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Raybourne’s brows lift. “Fine. So all of this is true? And you knew about it? The financial problems and the kidney donation?”
“I didn’t know about the late payments. And a kidney donation…” My voice trails off. That’s got to be bullshit. I hate that some ugly article is making me doubt her. “I trust June. She’s no gold digger. I’m sure there are explanations for all of this.”
“I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t trust her,” Raybourne says calmly. “In fact, all of my instincts say she’s trustworthy, too. But you need to be aware of the situation. You’re a successful athlete with a lot of money. It will naturally draw people to you, and people who write these—” she points to the article, “—things will naturally be suspicious.”
I lean back in my chair, feeling the weight of her words sink in. It’s true that June hasn’t been open with me about her financial struggles, but none of what Raybourne is saying fits what I know about June. I shake my head. “It’s just that when we started…” I pause. “When our relationship got more serious, she told me she wouldn’t accept my paycheck any longer. She wouldn’t do that if it was only about money.”
“True. But that doesn’t seem practical. How does she plan to pay her bills?” Raybourne asks.
“She mentioned a substitute teaching position. I assumed she had savings or something until she found something.”
I can only blink at Raybourne. She’s right—I didn’t know the extent of June or Lily’s financial problems. And a pawnshop? People only pawn things if they’re really struggling. Was she going to pawn shops to make ends meet? But she didn’t say anything to me. What was she pawning, and why?
Not to mention the talk of kidney donations. Was that just made-up bullshit or is there some truth to that?
I don’t care that June has financial problems. She’s twenty-four and right out of college. There are lots of recent graduates—too many—who struggle with debt. But I don’t know why she kept all of this to herself. The secrets… they stir up ancient hurts.
When Sonya started having headaches during her third trimester, she said it was probably because of hormone fluctuations. She would get occasional migraines before her periods, and she assumed it was something like that. But when they got worse and caused her to throw up, I worried. She waved me off. She kept going to her obstetric appointments, and Tabby was great, healthy and perfectly normal. Then she had a seizure, and I rushed her to the emergency room.
She had a brain tumor. Glioblastoma. It was aggressive. The doctors suggested surgery, followed by chemotherapy and radiation. She was thirty weeks. She agreed to the surgery but postponed chemotherapy and radiation for five weeks until Tabby’s lungs were prepared for her to be born. I tried to convince her to be more aggressive and to start treatments right away. The doctors told her a body of research supported starting her treatment during pregnancy. They said she was in her third trimester, and it was generally regarded as low-risk. But Sonya wouldn’t hear it. She had read the research, too, especially the statistics for how long someone with her condition was expected to live. In her mind, her chances weren’t great, no matter what. She waited.
At thirty-five weeks, the doctor induced her. Tabby was born perfect, and Sonya started treatments immediately. But she only lived for a couple of months, anyway.
I don’t know if she would have lived longer if she’d made different choices. All I know is how helpless I felt in those months. There weren’t any good options. Her prognosis for survival was bad. That didn’t make the heartbreak any easier.
Over the years, I’ve wondered if she suspected she was sick. Sonya was a smart woman. She had to have guessed something was wrong. If she had, she kept it from me. I’ll never know, and it doesn’t change the past. It’s the doubts, though. They nag at me, make me believe my wife had kept secrets from me. Lied.
But this is different. These are June’s private financial affairs. Maybe she is embarrassed. Maybe she’s afraid I would think less of her. I’m upset she didn’t trust me with it, but this isn’t something insurmountable. The kidney thing… I’m sure they’re making shit up.
It has to be different.
Raybourne glares at me from across the desk. “Seriously, Duke. Did you consider how it would look if you got caught sleeping with your nanny? We talked about this. Now with this,”—she motions to the article— “have you considered how this makes you look? If this angle—that she’s looking for money—doesn’t work, they can spin it in other ways, you know. They can say you’re her boss, taking advantage of her situation. A younger girl with no money, wowed by her rich employer. Have you thought about that?”
I hadn’t. “Why does anyone think they can be involved in my personal business?” I growl out.
“Because you’re the captain of a professional hockey team. The same captain who is on record multiple times last year reprimanding your teammates for their behavior.”
“That was different,” I exclaim. “I never talked about my teammates’ private lives. I’m a professional, and I kept things about business—how they behaved on the ice, how they treated each other in the locker room.”
“I know. But that won’t keep the gossips out of your personal life now. You need to talk to her,” Raybourne tells me, pushing the article across the table. “We need to know what’s going on with her, so we can craft a response.”
Raybourne has good intentions, but I hate that she’s in my business. Craft a response. Like I’m a fire she’s putting out.
I get it, though. She’s just doing her job. I take a deep breath and nod. But as I leave Raybourne’s office, my mind spins.
I check my watch. I need to be on the ice in ten minutes, so I pick up my pace. Once the morning drills finish, I’ll see if I can catch June before Tabby gets home, straighten this all out. Then Raybourne can craft her response, and we’ll move on.
June
Idon’twasteanytime talking with Lily about the transplant. When I pick her up for dialysis the next morning, I blurt it as soon as she’s settled in the car. “I’m a match. You’re getting a new kidney.”
“No.”
I keep talking like she said nothing. “I called the scheduler before I left the house. We’ll go in on Tuesday for pre-op testing, and then the procedure will be Friday. They did most of my testing when I was in originally, but they need to make sure nothing has changed.”
“In one week?” Lily shakes her head. “June—”
I take a deep breath and go for the grand finale. “It’s yours,” I tell her. “This is my gift to you.”
