“Yep.”
“Monte.”
Malcolm shrugged but that nonchalance didn’t reach his eyes. “When most twenty-one-year-olds are feeling run-down and losing weight, they slam a few energy drinks, eat more pizza, and power through it. One of my roommates at the time was obnoxiously pre-Med, and he used every opportunity to show off his studies. He told me if I went and got some bloodwork done, he’d cover my share of the utilities that month.”
“So, you went.”
“To prove him wrong and save some cash on electric and internet? Yeah, I went. Turns out, he was right. I had Hodgkin Lymphoma. Early. Treatable. Did six cycles of chemo, beat the hell out of the cancer, and I still get annual PET scans, but so far so good.”
“Christ, Monte.” Iggy wanted to burst into tears, haul Malcolm into a hug, and wrap him up into a blanket burrito. All he did was reach out his left hand and clasp Malcolm’s tight. “Were your parents around at all? Your sister?”
“I didn’t tell anyone until after. Melissa was in the middle of her first divorce. Mom was at some fucking retreat trying to find herself for the forty-ninth time. I’ve had no reason to speak to my father since I was eighteen. I had my college friends and roommates to support me. It was okay.”
“Well, thank God for overbearing pre-Med students. You can’t Red Bull your way out of cancer.”
“No. Sorry to drop that on you at three a.m. during a drinking game.”
“Well, I imagine it’s hard to work into casual conversation.”
“Yeah, well, the only two people I’ve told here are Melissa and Jake.”
“Who’s Jake?”
“He works up at Snow Creek Ranch. He’s a real good guy, I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually. He can’t stay away from the saloon for too long. He’s been my best friend since I came back to Chance.”
“Is he cute?”
“He’s gorgeous.” Before Iggy could feel any kind of way about that, Malcolm grinned. “But he’s not my type. Too much of a cowboy for me.”
Iggy slid right back under the irresistible spell of Malcolm’s smiles. “Oh? What do you prefer? Construction worker? Police officer?”
“You gonna list off all the Village People? Or let me tell you?”
“Then tell me. What’s your type?”
“Which one’s the lie?”
The way Malcolm flitted from one topic to another like a drunk hummingbird was not playing well with the two shots Iggy drank on an empty stomach. “Dude, what?”
“You only guessed one truth. Which other is the truth, and which is the lie?”
One surgery or two surgeries. Iggy knew nothing about Hodgkin Lymphoma, or if it required surgery to remove tumors like a lot of other cancers. Maybe the surgery had nothing to do with the cancer. He drew on everything he could remember about Malcolm’s childhood. “You had your appendix out when you were nine,” Iggy said. “So, you definitely had one.”
Malcolm didn’t so much as twitch his nose.
Then Iggy saw the wordplay trap. “Even if you did have a second surgery during the last seventeen years, that doesn’t negate the truthfulness of saying that you did, in fact, have one surgery. So, the one surgery is true, no matter if two surgeries is a lie.”
He opened his mouth to respond then froze. Tilted his head to the side, thinking. Frowned. Did a very good “confused Malcolm Reynolds gif” impersonation. “Okay, you got me there.”
Iggy felt a bit like he’d solved that brain-hurting labyrinth riddle about one person who always tells the truth, and the other one always lies. “So, youhavehad two surgeries?”
“I have. Riding accident when I was thirty. Had to put some pins in my ankle. Still aches sometimes in bad weather, but it’s all healed up.”
“Riding what? ATV? Car?”
“Horse.”
“For real? You fell off a horse?”
