Free HardWind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

such devastating news. “What have I done,
    Star? What have I done? I had…” he said, his voice breaking, “an aunt who was a
    Down’s baby,” he said. “She died when she was twelve.” He turned to look at Star,
    misery deep in his wounded eyes. “It’s my fault. If I’d known you could get pregnant, I
    wouldn’t have—”
    She was up and off the sofa in a flash, going to him, taking him in her arms as he
    broke down, his sobbing tearing at her heart. “No,” she said. “You can’t blame
    yourself.”
    He clung to her, feeling like the lowest scum on the bottom of the deepest sewer.
    “Oh, God, Star. I’m sorry,” he said.
    She rocked him, absorbing the tremors of his crying. His arms were once more
    tightly around her, but this time it was because he needed her rather than a desire to
    restrain her. He sagged against her and she went down to the floor with him, refusing
    to break their embrace. Somehow his head wound up in her lap, her hand smoothing
    the curly hair from his forehead as he curled in a fetal position and moaned deep in his
    throat as though his heart were breaking.
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    Charlotte Boyett-Compo
    “Dáire, don’t do this,” she said. “Baby, you have to be strong for me right now
    because I’m about to come apart here.”
    It took him a moment to realize what she’d said. He pushed up from the floor and
    turned to face her, his cheeks streaked with tears. “What can I do?” he asked, swiping
    angrily at the telltale signs of his weakness. “What do you want me to do?”
    “She needs a bone marrow transplant,” Star explained to him. “Normally they like
    to use the healthy marrow from the patient, but Jilly has a proliferation of white blood
    cells in her bloodstream. That means she’d need an allogeneic transplant—from a
    compatible donor—but I wasn’t a good match. Once we find a suitable donor—and I
    pray to God that’s you—she’ll have to undergo chemo and maybe even radiation
    therapy before they can do the transplant.”
    “What should I do?” he asked. “How do I…?”
    “We need to go over to Pensacola and have you tested to make sure you are a good
    match. After that, they can do the procedure if everything is okay.”
    “Let’s go right now,” he said, getting to his feet and holding his hand out to her.
    Star slipped her hand into his. “It’s Saturday, remember? Nothing can be done until
    Monday,” she reminded him. “It’s not as though her life is in immediate danger. We
    can go Monday.”
    “Together,” he stressed, reaching out to take her other hand as well, pulling both of
    them to his chest.
    She nodded. “Of course. We’re her parents.”
    “Just you and me.”
    Star frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “I know you’re still angry with me,” he said and felt her tug against his hold. He
    tightened his grip. “I understand why, but I’m back now, Star. I’m here with you.”
    She pulled against his hands and stepped back. “For how long?” she asked, and
    there was a note of anger in her tone.
    “For as long as you need me,” he replied, letting go of her hands.
    “Or for however long they will allow you to stay,” she countered.
    “Star, don’t…”
    “Did that woman give you permission to see me?” she asked.
    His mouth tightened. “She doesn’t own me, Star. I came here because I was to be
    given an assignment but—”
    “Not to see me,” she said.
    He flung out a hand. “Of course to see you! I must have pushed your doorbell a
    dozen times that first day and I know you were in there. I could feel you in there, but
    you didn’t answer.”
    “So you go and got roaring drunk,” she accused.
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    HardWind
    He put his hands on his hips and looked at her. “I was hurt,” he said. “In more
    ways than one when I left you last year. I needed something to dull the pain of that
    hurt. You made it obvious you didn’t want to see me.”
    “And now you think things have changed because I ask for your help with