Dax Page 2

  Regan has an incredibly rare bone marrow failure disease that destroys her red blood cells. It occurs because the protein shield around her red blood cells is missing, so it can’t protect the cells from attack by the body’s own immune system. I don’t pretend to understand much more of the mechanics of it, but I read enough to scare the shit out of me. It affects only one in a million people and is a life-threatening disease. What made my legs turn to jelly was when I read the median survival is only ten years after diagnosis. That fucking knocked the wind out of me on the airplane as I flew to San Diego, and I got lost in my thoughts. I wasn’t ready to lose Regan so soon after losing Lance.

  But then I read more, and I became heartened when I familiarized myself with the expensive medication she needed.

  Over four hundred thousand dollars a year to receive Salvistis, which binds to the proteins that destroy the red blood cells. It’s a lifesaving drug, and she must have it.

  Simple as that.

  Therefore, I’m heading toward her apartment door with the sole intention of gathering Regan, returning her to Phoenix with me where I’ll marry her on Monday morning, then have her on my insurance by Monday afternoon.

  My fist is hammering at the thin wooden door without any hesitation. Within moments, I hear grumbling on the other side before the door is opening to reveal a short Asian man in wrinkled scrubs and his hair sticking up all over the place.

  “Yeah?” he rasps as he rubs a hand over his face. I clearly woke him up.

  “Is Regan here?” I ask, assuming this to be a roommate. Or fuck, perhaps a boyfriend? He’s about Regan’s age, although a few inches shorter than her, but that might not matter.

  It would to me, but Regan doesn’t get stuck on shit like that.

  The man coughs and blinks his eyes, focusing on me. “Um… yeah, I think so. I fell asleep on the couch after work last night so not really sure.”

  He steps backward, welcoming me into the small living room. The apartment is bare bones and cheaply furnished, but the cost of living is high in this southern California coastal town, so I’m not surprised.

  I shut the door behind me, and the man disappears into a short hallway where I can see him knock on a closed bedroom door. “Reggie… you in there?”

  Reggie? That totally sounds like a nickname a boyfriend would give her. But still… why is he knocking and not just walking in?

  My heartbeat picks up when the door opens and Regan steps into the hallway. She gives the man, who I conclude is her roommate and nothing else, a wan smile. “What’s up?”

  An arm is raised, and a finger extended to point through the living room to me waiting at the door. Regan’s neck twists and her eyes round with surprise.

  “You have to be kidding me,” she mutters.

  “You know him?” the man asks, now scratching at his head before yawning.

  “Family friend,” she replies, giving him a quick regard before frowning. “Go to bed, John. You look like hell.”

  Her voice is affectionate and warm. The man—John—gives her a sheepish smile. “On it. See you later.”

  I watch as he turns on his heel and enters the closed bedroom door directly opposite of Regan’s.

  Definitely a roommate.

  Regan walks toward me, snagging a blanket John must have been using on the couch and folding it up with quick precision. She nods toward the gaming handset on the coffee table. “He plays video games all night after his shift and doesn’t get enough sleep. He’s a menace to himself.”

  “A nurse like you?” I ask, with no genuine curiosity but she seems to care for him.

  Nodding, she places the folded blanket on the back of the couch. “Works in anesthesia. We’ve been roommates for a few months now.”

  “Seems nice,” I offer.

  “He is,” she replies, then narrows her eyes. God, she’s so beautiful. I still can’t get over why this is something I never really noticed before. “What are you doing here, Dax?”

  “You know the answer to that,” I reply, strolling over to the couch where I sit. I pat the cushion beside me, beckoning her over. “I realize I may have been a little high handed with you back in New York, and I came so we could talk some more.”

  “Oh,” she says sarcastically as she moves around the other end of the couch to join me. “You mean you’re not here to throw me over your shoulder and cart me off to your cave?”

  “If I thought I could get through airport security that way, I would,” I reply blandly, and she snorts back her laughter.

  Plopping onto the couch with a sigh of resignation, she brushes her fingers through the hair at her temple before throwing her arm over the back of the couch. When she curls one long leg up under her, I can’t help but admire the smooth flesh in a pair of denim shorts.

  “Typical Monahan,” she murmurs as the corners of her mouth tip up. “Doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “Willow is way worse than I am,” I defend myself.

  Regan laughs, the smile going bigger at the mention of my younger sister by only a year and a half. “That’s true. But it’s your fault. You were a bad influence on her.”

  “I am not taking the blame for the way Willow turned out.” I hold my hands out defensively. “She’s an unexplainable creature.”

  Which is also true. Willow is fierce, bossy, independent, and a know-it-all. I fear she’ll never settle down because I can’t imagine a man alive who could hope to handle her.

  “She said she’s coming back to the States soon.”

  I nod. My sister is currently working as a photo journalist and travels all over the world. “Late next week. In fact, she’s coming to Phoenix to spend some time with me, so you can catch up with her.”

  Another alpha, controlling move hidden by a vain attempt at subtlety. Regan reacts by raising an eyebrow at me, her lips flattening defensively.

  I press forward before she can say a word. “Regan… it’s a short-term solution. A paper marriage only. You can have insurance coverage, get your treatment, and finish your master’s degree. When you’re done and get a job with insurance, we can divorce. It’s a simple solution.”

  She stares for a long moment, and I can tell she’s considering what I’m saying but she’s not convinced. “I’m the closest thing to family you have now, Regan. And Lance would want this. You know he would.”

  Her eyes narrow slightly, and she tilts her head. “He’d want me to marry for money and not love?”

  My gaze chills and turns chastising. “You know he wouldn’t, but he’d recognize I’m making this offer out of love. It’s unconventional, sure, but there’s nothing conventional about what you’re going through. It’s a good solution, Regan. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t accept.”

  Regan’s gaze slides past me and locks on what might be the front door. She nibbles at her lower lip as she considers. “I suppose it’s just a piece of paper,” she says slowly, bringing her gaze to me. “I’ve got a part-time contract nurse’s job here. I could definitely pay you back as we go along. Once I start the master’s program in the fall, we’ll just keep a tally and I can pay you back when I land a permanent job. Or I don’t have to do the master’s program. I could look for a permanent job now—”

  “Absolutely not,” I cut in. “You’re staying in school, and you’re not working while in school. You’re not paying me back either.”

  Once again, she straightens and levels a heated glare at me. “I’m not taking a handout.”

  “Regan… I make a lot of fucking money. Let me—”

  “Either I pay you back or no deal,” she says primly.

  “Fine,” I grit out. “Pay me back if you want. But when you’re in school, you’re studying, not working.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she snaps with a mocking smirk.

  My palm itches. What I wouldn’t give right now to land it on her backside. I push that thought aside and stand. “It’s settled then. I can stay a day out here to help you get packed up, b
ut then we need to head to Phoenix. I have to be back Monday for practice.”

  Regan blinks at me in surprise. “I’m not going to Phoenix with you, Dax. I’ll marry you, but I’m staying here.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” she asks in disbelief as she shoots off the couch to get in my face. “Because this is where I live. My life is here. I have an apartment and a job. It’s where I start school in the fall.”

  “Those things are easy to replace, and you can go to school in Phoenix,” I point out. “Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

  Okay, that popped out of nowhere and sounded incredibly defensive at the same time. I can feel heat creep up the nape of my neck, but Regan’s shaking her head. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend, but that’s beside the point. I love California, and I’m registered for school here.”

  “You can register for school in Phoenix. I already checked. Arizona State University has a great graduate nursing program. And you can come back to California as soon as we can get you on your feet,” I assure her, ignoring the stab of something uncomfortable in my gut at the thought. “But if I’m going to marry you on a pretense, we’re going to make it legit. You have to stay in Phoenix at my place. I’m not about to go to prison for insurance fraud.”

  Regan blanches and sinks onto the couch, slowly shaking her head. “See… this is such a stupid idea.”

  “Lance named me as your guardian if he died,” I murmur, pulling out my last ace. This won’t be news to her as she had to administer his estate. I’m sure she saw it in his will. He’d told me about it when he’d had it done up years ago. Granted… that was if he died while you were still a minor, but his intent was clear. He wanted me to take care of you if he couldn’t, and that is exactly what I’m going to do, Regan. Please don’t make it so I dishonor that memory.”

  They’re the words that were needed. I can see the capitulation in the way her shoulders sink, and I hate she’s so averse to coming to Phoenix with me. But I know deep in my gut I’m doing the right thing. Wherever Lance is, he’s nodding his approval right now.

  “Fine,” she finally says on a huff of resignation. She stands, not putting her eye to eye with me but moving in close enough I can’t mistake the determination in her eyes. “I’ll come to Phoenix. I’ll marry you so I can get my treatment. I’ll live in your house.”

  “You’ll love Phoenix—”

  “Whatever,” she interrupts dismissively, never letting me forget she’s not happy about the need for this. “But I want this kept a secret. It’s distasteful to me that we’re scamming the system.”

  “We’re saving your life, Regan.” That comes out in a low, furious growl that has her blinking in surprise. “Fuck the system. They shouldn’t make a medication that costs almost half-a-million goddamn dollars a year just so you can live.”

  She inclines her head, causing some of her lustrous hair to fall over her shoulder. It’s so soft looking. I itch to touch it, and I realize all at once… this is going to be a problem for me to have her in my home.

  Going to be an absolute monster of a problem.

  “Fine,” she agrees softly, and my attention goes from her hair to the stunningly soft lips she presses against my cheek after going to her tiptoes. Her hands rest lightly on my shoulders, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the feeling right now. She pulls away, catching my eye. “We’re saving my life, but I still want it kept secret. Tell people I’m taking some time away after Lance’s death and just hanging out with you for a while.”

  “I can do that,” I agree.

  And it appears that was about as romantic of an engagement as Regan is going to get. A pang of guilt hits me in the chest, but I dismiss it.

  Like we just agreed.

  We’re saving her life.

  CHAPTER 3

  Regan

  I set the photo of Lance and me on the dresser, running my finger over the silver edge of the frame as I stare at it. It was taken just a year ago when he’d come out to California for a game and we’d gone out to dinner after. Our waiter took it. Lance and I are smiling broadly, and that’s because it looked like my life was turning out a lot differently than what we’d first thought after getting my PNH diagnosis.

  Only a few days before Lance had come out to California, Salvistis had received FDA approval and my insurance company had set me up with a case manager to start a treatment plan. Lance was smiling because his little sister would not die, and let’s face it… I was smiling mostly for the same reason.

  But also because I was simply happy to be with my brother. He and I were tighter than tight, given the fact he took over raising me after our parents died. I’d only been fourteen and he hadn’t been much of a seasoned adult at only nineteen, but he’d made me feel safe and secure. My life changed so drastically. Losing my mom and dad and then having to move almost immediately to New York where Lance was playing for the Vipers. I went from a middle-class suburban home to a Manhattan condo—from doting and somewhat stifling parents to a brother who traveled a lot.

  During that time, I had a nanny to stay with me to ensure I went to school and ate healthy meals. As I got older, the nanny sort of went by the wayside and I would often stay with friends Lance approved of and who had proper parental units involved. We made it work. Even though I was alone a lot of the time, I never felt that way. Lance and I spoke or FaceTimed at least once a day and texted what seemed like a million times more. Even after I moved to California to go to college, our contact never lessened. He was brother, mother, father, and a best friend to me. Sometimes the grief over his loss hurts so bad I can’t breathe.

  Like now.

  I take four steps back and sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my knuckles over my breastbone as I look around the spacious guest bedroom Dax put me in. I’ll never admit it to him, but I’m grateful to be here. I’ve felt such an emptiness since Lance died. I truly have no one.

  The bedroom is furnished nicely with heavy oak furniture, but the walls are completely bare. Dax told me he’d just moved in a few months ago. He’d been sharing a big suburban house with Bishop when he first moved here, but then Bishop moved in with his girlfriend—now fiancée—and Dax had decided to downsize. He’d bought this three-bedroom townhome in Scottsdale mainly so he wouldn’t have a yard to mow.

  Or so he said.

  I haven’t seen him in a couple of hours. Not since we arrived.

  It was just a six-hour drive from Encinitas to Phoenix. I only brought my clothes, toiletries, and a few mementos like the photograph of Lance and me. The rest we packed up and put in long-term storage paid for with Dax’s credit card. He also left a check with John for six months’ rent, apologizing for ripping his roommate away from him. John was sad to see me go, but the check more than made up for it. I called my supervisor, regrettably giving my immediate notice at my part-time job. That hadn’t felt good, and I hope I haven’t left them too much in a lurch.

  After we arrived in Phoenix, Dax carried all my stuff in and promptly left, saying he had some errands to run.

  Now here I sit in a room that I’m what… Supposed to live in for the next two years while I get a graduate degree? And what happens to my personal life? If I’m married to Dax, is it even possible for me to have a relationship with someone else?

  Not that it’s a high probability. My one real relationship had fizzled and faded when I got my diagnosis. I’m not the most overall attractive package out there. I mean, who wants to saddle themselves with someone who has my issues?

  A wave of uncertainty floods my senses.

  Not the first to happen in the last two days, but the strongest. This was a stupid idea.

  “Regan,” Dax calls from the living room downstairs. “I’m back, and I have dinner.”

  Pushing up from the bed, I give a last longing glance at my brother staring at me from the picture frame. “I hope I’m doing the right thing, Lance. If I’m not, you need to give me a sign and really soon.”

  Dax is in the kitc
hen unloading bags of groceries, and I spy a pizza on the center kitchen island.

  “I got a bunch of your favorite things,” Dax says as he reaches inside a brown paper bag. He pulls out a package of Oreo cookies, waving them over his shoulder with a grin. The cookies go on the counter, and he reaches into the bag to pull out Cheetos, Chef Boyardee Ravioli, and Pop Tarts.

  My eyes widen as he deposits the stuff next to a twelve-pack of Dr. Pepper and box of Lucky Charms.

  Dax turns to me, sweeps his hands toward the groceries with a flourish, and asks, “What do you think? Good memory, huh?”

  I hesitantly reply, “Um… good memory. Ten-year-old Regan would totally be squealing with delight right now.”

  Dax’s smile falls, his eyebrows drawing inward. He glances at the pile of junk food, then to me with chagrin. “I’m thinking by your lack of squealing, you’re eating a bit healthier these days?”

  I laugh and move around the counter, poking through all the stuff. There’s a bag of Doritos, chocolate pudding cups, and Starbursts. All the things I loved as a kid and my parents had indulged me in, which might have accounted for my slight weight problem and bad skin. But my God, was that stuff good.

  Turning toward Dax, I hold my hands up apologetically. “While I appreciate the effort, I truly do eat a lot healthier these days. The PNH has been a bit of a wakeup call to take my nutrition a bit more seriously.”

  Dax’s face turns red, and he groans with a palm slap to his forehead. “Shit. I wasn’t even thinking about that, and I should have. I’m sorry, Regan.”

  I squeeze his shoulder in commiseration. “No worries. Trust me… this disease of mine takes some getting used to. But how about you let me shop and cook? I promise not to swarm you with too many veggies, but I’ve got the balanced meal preparations down to a science now.”

  “Deal,” Dax says, returning to the groceries. As I help him load the bags up, he promises to donate them to a food bank or shelter. “Is pizza okay for dinner or want me to run out to the grocery store again?”