Maybe Tomorrow

  Maybe Tomorrow

  Sherri Renee

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Other books by Sherri Renee:

  Maybe Tomorrow

  By Sherri Renee

  Copyright © 2020 Sherri Renee. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, locations and events in this book are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarities to real persons either living or deceased, locations or events is purely coincidental.

  Print ISBN: 9798650463283

  Cover design by Stephanie Anderson, Alt 19 Publications

  Prologue

  “Temperature 101.5. Blood pressure 80/60.” Doctor Reynolds gave his head a slight shake and swallowed hard. It wasn’t difficult to sense his disappointment with my current stats. I sat on the edge of an exam table covered with crinkly white paper and swung my legs back and forth, trying not to let his reaction bother me.

  Those numbers weren’t good, but they’d been worse. I had three months left of high school, and I was determined to finish. I needed to finish. But to do that I had to get the doc’s approval, and he wasn’t looking very approving at the moment.

  I glanced across the room, noticing the new picture of Dr. Reynolds with his wife and son next to the old poster that read If you must sneeze, cover your mouth please, before coming to a rest on my mom.

  Looking at Mom was almost like looking into a magical mirror that showed what I would look like in twenty years or so—if I miraculously managed to live that long. Same sandy brown hair and sky-blue eyes. Similar height and build. Although, her trim figure was rounded in the right places, while mine bordered on bony.

  But one difference was notable. While tears shimmered in her eyes, mine remained bone-dry.

  Mom was an eternal optimist who went into every appointment expecting a miracle. A new cure. An unprecedented result from one of my meds. God laying His finger on me from Heaven and causing my body to straighten up and stop attacking itself.

  She either somehow didn’t understand this disease was going to take me sooner rather than later, or more likely, knowing her, she simply refused to accept it, and it destroyed her every time new data pointed to the fact that I wasn’t getting better.

  I was dying, and I was sick to death of Mom getting her heart broken every single time a new test confirmed it. Because somehow, no matter how hard I fought it, her optimism rubbed off on me—every single time—and I ended up as crushed as she did when the news wasn’t good. But unlike Mom, I hid my pain.

  “Madison,” Dr. Reynolds said, drawing my attention. He rubbed a thumb over his smooth chin, apparently choosing his next words with care. “I know how determined you are to finish your senior year. And I respect that.” I rolled my eyes. If he genuinely respected my goal, his next words wouldn’t be, “But in my professional opinion, you should take some time off.” But, of course, they were.

  I wiggled around, making the paper crinkle some more and opened my mouth to protest, but Dr. Reynolds cut me off. “You can play it by ear. Take some time off and see how you feel. Your poor body can use the rest. We can reassess in a week or two.”

  I gritted my teeth—something I’d done a lot of in the eight months since my diagnosis. In a week or two, I’d fall so far behind in my classes, it would be almost impossible to catch up. I knew Dr. Reynolds didn’t totally get my need to graduate. His main concern was to keep my veins from exploding. Which okay, sure, was super important, but I’d come to accept the fact that I probably didn’t have much time left, no matter how many treatments we tried.

  Some days, I honestly believed my goal to finish school was the only thing that kept me alive. If I were to simply lie in bed and stare at the ceiling day in and day out, I had a feeling I wouldn’t even last until the end of the school year. Not that I had any real say in it, but my goal kept me moving forward, struggling to stay strong so I could reach it.

  So, finishing high school it was. I might accept that I had an expiration date, but I wasn’t willing to push the date up any sooner. I needed my goal to help me survive.

  I took a deep breath and prepared my line of defense. “Doc,” I said, using the calmest voice I could muster. “I feel fine.” That wasn’t entirely true. I felt like warmed-over crap, but that was the new normal for me. “You said I’m not contagious, so I can’t hurt anyone but myself if I finish out the school year, right?” I raised my brows and dug my fingers deeper into the examination table.

  Dr. Reynolds’ face knitted into a mask of wrinkles as he frowned. “But Madison, that’s the point. Going to school is expending energy your body should be using to heal. You need to rest and take it easy.”

  He straightened and put on his doctor’s voice. “There’s a new treatment I read about that I’d like to start you on.”

  Mom sat up straighter in her chair and hope bloomed in her eyes at the hint of a new treatment. I, on the other hand, felt physically nauseous.

  Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t ready to die. If there was a drug or operation out there that would for sure cure me, I’d be all over it. Over the past months, I’d come to realize that my situation was apparently unique. I was like a unicorn or something in the medical world. An experiment as much as a patient. Lucky me.

  The steroids and other medicines I took often made me feel bloated. Even worse, they intentionally lowered my immune system in the hope that my body would stop attacking itself, leaving me prone to catching any and every bug that came along. The last thing I wanted was to add more drugs to my current mix and possibly end up feeling even worse than I already did.

  I struggled to keep the emotion from my voice. “How about we give that new drug of yours some time in trials, Doc? If it looks hopeful come summer, I’ll give it a try then.” I arched a brow. “Once school is out,” I added to make sure there were no misunderstandings.

  “Madison,” Dr. Reynolds drew out my name and ran his hand through his thick white hair. He’d still had a healthy dose of black scattered through it when I’d first become his patient. I often wondered how many of those new white hairs were because of me.

  “We don’t know how much time we have,” he continued. “It’s important to throw everything at this now, while your body’s still strong enough to handle it.”

  Just the wording brought images to life of me clinging to the toilet while my guts tried to escape through my throat. I wasn’t giving up, but I’d rather face a closed-book chemistry exam without studying than be a guinea pig for a new drug any day.

  Impatience knotted my stomach. I knew Dr. Reynolds only wanted the best for me. He’d become more like a father to me than my own dad. But his idea of the best and mine often differed.

  “Look,” I snapped, then consc
iously lowered my voice. “I’m doing everything you’ve asked me to do. I choke down green juice and a handful of pills every day. I get ten hours of sleep at night. Nothing’s helping, and the pills make me feel worse than the disease.”

  Pain swept across both Mom’s and the doctor’s faces and almost shut me up, but not quite. This was a fight I couldn’t lose.

  “I know you both want me to get better.” My gaze swept between them as I made my case. “I want me to get better, but that just might not happen. Whether it does or not, I want to finish my senior year. After that, I can play guinea pig, or whatever. But for the next few months, can we keep things how they are, so I’m not too sick to go to school?”

  Dr. Reynolds exchanged a tired glance with my mom. When I saw her give him a brief nod, I relaxed. I’d won the battle. Whether or not I’d live to see graduation was out of my hands, but at least I had a shot.

  Chapter 1

  The bleachers rattled under a tide of stomping feet as the Raiders took control of the ball. Ginger jumped up and down beside me, cheering and clapping. I grinned up at my best friend, pretty sure she had no clue what was happening in the game.

  “Lucas has the ball!” Ginger squealed over at me before turning back to the game. Okay, so she did know that. My heart jumped to my throat at the mention of my high school crush. I immediately peered around the group of teens in front of me, spotting Lucas Nash handling the ball with ease. He ran down the court, dribbling and passing as if it was second nature.

  I zeroed in on him until he was all I could see. Six foot two inches of lean muscle. Light brown hair, now a little darker with sweat. And those amazing grayish-green eyes that I couldn’t see from my spot at the top of the bleachers, but that I’d memorized long ago. Ahh. . .

  “Hey!” I looked up with a frown as someone blocked my view just as Lucas went in for a shot.

  Brian Travis looked down at me, flashing a cute dimple and a hopeful grin. Great, just what I didn’t need today, someone trying to break through my carefully erected boundaries. It looked like I’d have to shoot him down real fast before he got any ideas.

  “Hey, Maddie. Ginger.” Brian included Ginger in the greeting but kept his eyes on me. I fought back a sigh. Some people still hadn’t received the memo. I was an ice princess. Everyone needed to keep their distance.

  “Anyone sitting here?” Brian glanced at the empty space beside me. I slid my purse into it.

  “Yes,” I said shortly. “Now move.” I shooed him away and leaned to the side to look around him. “You’re making me miss the game.”

  I caught Brian’s smile crumble from the corner of my eye and steeled myself so I wouldn’t jump up and apologize. Brian didn’t deserve my curt reply, but I’d learned any hint of niceness could come across as a challenge to certain guys. I didn’t have the time or energy to play those games, so curt reply it was.

  Brian mumbled something that sounded like an apology and hightailed it to the other end of the bleachers.

  Ginger dropped back down on the bleacher and frowned at me. “Harsh, Maddie. Seriously? Brian’s so nice. You didn’t have to snap his head off.”

  I winced at Brian’s retreating figure as Ginger’s words pricked at my conscience, but I quickly hardened my resolve.

  “When you’re living on a deadline, there’s no time or sense in sending out false signals.” I saw Ginger’s jaw clench at the mention of my impending death but ignored it. Death was a part of life. My life anyway.

  “You know if I’d let Brian sit here,” I continued defending myself, feeling more guilt than I liked, “he would have either hit on you,” I pointed to her before tapping my own chest, “or me. I already know I’m not interested. Are you ready to toss Max aside this soon in your relationship?”

  Just the mention of his name had Ginger’s eyes darting across the floor to her new boyfriend, where he currently sat the bench.

  “You know I’m not tossing Max anywhere,” she said before shooting me a sly look. “Except maybe down on my bed after the game.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it.” I laughed at her. My virginal friend was all talk, but she did a lot of talking.

  The dopey grin that spread across her pretty face as she watched Max made me roll my eyes, but I wasn’t as disgusted by her relationship as I acted.

  She was so happy with her new guy. Everything Max did or said made her smile. I knew that part would wear off eventually, but I had to admit I was a little envious. I longed to experience that “new love” feeling with the perfect guy.

  Say, oh, someone like Lucas Nash. I mean, if he knew I was alive. And, even more importantly, if I was going to remain that way for more than a couple of months.

  I bit back the surge of pity that tried to take hold and shook it off. I refused to show a soft side to anyone, even if I did get a reputation as a shrew. I didn’t need or want to get close to anyone. The more of a hard-nose people thought I was, the more likely they were to leave me alone.

  And that’s what I wanted more than anything. To end my senior year alone. That way, when I was gone, there wouldn’t be anyone left behind to miss me.

  Well, other than my family and Ginger, of course.

  The crowd let out a cheer around us and popped to their feet, drawing my attention back to the game. I was having a good day, but I still didn’t have the energy to jump up and down with every play.

  I sat patiently until everyone settled back down. When they finally did, I saw the guys on the floor slapping Lucas on the back. He must have made a shot.

  I couldn’t stop a small smile. He was amazing. Cute and built, and a star athlete. If things were different, I would have taken a chance on a guy like Lucas.

  Ginger nudged me in the ribs. I let out a pain-filled gasp and rubbed my side. It seemed like everything hurt these days. I wasn’t ever sure if the pain was a side-effect of a medicine I was taking, or from the disease itself. Not that it mattered.

  “I’m so sorry.” Ginger stared at me, her dark eyes wide with mortification. She slapped a hand over her mouth. And I let out a soft sigh. That was the reason it would be better not to have friends.

  I forced a smile that probably resembled a toothy growl as I willed the pain to subside. “I’m fine,” I told her. “What was that about?” A buzzer buzzed, and I glanced back at the court. Lucas had the ball and passed it to Max, who was finally back in the game.

  “I was going to say you should talk to him. I didn’t mean to elbow you so hard.”

  I ignored the last part. Yes, we all knew I was a puny wimp now, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.

  “Talk to who?” I asked, honestly confused.

  Was she still going on about Brian? I glanced over, relieved to see him sitting beside a cute brunette who was giggling at something he said. He was much better off where he was than he would have been sitting by me.

  “Lu-cas.” Ginger drawled his name, adding an eye roll. “I know you only come to the games to watch him. Don’t tell me you don’t want to throw him down on your bed.”

  “Un-uh,” I instantly protested, sounding like a five-year-old caught in a lie. My cheeks flared with heat at the image her words produced. Lucas and I alone somewhere together was the stuff my dreams were made of, and Ginger good and well knew it.

  “Fine, so maybe Lucas is the reason I come to the games. Doesn’t mean I have to talk to the guy. I just enjoy watching him.”

  “Um-hm.” Ginger’s eyes winked with amusement, and I flushed even harder.

  “Play!” I added, fighting a groan at my poor choice of words. “I enjoy watching him play.”

  “I get it, Mads.” Ginger was somber again, her brown eyes searching mine. “I know why you push everyone away, but you don’t have to. You could give them a choice and let them make their own decision.”

  “Like you did.” I got a little choked up then. I’d given her a choice to run shortly after my initial diagnosis, and she’d clung to me no matter how badly I’d treated he
r.

  Turning back to the game, I gave Ginger’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. I didn’t know how I got so lucky as to have a friend like her, who not only got me but also put up with me, but I was thankful.

  The clock counted down the final seconds in the game. Lucas stole the ball, easily dribbling it around the other team and down the court. Just before the buzzer sounded to end the game, he tossed the ball toward the basket from around the three-point mark. Everyone on our side of the court jumped to their feet again; certain the ball would go in and win us the game with a one-point lead.

  Only it didn’t. I ducked down and peeked between some legs just in time to see the ball skim the rim and go off the side instead of whooshing through the net. The buzzer sounded, and a collective groan rose from the Raiders' side of the gym. Everyone had expected Lucas to win the game. From the way he hung his head, Lucas had expected the same thing.

  “Ugh, that stinks.” Ginger groaned beside me but didn’t sound too upset. It wasn’t basketball that drew her to the games. It was Max. Just like it was Lucas that drew me.

  Ginger stretched her long legs and picked up her purse. “I don’t imagine you want to stop for pizza before you go home. Max and some of the other guys are going to Luigi’s. I’m meeting him there.”

  Just the thought of pizza and hanging with a crowd sent a sharp longing through me. I used to enjoy life and do stuff like that all the time. I knew better than to push it, though. Mom was upset enough that I’d won the battle of going to the game, and even though it would take an act of God to get me to admit it, I was feeling pretty worn down after a long day.