Not So Perfect (West Coast Campus Book 4)

Chapter 2

Tatum

Ignore. Ignore. Fucking ignore. I've gotten quite good at this game.

I'm not in the mood to talk to my doctor at the moment, especially as I race through the bustling streets of Vancouver after work, the rain pounding down on me so hard I think Mother Nature has it out for me.

Why was I born here of all fucking places? Why not somewhere warm and sandy. I would take sand folded into my pussy lips than the rain at the moment.

My phone vibrates in my hand for the dozenth time and I curl my fingers around it, holding in the urge to smash it against the ground, something that Michael couldn't control yesterday. I snicker to myself.

Dr. Clarke has been calling for a few days now and every time he does, I just happen to be too busy watching TV or not in the mood to talk.

He calls every couple of months anyway after my mandatory tests and scans I have done, always asking how I'm doing and telling me if there's anything I should keep a close eye out for.

Last time we talked, he wanted me to gain more weight. Psh. Cheeseburgers had nothing on me.

Time before that it was to feel up my boobs once in a while-something I haven't done in months.

He calls once more before just texting me to schedule an appointment with his office, interrupting my coffee run before I head to the rink. Obsessed much?

The old fucker claims he doesn't like me-apparently hasn't since I stepped into his office when I was seventeen but we both know that's the fattest lie he's ever told me in his sixty years of breathing.

"Maeve," I grin when I see her standing behind the counter at my favourite coffee shop-the one she just happens to manage. She offers me her version of a smile and I practically jolt back at the sight. "God, we need to work on that."

She lifts a perfect brow, jet black hair pulled back into a bun as green eyes stare me down. "Should've seen me smiling last night. Rhys was pounding into me from-"

I slap my hands over my ears, muffling her voice but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what she's saying. "As much as I would love to hear about how wrecked your poor pussy is, I would love my coffee and muffin even more."

Maeve shrugs, tapping the tablet in front of her. "Your loss. I was just about to get to the part-"

"Please stop," I beg and she snorts, handing me the muffin. "Before I throw up.

"A story for later perhaps." She glances at me, her face softening somewhat. "Hey, how was Liam?"

Liam is Maeve's younger brother who just happened to be moved up to my grade 2/3 class at the start of the school year. "Really good. I would suggest doing some reading and printing everyday at home with him, but everyone in the class loves him."

Maeve nods. "Rhys works on that with him since I'm unable to." She hesitates. "And thank you. I'm glad you'll be his teacher for the next two years."

I smile knowing hardly anyone gets complimented by her. "Of course. See you later? Preferably not talking about how amazing your sex life is."

She just nods, her normal facade slipped back on. Waving goodbye, I practically sprint to the arena and chow down my muffin as fast as I can, excited for my solo practice.

Usually I practice after I coach Ava and Brayden like I did yesterday after work but I prefer practicing on everyone's day off when no ones there so I have the whole rink to myself.

Let me tell you, I was quite shocked yesterday when I found The Spartans hockey goalie just lying there, more useless than a sack of potatoes. His stick and helmet were thrown to the side, his pads hanging loose off his body like he couldn't get them on all the way.

He had a permanent scowl on and his eyebrows were drawn together the whole time like I was the reason he was lying there in the first place. I contemplated slapping him multiple times.

Once I slip my skates on and make sure I've warmed up enough that I won't sprain a muscle or shit, I do a few laps around the rink, letting the chill colour my ears and nose, focusing on the sound of my blades scraping the ice smoothly.

I used to be amazing at figure skating. I was representing both BC and Canada at one point in my career, travelling all over the world to compete.

I never went to the Olympics despite the amount of people pushing me to but it's not something I ever wanted. I just wanted to skate and I was over the moon when I became a world champion not once but twice.

Now, figure skating is something to pass the time and to keep myself in shape so I don't have to go to the gym everyday.

And to work the frustration out because I work with seven and eight year olds who love to get on my nerves.

I work all my old jumps and turns, laughing when I don't land them like I used to be able. Two hours fly by and by the end of it, my lungs are burning and my nose is running but I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Plopping my ass on the bench and grabbing my bag, I chug my water and just sit there, welcoming the peace and quiet an empty arena has to offer.

A sharp buzz rings through the air and without thinking twice about who's calling, I pick it up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Tatum. This is Dr. Clarke." My head dips when I realize who it is. "You're a very hard lady to reach."

"Just playing hard to get. Is it working?" I snicker but pause when he just sighs instead of playing along like he normally does.

"Tatum, your MRI and PET results have come in...I would like to see you in my office tomorrow if that works."

He's not telling me something. I can hear the empathy and guilt as he speaks and he's never this serious with me. Never. "Is it...?" I can't even make myself say it. Can't force the words out of my mouth. My breathing picks up and I already know.

Dr. Clarke sighs and I can picture him rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Everything in me tightens, preparing for the blow of his next words.

I picture Atlas suddenly who I've tried not to think about for months now. He would tell me everything's gonna be just fine. He would hold my hand and tell me he'll be here every step of the way-or at least that's what he told me about my first diagnosis almost five years ago.

But he wasn't there last time-not when it got hard. And he isn't here now.

So I take a deep breath, try to calm my racing heart and ignore the thoughts about how much pain I was in last time. "Is it cancer or not? I am not waiting until tomorrow so you can tell me the same thing, Doc."

Moments of silence stretch between us and those moments are some of the longest of my life. I don't know if I'll be able to do this again for a second time. I can't.

"It is cancer," Dr. Clarke whispers like he didn't just crush my heart. Tears start stinging my eyes but I scrunch them away as my body deflates on the cold bench. "You'll need to start chemo next week and-"

"Next week?" I screech, and my hand shakes so bad I have to clutch the phone with two hands.

"I'll explain better tomorrow but this is a much more aggressive type of cancer, Tatum, which means we have to be just as aggressive with the treatment."

I hate how pitiful his voice is. "No. Just-just no." I'm standing now, shouting into the phone with choked sobs flying out of me. "You said it wouldn't come back. You said I would be cancer free for at least a few decades."

"I know. And I'm so, so sorry, Tatum. I-I can't even express how much," He tells me. I'm openly crying now. I didn't cry last time but felt like it many times. It's crazy the difference one person can make.

"I really have to do chemo?"

"Without chemo, your life expectancy is maybe six months at the most..."

I tune him out. I don't really care what he has to say anymore. The day he told me I would be cancer free for at least three decades and even then it would be a small chance of it coming back was one of the best of my life.

And it was all a big lie that'll cost me my life.