Always (Spiral of Bliss #5) by Nina Lane Page B

“step” will be—surgery—and encourages me to meet with several doctors before choosing a surgeon and an oncologist. We’re forced to wait over the Thanksgiving holiday before scheduling appointments.
    Dean and I don’t talk much in the immediate aftermath of the diagnosis. Outwardly, he also focuses on getting things done, but anguish burns in his eyes, and he hovers around me as if he’s a hawk wanting to swoop in and save me.
    Just like he always has before.
    After spending a quiet Thanksgiving at home, our first meeting is with Dr. Holt, a highly regarded, experienced surgeon who extends his hand to Dean first.
    “Pleasure to meet you both,” the doctor says as we sit in front of his desk. “I’ve had a look at your wife’s file and will give you several options as to course of treatment.”
    He starts telling us what we already know—the location of the tumor, the need for further testing, the results of the biopsy. Then he explains that while I might be a good candidate for a lumpectomy, which would remove only the tumor and surrounding tissue, he would recommend a mastectomy. The removal of my breast.
    I nod, feeling oddly detached from myself. Ever since Dr. Nolan mentioned it as a potential option, my instinctive response has been that yes, I want a mastectomy.
    It’s a grueling, painful procedure, an aggressive approach, but I don’t care. The only thing I care about is getting this horrible thing out of my body and resuming my life as it was before.
    Except that my life will never be as it was
before.
    Dr. Holt rambles on about the surgery, glancing at Dean as he talks about how reconstructed breasts will look and feel.
    “Breasts are important to men too, you know,” the doctor tells me.
    I feel Dean tense with irritation.
    “What’s
important
,” he says coldly, “is getting rid of the cancer.”
    I put my hand on his arm. His muscles are clenched tight.
    “What about the lumpectomy?” I ask the doctor. “Dr. Nolan said that might be an option too.”
    “A mastectomy will give you more peace of mind,” Dr. Holt says. “You don’t want to put yourself through the fear of screenings since you’re the kind of woman who will worry. You sure don’t want to put your husband through that.”
    Before I can respond past the tightness in my throat, Dean addresses the doctor sharply.
    “What do you know about the kind of woman my wife is?”
    “Most women worry about screenings,” Dr. Holt replies. “And the survival rate with either surgery is about the same. Of course, if the cancer has spread, the game changes.”
    “Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean’s voice slices so fast through the air that Dr. Holt and I both startle.
    “I beg your pardon?” the doctor asks.
    “I said…” Dean stands, his full height dominating the room and his face dark with anger, “are you fucking kidding me by calling this a
game
? You’re talking about my wife’s life, not a goddamned game. And you don’t know jack about her or us. So don’t you fucking tell her what she should or shouldn’t do, much less what kind of woman she is.”
    He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet, turning to stalk out the door.
    “Dean, slow down.” I hurry after him, my stomach knotting. “Please.”
    A curse snaps out of him. We reach the parking lot, and he lets go of my hand, striding away from me. He rests one hand against the side of the building and lowers his head. Even from a distance, I can see him shaking.
    Pain squeezes my heart in a fist. I stop, unsure whether or not to approach him. I walk forward slowly and rest my hand on his back. The vibrations from his trembling are so deep they travel up my arm and into my bones.
    “Dean.”
    He doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn toward me. An unexpected surge of guilt hits me, filling my chest.
    I did this to him. I’m the one causing him this torture, this pain. Me and my suddenly traitorous body.
    I can’t bring myself to move closer, to wrap my arms