abe, Franklin, and Dwight.”
“And if you had been a boy?”
She gave him a comically indignant glare. “Ronald, of course.”
“Very patriotic.”
“Thank you.”
“And then . . . surprise!” He laughed and raised his hands in the air.
“Exactly. I arrived after a twelve-year gap, the little princess, but most of my brothers were gone into the military before I was old enough to really know them. My father was a sailor before he went to work in the shipyard. Asbestos exposure likely killed him, but he wasn’t one to hire attorneys and sue people. He said he made his choices and accepted the risk. Mom was a homemaker with a weak heart.”
“And you stayed behind to take care of them.”
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I don’t regret a minute of it. I always felt very loved. My brothers are spread across the world, so I don’t see them often, but we have a family text group, and we shoot each other stupid messages and photos from time to time. And I know they’d race to be with me if I ever needed them.”
Matt tossed his partially eaten cone in a trash can. “Then I declare you the wealthier of our pair.” 
“Growing up as an only child, did you ever miss having no brothers and sisters?”
“Not that I recall. Probably because I have some of the finest chums a person could ask for. My best friend Daniel Lebed and I have been together since grade school, and the rest have been with me since my prep school years. They are like brothers to me.” 
Mikaela recognized the look of disguised pain that crossed Matt’s face. “Are you getting sick from your treatment?”
He smiled reassuringly. “You owe me a question. Are you trying to wiggle out?”
She didn’t press the issue. “Nope,” she replied with spunk. “Lay it on me.” Matt shook his head at her, and she wondered if he found her funny or crass. “I had all brothers, remember.”
“I understand. Tell me about them. After growing up in a large family, was it sad to watch them each head off and leave you behind?”
“A little, I suppose, but I always had my parents, and most of the time, one brother or another seemed to be passing through on leave. And there were certain advantages to being the last and late child. The budget loosened up, and I inherited my brothers’ clunker at sixteen.”
“Aha! You sold out for a car.”
“I confess that I did.” She laughed and offered up another question. “If you could be anywhere . . . right now . . . where would you like to be?”
Matt slowed his pace to a stop and turned her way. “Just where I am, Mikaela.”
His voice was as soft as air and she breathed his words in. “Me too,” she answered. 
The moment demanded a response all its own, a touch, or an embrace, but Mikaela resumed their previous pace and Matt followed footstep for footstep as the silence grew awkward once more.
Matt provided a respite. “I’ve travelled a lot. Were you asking about physical places I’ve been?”
“Yes,” she replied with relief. “Is there a city you adore? Or something you long to revisit?”
“There is wonder and beauty everywhere, but I’m most content when the sky is above me and the wind is on my face.”
“Which explains your company.”
“Exactly. I once spent three months alone on a mountain range with nothing more than a sheet of canvas to call home. It was the most meaningful experience of my life.”
“Really? Why?”
“I think everyone should have a period in their life devoid of things. That’s when you really come to know yourself. Who you are, what matters most, and who is of ultimate importance to you.” 
“Is that what you found on that mountain?”
“Uh huh.” 
His smile seemed pained as he checked his watch, as if he had touched on a topic too personal to pursue. 
“I should head back to Rockville. I have work waiting for me at the office.”
Mikaela placed her hand on his arm, the first touch they had shared since the stilted hug that began the day’s encounter. “I have one other question before you go.”
She saw worry pull at his mouth. He nodded and said, “Ask me anything.”
“You said something the first day, about how you wanted to avoid falling in love, as much to protect me as to protect you. It sounded a little ominous. What did you mean by that?”
Matt placed a finger across his mouth and dropped his gaze to the sidewalk. Without saying a word, he turned, and upon finding a bench, he cupped Mikaela’s elbow in his hand and led her to it, motioning for her to sit. He joined her, but when she turned to face him, Matt leaned forward, his arms on his knees, with his gaze set on the ground. 
“I was in college when I had my last cancer recurrence. Staring down death in the prime of a young man’s life is a strange experience. It made me self-destructive. I figured I was living on borrowed time, as if life was a finite thing . . .” the next words came out with forced deliberateness, “and I intended to spend every minute fully and die on my own terms.” He turned to face her. “I was selfish, Mikaela. I did what I wanted without thought of the consequences to myself or others. I clubbed and partied and hurt people, more people than I probably know, and worst of all, I quite literally broke my mother’s heart.”
He drew a deep breath. “I woke up one day in a lavish hotel room with people whose names I didn’t know in a city I couldn’t remember, feeling so empty that living at all seemed worthless. I walked out of that room with nothing but my wallet and the clothes on my back. I hired a bicycle cab, and when the driver asked, “Where to?’ I emptied my wallet into his hands and said, ‘Somewhere peaceful,’ and I fell asleep. When I awoke, I was at his home, a hovel of a cottage at the foot of the mountain, with him urging me to follow him up a trail. At the top was a piece of canvas stretched across four poles, and the most humbling view of God’s earth I had ever seen.”
Mikaela held her breath, anxious for him to continue. 
“The man’s children brought me food and a jug of fresh water each morning. Some days I hiked the trails. On others I watched the family far below me as they worked and played and took care of one another. Mostly I just sat there and thought, and remembered wonderful moments with my parents. At the end of three months, I had an indescribable hunger to get home, but I was too late. When I called my father, he told me how inconsolable my mother had been with worry for me, and then one night, she’d had a small stroke.”
Mikaela gasped. “Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry.”
“The flight home was the longest, most agonizing of my life, and then seeing her face twisted, her body so weak, and to know I was, at least in some part, the cause?” His head hung down and then lifted. He looked into Mikaela’s eyes. “I told her how sorry I was. That I wished I could trade places with her, and take her pain and afflictions away. She smiled and told me that I now understood what it really meant to love someone, to care more about them than you do for yourself.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “She slowly improved, and I finally understood a few critical lessons about love.”
Mikaela could barely eke out the words, “Such as?”
“That the greatest pain isn’t your own, but that which comes from watching someone you love suffer. I finally recognized that my parents’ grief and pain over my illness was at least as great as, and probably deeper than, my own because they were powerless to help me. And I realized that love isn’t all romance and rainbows. There’s an excruciating vulnerability and responsibility that comes with love. I don’t want to leave this life grieving for someone else I’m losing, nor do I want one more person to grieve that way for me. That’s why I want to keep things light. Friendly. Nothing more.”
“Aren’t you shutting your parents out again?”
“We said all a family can say after Mom’s stroke. I don’t want them to grieve for months. I’ll stay in touch and tell them in time to share some moments together.”
Mikaela struggled to camouflage her emotions and push the words past the lump in her throat. “Thank you for helping me understand. You’re a good man, Matthew Grayken.”
The words seemed to give him no comfort. “A man asking way too much of you.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “I have a few conditions of my own. Since this is primarily a long-term care arrangement, I don’t want your house or your fortune. I’ll move into your home, and I’ll send you a contract with a standard daily rate for home care. Not a penny more, okay?”
Wide-eyed, he nodded. 
“I’ll cancel classes for this sem—”
“I don’t want you to do that.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned in to emphasize the next words. “You’re in for the fight of your life. Besides your immunotherapy, I’m going to make some other changes to your diet and lifestyle. I’m making you my priority, and you need to make you your priority. Agreed?”
“One hundred percent.​ Will you also marry me and be my legal voice?”
This knife sliced deep into her core. Here was a good man whose humor and kindness filled the hollow ache within her, but their marriage would be like a sandcastle at low tide. She would pour her heart into it, making its short lifespan as beautiful as she could, and then it would be washed away by death. Instead of hope and joy, depleting time and sorrow loomed for them. Could she keep her emotions compartmentalized? Healthcare worker/patient? Could she actually bear such an arrangement? Her mind swirled, trying to imagine living within the same walls with Matthew Grayken. Would life be better . . . would she be better for having shared this wrenching experience with him? More importantly, could she survive losing him at the end?
Pleading crinkled the corners of his eyes as he watched her wrestle. She saw how deeply he needed her. Only her. It was humbling to know he believed she alone could be his comfort and peace. She placed her hands back in her lap and drew a deep breath.
​“Yes. I’ll marry you.”
 

The sheer audaciousness of the mission Matthew Murray Grayken was about to embark upon exceeded the thrill of riding Chile’s white-water roller coaster—The Terminator—and loomed more soul-satisfying than skydiving over Dubai’s man-made archipelago, Palm Jumeirah. 
Matt Grayken was about to ask a total stranger to marry him. 
He pulled the pocket square from his Brooks Brothers jacket and wiped his sweaty palms, staining the unforgiving silk. It and the nerve-soaked suit would need to go to the cleaners now. He pulled his phone out to add that task to his packed schedule, then stopped, chagrined, and put the device away. The task could wait.
The cause of the day’s mission amplified the ever-present lump in his throat. He returned his focus to the woman with the nametag that read Mikaela Compton. She was the embodiment of compassion that served those on the other end of the room. Her peace washed over him again as it always did when he watched her from afar. He loved the way she leaned in when speaking to someone, beginning and ending each encounter with a caring smile and a touch. Compassion beamed from brown eyes that crinkled when she turned a sober moment to laughter, as she did nearly every minute as she joked with patients and cheered their progress at each station. 
From the first day that chance allowed him to see her, only recalling her soft brown eyes, that smile, and those gentle hands could calm him as he lie awake, shivering from night sweats, staring at the ceiling. In order to see her, he moved all his future appointments to the last slot when it was easier to linger, soaking up more of her optimism and hope. And then he decided to shoot for the moon and propose to her, a total stranger. 
Matt waited for her to check on the patient nearest to him, and then he cleared his throat and said, “May I ask you a question?”
She moved to him with a dancer’s grace, her brown hair bouncing within a tousled lump atop her head, as if she had gathered it while turning a somersault. Somehow the way the stray pieces fell seemed elegant, perfect, stylish around her delicate, unadorned face. He waited for it, and then it came, the caring lean-in followed by a gentle hand on his shoulder and that smile that warmed his chills away.
“I’m not your oncologist’s nurse, but I’ll try.”
Matt imagined what it would be like to hold her close, to fill his arms with her comfort, and then he realized how long he’d paused, soaking in the humanity she offered in a place of plastic and poison.
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Actually, I . . . uh . . . I have a . . . uh . . . a proposition for you.”
He cringed. His smooth, well-practiced proposal fled from his mind leaving that crude string of words in its place. He waited for her to slap him or, worse, to turn on her heel and leave.
“A proposition, eh?” A momentary show of skepticism erupted into a sunburst of pleasure that illuminated her face. She placed her hands on her hips, tipped her head askew, and offered him a wondering scowl. “You’re the third one today, and I have to warn you, you’re up against some tough competition.” She pointed down the row of chemo stations to a bald older man and his smiling wife, who were intently listening to the exchange. “Mr. and Mrs. Davenport keep me stocked in fresh vegetables from their garden on the chance I’ll let them adopt me. Isn’t that right?” The Davenports supported her claim enthusiastically.
“And Mr. Fitzhugh whistles, ‘I Love You Truly’ to me every appointment, and calls me his best girl.” 
A rail-thin arm raised and waved to her.
Nurse Compton shot the man a smile and turned back to Matt with a playful shrug. “What can I say? They’ve set the bar pretty high.” She gave Matt’s shoulders a pat, followed by another of her thousand-watt smiles, dismissing with grace and caring what he assumed was another of a hundred daily come-ons.
She turned to go, and Matt reached for her hand, brushing his fingers over her skin. She turned, as if sensing something different in this exchange which likewise restored feelings long dormant in Matt. “Dinner then?” he asked.
Their eyes locked as she studied him, weighing the invitation. “It's not allowed. Nurses can't date patients."
He was prepared for that response. “The administrators agreed to . . . bend the rules . . . for a substantial donation. We could go after your six o'clock class—” 
She jerked her hand back. “How’d you—”
Guilt flooded Matt at being the cause of the sun’s eclipse. He knew she was not a woman who would enjoy being scoped out and studied. He wanted to kick himself. “I’m sorry . . . I . . . I overheard you telling the other nurses.”
The tension in her face and shoulders eased, but did not disperse. From behind her he heard two of the other nurses whistling a tune he couldn’t immediately identify. It clearly had meaning for Nurse Compton. She shot a scathing glance over her shoulder at them, but the volume only increased, and her scolding slipped into a smile before stiffening again, giving Matt’s hope renewed footing. 
“What are they whistling?” He chuckled as her face burned with embarrassment.
“WDM, Baby!” cheered a nurse with a Jamaican accent.
Matt’s hands spread wide in surrender as he pled with the sheepish nurse. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to tell me now.”
Nurse Compton capitulated after one last glance back at the encouraging twosome. “Well-Dressed Man.” When nothing registered on his face, she added. “By ZZ-Top? Surely you’ve heard it before.” Her head bobbled back and forth as she sang an off-key rendition of “‘Cause every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp-dressed man?”
Matt leaned back and tipped a salute to Nurse Compton’s backup singers. “Thank you, ladies.” He returned his attention to the only one whose opinion of him mattered and found her twisting a loose lock of hair. “It appears I have their vote. What do you say?”
A slow nod began. “Are you sure you’re up to it? After treatment, food is the last thing on most of our patients’ minds.” 
“I could do something light.”
“All right. Something quick. Before class. I know a place down the block—Meriwether’s. I’ll meet you there at five.”
It wasn’t the romantic dinner he’d hoped for, but Matt nodded and said, “Perfect. I’ll get us a table.”
* * *
The moisture from the harbor added to Maryland’s already oppressive August humidity that left everyone sweat soaked and limp after a few minutes outdoors. His limited tolerance for hot weather was further diminished since his treatments had begun, rendering the adventurer an AC-loving indoor dweller who spent less and less time outdoors. 
Four blocks from Prospect’s campus, Meriwether’s was Baltimore’s food equivalent of a NYC subway station. Their staff of short-order cooks slaved away over a visible twenty-foot grill serving a constant stream of pre-pay call-ahead clients zooming in and out for their pink-and-brown-bagged sandwich orders. The girl at the register tagged Matt’s deer-in-the-headlights shock and awe and shouted over the din, “Carry-out or dine-in?”
“In!” he shouted back, following her finger-point to the rear where the narrow hall broke into a chic little dining room where music played in the rock-concert decibel range. It was decorated like a walk-in version of their take-out bags. 
He grabbed two paper menus, found a small table near a corner, and hailed the waitress. After a few minutes of perusing sandwich listings named after musicians, he looked up and found Nurse Compton leaning against the door jam, covering her mouth as she laughed. Her chin dropped and came back up apologetically. She wriggled her finger his way, beckoning him, and he gladly followed.
“Sorry. I really didn’t think you’d show.” 
“So, this was a test?” She shrugged, and he tried his best to read her lips. 
“You sounded like a potential chainsaw murderer back at the clinic. I figured you could've picked up another murder victim in here if that was your intention. Instead, you stayed. I also ran your wild claim by my administrator." She tilted her head to the side. "It checks out, but I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or more leery. As far as the administration is concerned, all your donation bought you is the right to make your case to me. Whatever happens from there is up to me, and any agreement we come to must remain on a need-to-know basis with the hospital. So, you've got my attention. Would you like to go somewhere a little quieter?"
His shoulders slumped in gratitude. “Please!”
Two doors down sat a rustic Italian bistro. The owner greeted Mikaela by name. As she led the couple to a table, Mikaela said, “We won’t need menus, Carmen. Just two bowls of Wedding Soup with extra spinach and meatballs, please.”
“Got it,” said the middle-aged woman who gave Matt an approving glance that he caught and that Mikaela brushed away with a wide-eyed glance. 
Once they were seated in a quiet corner and gave their drink orders, the nervousness began again. Matt toyed with the salt shaker. “Thanks for coming.”
“Let’s begin at the beginning. I suppose we should formally introduce ourselves.” She extended her hand. “I’m Mikaela Compton.”
He wanted to tell her that he already knew her well, every curve of her face, the little curls at the corners of her mouth, the slim straight shape of her elegant nose. But he opted instead to simply say, “Lovely to meet you, Mikaela. Matt Grayken.” 
“Nice to meet you, Matt. Do I detect a bit of an Irish accent?”
Matt felt his own cheeks warm. “We emigrated here when I was three, when my folks moved their import/export business here. You’d enjoy my parents. They still have very prominent brogues. Mine generally only returns when I’m nervous.” He smiled.
“You? Nervous?” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t think this is your first pick-up, cowboy.”
Her candor disarmed him. For all her sweetness, there was also a strength there that added to her complexity. “Seriously, I can’t tell you the last time I asked a woman out.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, wagging a finger his way. “They ask you.” She shook her head as if incredulous. “Of course, they do. Curly dark hair. Killer eyes.”
“And don’t forget, I’m a WDM.” 
He enjoyed how easily she blushed. His gaze dropped to the table top. “There’s a difference between asking an attractive woman to accompany you to a social function and going out on a date just for the fun of it. Hmm . . . Yep. Sadly, it’s been a while.”
“I can relate.”
“I figured as much.” And when she seemed offended by his response, he quickly countered with, “I didn’t mean you wouldn’t have a string of willing suitors, it’s just that . . . when you care for ailing parents, work full-time, and go to school, it doesn’t leave much time for a social life.”
The explanation made things worse as the stalker alert returned to her face. 
“You probably don’t realize how much you reveal about yourself to your patients. I’ve listened. It’s what made me want to meet you.”
Mikaela leaned back into the booth and crossed her arms over her chest as one brown eyebrow rose. Matt rushed in to calm the rising storm. “Let me explain.” 
He was grateful their order arrived in time for him to gather his thoughts. When Carmen left, he slipped the straw from its case and began stirring his Coke. “A patient’s wife looked especially tired one day. You pulled her aside near my chair and explained that you understood how demanding being a caregiver was because you were the surprise baby born to older parents who you cared for until they passed.”
Her expression went limp, and her hands dropped into her lap. “I didn’t know anyone else heard me.”
Matt leaned in. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s refreshing to find that level of selfless caring in someone, especially someone so bright and beautiful and young.”
Her head dipped slightly. “Thank you.”
“You’re already an RN, so I assume the classes are for your bachelor’s in nursing, or beyond. Are you leaning towards medical school?”
She smiled and nervously folded the wrapper to her straw. “Yes, med school was the dream. Still is, but I moved into nursing to help keep my family afloat when my parents took ill. I still need to work full-time, so I can only take a few classes per semester.” A melancholy smile crossed her lips. “I’m already twenty-six. At this rate, I’ll be seventy when I graduate, and I’ll probably just do my residency in the assisted living center where I’ll be living.”
“Very efficient.” They both chuckled, but Matt sensed the worry behind her laughter. He leaned forward and drew a deep breath. “I might be able to help with that.” Before her defenses moved back into place, he abruptly added, “As you probably guessed, I’m dying, and I’d like you to consider marrying me.”
A panorama of humor and perplexity moved in waves across her face, settling into shock. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” He smiled to lighten the sting, but Mikaela wasn’t having it.
“That’s not funny.” She pulled her napkin from her lap and threw it on the table as if preparing to leave. Matt placed his hand over hers, his eyes pleading with her to stay. 
“Please. Hear me out. Then, if you want to leave, I’ll never contact you again.”
He found it oddly comforting that she didn’t pull her hand back from his for several seconds, and when she did, it was a slow, gentle withdrawal. He moved the dishes to the side and cleared the table between them. 
“The ending of a life is never funny, and I shouldn’t have treated mine so irreverently. I’m not sure what the appropriate attitude is for such a situation. My impending death was not unexpected. I’ve been a draining hourglass since my second battle with leukemia. It hit me during college. I didn’t put my life on hold, waiting for the next bout of cancer to come. I’ve done the things I wanted to do—some dangerous, some professionally successful, some soul satisfying.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I have great parents, but their first inclination will be to pull me from the Prospect Cancer Treatment Center and drag me across the earth to see every traditional doctor who has a new theory on treatment. I’ve made my choice. I like Prospect’s approach, and I don’t want to be a medical vagabond again.”
“Do they even know you’re sick again?”
 “Not yet. I’ll tell them in time to make some final memories together.”
Opposition to his plan was evident in her pinched lips and furrowed brows. 
“If you don’t want to turn to your parents, then what of friends? Extended family?”
“Choosing a caregiver from extended family would be a slap to my parents. So would turning to a friend. Besides, the last thing I want is to feel like a burden to someone.”
“And there’s no one else? No special someone you’d want to share these last months with?”
“Is that as pitiful as it sounds?”
She looked away. “It’s . . . sad.”
“If you were in my place, who would you turn to?”
Mikaela’s expression was filled with rebuttals that were never given voice. Resignation washed over her. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” Her hand pressed over her mouth. “I have seven brothers, but they’re married with kids. I guess I’m as alone as you.”
Matt took her hand, realizing he had planted a new worry in her already-burdened heart. “You’re not alone, Mikaela. You are well loved by so many people. I’m sure any one of them would be there for you. But for me, the question is more about who I’m comfortable being so vulnerable with. I just didn’t make time, or perhaps I never wanted to be that vulnerable with anyone before.” He blew out a rush of air and shook his head. “What I most want in my life right now is someone to wake up to in the morning, share meals with, and count on when I need help. I want to spend my last days in the company of someone who can laugh at my lousy jokes, keep me well as long as possible, ease my pain when it comes, and still make my days meaningful and joyful.” His eyes never left hers. “As soon as I saw you I thought ‘now there’s a woman I would enjoy seeing every morning, breaking bread with, and talking about the news or the weather.’ Plus, you’re a great nurse. You’re everything I need right now.”
He looked at her, studying her response to his confessions, and found sadness there.
Mikaela swallowed hard and leaned forward. “So why marry me? Why not just hire me?”
“Because I don’t want to be the pitiful soul with only an attorney, billing hourly, as his voice. I want a wife with the legal power to speak for me when I can’t speak for myself and the personal connection no one else will challenge.”
“Like your parents when they come to take control of your care.”
“As well-intentioned as they’d be, yes. And I trust you.”
“You’d be pitting me against them.” 
She leaned back, but he was impressed that she wasn’t discounting everything he had said. “No. I would make my wishes clear. You would just enforce them when I no longer can.” He leaned farther forward, to close the distance between them, and looked straight into her eyes. “I know you’re alone, and I know money’s an issue. I can fix that. I have a lovely home that will be yours when I’m gone. And I’ll pay off your debts and provide tuition to medical school. You’ll be a doctor, Mikaela.”
She stirred her soup silently until her head came back up, refusal written in her expression. “But we’re strangers.”
“You’re not a stranger to me. I’ve watched you serve your patients. I feel I understand you better than I understand people I’ve known for years.” He sat back against the booth and relaxed. “As for me, let’s take a little time to get comfortable with one another. I’m actually a pretty funny guy on topics other than death.” He raised his eyebrows, offering her his most dazzling smile. “I love to dance. In fact, I’ve been told I’m not bad. And I can provide references to prove I’m a man of good moral character. I have a Sunday School certificate from fifth-grade to prove it.” 
Mikaela dipped her head, but her shoulders wriggled, and he knew she was laughing.
“Eat,” she said, pointing to his bowl. She likewise dipped her spoon as a thoughtful silence settled in between them.
Matt breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. “This feels good on my stomach. See, you already know what I need.”
Mikaela pointed back to the soup. “More eating.”
They continued on with small talk about the restaurant and its owners, who had become her go-to between work and class. Matt’s eating slowed and he sat back.
“How far are you into treatment?” Mikaela asked.
“I’ve almost completed this round of immunotherapy. What happens next will depend on the results of the next tests. Maybe chemo. Maybe radiation.”
“And always nutrition.” Her head dipped toward his bowl and he took a final spoonful.
“See, you’re good for me. You have a kindness about you that gives me peace. When I die, I’d like to be in my own home, feeling those things. Not fearful in some sterile room. That’s just not how I want to go.”
Her mouth fell slightly open, and she nodded. “I understand that. I would feel the same way.” Her eyebrows rose as if she were preparing to discuss something delicate. “So how exactly do you see this marriage?” 
“Whatever you want it to be. A quiet legal ceremony before a justice of the peace or a church wedding with bells and a big reception. It’s your wedding. It’s your call.”
“What if you get another remission?” Her voice trailed off.
“Now that would be the best outcome of all. We could place a clause in our agreement that unless our arrangement was so amiable that we each agree to continue, you could leave without the divorce or our financial terms being contested. Unfortunately, my doctors don’t give me reason to think that’s going to be necessary.”
She slipped her hand back again and sat upright with her elbows on the table. “You’ve spelled out the financial terms, and the wedding plans. So far, this is just a lucrative long-term nursing job with companion care, but what are your expectations for—” her voice lowered to a whisper, “—the marriage?”
Of course, he knew this delicate issue would arise, but it was the most painful part of the equation. “I hope we’ll be great companions, enjoying friendship, respect, humor. But that’s not what you’re asking, is it?” He played with his spoon as he gathered the right words. “You want to know if a dying man would play on your sympathies to lure you into his bedroom?”
She didn’t flinch. “The thought crossed my mind.”
Try as he might to remain even, he knew his disappointment showed on his face. “Fair enough. No, Mikaela, I am not asking for a full marriage in that way, nor am I looking to fall in love. I want to avoid that,​ as much to protect me as to protect you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want to grieve for anyone else as I pass, nor do I want to leave someone else grieving for me.”
“So just friendship and companionship?”
“Yes, but neither is a small thing. I’m embarrassed to admit that I find myself feeling a little anxious. I would be a bit possessive of your time and company.”
“Would I need to quit my job?”
“Not at first. I intend to work a while longer. When I quit, I’d like you to do the same. That’s when I’ll need you the most.”
Mikaela nodded quietly as she stared down at the table. Matt couldn’t read her expression, and his heart clutched.
“So what do you think?”
She looked up, tilted her head to the side, and studied his face. “I’m up for a second date.”

​

​Great news! Pass Me the Ball is now available on Amazon and FREE in Kindle Unlimited! -Julie
 “Hey, Skyler, who’s the new cheerleader?” With his elbow, Logan nudged me, which snapped my focus away from the center of the football field. The humidity hadn’t set in yet, and the dew-covered grass clippings clung to my practice cleats as he and I trudged to where our team was gathering.
The cheerleaders clumped into little cliques in their usual practice area near the bleachers, taking advantage of their tardy coach. If there had been a new student, they would all be gathered around her. Plus, I would have known about it. As captain of the varsity football team and star quarterback, I considered myself in the know about these things. I shielded my eyes with my hand to get a better look.
My girlfriend, Amberlyn, waved casually from across the field, and the girl beside her turned to look at me. My breath caught. It couldn’t be--
The girl standing beside Amberlyn was not a new cheerleader. She wasn’t new at all. Yet she was almost unrecognizable.
Her long, flowing blonde hair caught the morning sunlight and glinted in waves as it rested on the shoulders of her ratty practice jersey that looked exactly like the one I was wearing. Except where my jersey pulled against my pectoral muscles, hers pulled against—woah, I wasn’t going there. While the cheerleaders displayed their tanned calf and thigh muscles under little shorts, her white football pants, covered in grass stains from last season, hugged her hips and curves.
“That’s Jonnie,” I choked out, halting my march to the fifty-yard line.
“No flippin’ way,” Logan said. I swear his jaw dropped. How cliché. Mine was hanging open as well. I snapped my mouth shut and gulped.
Jonnie turned to give Amberlyn a quick hug, then pulled the scrunchie from her wrist, and gathered her long hair into a sloppy ponytail. She grabbed the duffle bag, shoulder pads, and helmet that rested by her feet and smiled as she jogged toward us.
“Hey, guys,” Jonnie said. Her exuberance at seeing us shone on her face. Was she wearing makeup? To football practice? No, she just had a sprinkling of freckles across her sun-kissed cheeks. “Did ya have a good summer? I haven’t seen you in months.”
Neither of us answered her, and I’m pretty sure our jaws hung open again.
“Guys?” Jonnie’s brow creased. “Are you okay?”
“I thought you were a new cheerleader,” Logan stammered.
“Yeah, right.” She pushed his shoulder and guffawed. “Could you imagine me as a cheerleader?”
“Uh huh,” Logan and I both answered. I finally gathered my wits and shook myself out of my stupor.
“Where’ve you been all summer?” I asked. What I wanted to ask was who was this beautiful woman standing in front of me and where did the old Jonnie go? Where was the tomboy who’d played on our football team for years? Where was my best friend?
“I went over to stay with my dad for eight weeks,” she said. From where we lived in Grand Haven, right on the shoreline of Lake Michigan, her dad’s house was two hours away near Central Michigan University, where he was a biology professor. “Bummer that I didn’t get to hang out at the beach, but the good news is, my dad totally threw me like a million passes, so I kept in practice.” Her voice rose at the end in a sing-song way that gave me goosebumps.
“In practice? For what?” Logan scratched his head.
“Touchdowns, you dork. What’s wrong with you today?” She shook her head at Logan and then turned to me. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve been running between three and ten miles every single day, other than that week when we had, like, three feet of rain. But I ran a couple of 5Ks too, so it made up the difference. I won’t let you down, captain.” She punched me on the arm playfully.
“Touchdowns…” My voice trailed off as she ran toward the center of the field, calling out to some of the other guys.
“Jayce! Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you in forever!” She ran right into his arms, and he lifted her up and swung her around.
“Chica! What’s up? You look amazing.” Jayce set her back on her feet, and then she hugged Conner.
“Hello, beautiful,” Conner said. “When did you grow up?”
“You’re so funny, Conner.” Jonnie laughed and batted at his arm like a… like a girl. Like a flirtatious, teenage girl.
“Oh, crud,” I grumbled as the whole team gathered around the girl who was not our new cheerleader. She was our best wide receiver. “We have a problem.”

Great news! Pass Me the Ball is now available on Amazon and FREE in Kindle Unlimited! -Julie