Loose Ends

“I’m dying.”

Those were not the words Margo had expected Bryan to say.

In fact, they were so far off from what she expected him to say, that she was sure she’d misheard him.

“I’m sorry, say that again?”

“I’m dying, GoGo,” Bryan said gently– a patient, if not tired expression on his handsome face. The addition of the silly nickname he'd given her almost two decades ago did not soften the message.

She shook her head, “No. No, I’m sorry, I just…is this a joke? Because it’s not a very good one. You can’t expect me to believe that you called me all the way out here— on vacation, and now you’re going to say that…that…” Margo floundered.

He leaned toward her, the leather chair creaking. A warm hand covered hers, stilling the nervous clench of her fists.

“I’ve come to terms with it. I know you will too.”

She stood abruptly and choked out a manic laugh.

“No. No, I don’t accept this. Bryan, you– you can’t die. You just…you can’t. Whatever it is, you’ll beat it. I know you, you’re so strong! And I mean, I know people in the medical field. I did that piece on hospice care a few years ago, I’ll call some of those doctors and nurses I interviewed and–”

“I love that you want to fight for me, Margo. It’s why I asked you to come here. You’re a fighter. We go way back, and if there was one person I could count on to have my back right now, it’s you.”

Margo turned from her position at that floor to ceiling windows and stared at Bryan with a pained countenance. All his words from before were muddied now. She couldn’t put anything in order. He’d said tumor, aggressive, terminal. Those were the important parts. The parts her frenetic mind was trying to situate into a semblance of order and logic.

“What does Rachel say about this? About you just giving up?”

Bryan leaned back in the arm chair he’d sat in at the beginning of this heinous conversation.

“Rachel understands there are limits to science and medicine. She understands that we could pursue alternative treatments that would severely diminish my quality of life while offering no guarantee of recovery in return. I want to live my life as me, Margo. What little I have left of it, anyway.”

Tears welled in her eyes and she pressed a clenched fist to her chest.

“I just– I just can’t…”

Bryan stood and walked to her, folding Margo in the familiar comfort of his arms. “I know. It was hard for me at first. It was even harder on Rachel. The kids took it how I expected…although, I think Skylar will regret her reaction later. We’re still not on the best of terms.”

His words were wry, his hug firm, yet still comforting.

This was Bryan. Her friend since college. A fellow writer, a sounding board, a confidant, and peer, and…and…her friend. She could not reconcile in her mind that this extraordinary person was…dying.

Pulling back enough that she could look up into his face, Margo blinked away hot tears.

“But this can’t be happening. You’ve always been so healthy. You almost never get sick! How can this…”

“We all die one day. I’m just doing it faster than everyone else. I’m trying to look at it as excelling at life.”

At her stricken expression, Bryan sobered his dark humor.

“I’m sorry. I’ve had more time to come to terms with this. I wanted to tell you a few weeks ago, but Rachel and I were still not sure how and we still hadn’t told the kids. It’s just been hard to set everything in order.”

The door to the study creaked open.

“You told her,” Rachel said in a flat tone.

Margo turned to look at Bryan’s wife. “I-I’m so sorry,” she warbled. The blank expression on Rachel’s face melted into one of grief. Disentangling herself from Bryan, the two women threw themselves together in a fierce hug.

“It’s going to be okay,” Rachel whispered, but Margo wasn’t sure which of them she was really trying to convince. “He’s going to be fine.”

The quick, jerky nod Margo executed against Rachel’s shoulder felt so wrong. He wasn’t going to be fine, though.

Everything was not going to be okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

These were her friends.

And they were facing the most terrible hardship imaginable. Margo’s life was going to change drastically soon.

Without Bryan…

Margo had few friends and only one best friend.

That was Bryan Vargas. They’d met years and years ago while they both attended Seattle University and taken creative writing at the same time.

What started as a joint writing project blossomed into the friendship of a lifetime. Bryan met Rachel, got married, had kids, and went on to author one of the most acclaimed fantasy novel series of their generation. He won a freaking Hugo award for it. With homes on both coasts, and security that she could only dream of, there were many times Margo had envied Bryan.

Not now.

It made her feel incredibly selfish to only think of what Bryan’s…

She couldn’t even think the word. It was too permanent. Too irreversible. He wouldn’t just be sick for a time and get better. Or gone on holiday for a few months, then back again.

One day in the near future, Bryan would just be gone.

No more witty rebuttals to her outrageous arguments. No more chat sessions where they traded chapters to critique.

The finality of it…

Oh she wasn’t stupid or naive, everyone dies. But she thought that would be years and years from now. When they were both old and frail and arguing with each other in nursing homes a continent away from each other.

Taking in a deep breath, Margo pulled out of Rachel’s embrace and wiped her face.

“So you’ve called me here to tell me the news. I appreciate that. I don’t know how I would have handled it if I’d learned a different way.”

Bryan’s gaze flickered to Rachel’s for a brief moment.

“That’s not it entirely. It’s the main reason, yes. But I…I need your help, Margo. I need help finishing Southern Realms.”

Her breath caught.

“You can’t be serious. Bryan, that’s your first child. Your masterpiece.”

He nodded slowly before licking his lips. Margo noticed for the first time how much thinner he looked. How the puffy bags under his eyes were more pronounced than they usually were. He was suffering under more than his usual insomnia and penchant for late night writing sessions.

“Truth be told, I’m at a bit of a loss,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s as if I’ve come so far…all the way to the end and now I’m losing it. I don’t know if it’s…well, all the emotional stress or– or what, but…there’s only one person I’d trust to help me with this particular beast and that’s you, Margo. I need you to ghostwrite for me. No one knows these characters as well as I do. No one.”

Margo’s gaze flitted wildly around the room, her mind processing the major request that came just moments after the soul crushing news that she was losing her best friend sooner than she’d expected. If he needed her help, she was going to help. Terminal diagnoses or not, she would always help Bryan if he asked her. But now, when he was in the eleventh hour of his life…

“Of course I’ll help you, you idiot.”

Bryan’s smile was brilliant. It warmed her to see his happiness, reminding her that he might be fading but he was still here right now. And right now was all that mattered. It occurred to her that this was why he’d asked her to clear her schedule and work load before coming out to see him. And also, why he’d chosen this place, of all places to meet.

The luxury cabin they were currently residing in was Bryan’s first major splurge after the success of Southern Realms bestselling debut. For months, he’d been afraid to spend any of the money the book had made, swearing he felt the rapid success was not real, or would be taken back. The disbelief had morphed into a weary acceptance and then one day, she’d logged on to their private chat to learn he’d commissioned a house to be built.

“It’s going to look just like I picture Alemed’s house in my head, GoGo. There’s going to be a turret and it’s going to be stone and brick and I’ll have a grand staircase that’s not that grand or intricate but still imposing. There will be wings. Can you imagine? I’m going to have a house built with wings.”

At the time Margo had rolled her eyes at her friend’s exuberance. She’d been genuinely happy for him. It was well earned and deserved. Bryan had labored over Southern Realms since he was in high school. An epic fantasy set in a fantastical world full of intricately conceived creatures and magic that came with real consequences. It was a global sensation.

Just three months ago Bryan had told her if he could finish the last book, then a major Hollywood film company was poised to purchase the film rights. He had several companies lined up for merchandising and his publisher was on the brink of offering him triple what they paid for the third book.

Everything in Bryan’s life had seemed so perfect and ideal. At times Margo had envied his success.

“I knew you’d help me,” he said with a grin. “And now for the bad news…”

Margo balked, her head jerking back. “That’s not funny,” she said in a low tone.

Bryan grimaced. “I know, and I’m not joking. The publishers have been notified of my…condition. They are understandably nervous. They’ve sent a developmental editor to keep tabs on the book’s progress.”

The outraged expression on Margo’s face preceded her mouth opening, however Bryan beat her next words.

“They’re within their contractual rights to do so. I understand why they’re doing it. There’s nothing I can do about it if I want to publish this book, GoGo. I have to play by the rules. They’re allowing me a ‘writing assistant’ and I’ve all but let them know you’ll be ghostwriting portions of the book in league with me. Legally, it’s allowed. I hate to say though that the publishers have already made it clear I cannot include your name on the manuscript–”

“I don’t want credit. You know I don’t. I just want to help you.”

“I know that. It’s never been about the clout. I rather think you’re embarrassed for people to know that you know me.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” she huffed. “I just don’t like the comparison.”

“No one is comparing–”

“Oh, never mind! That’s not what’s important right now! So the publisher is sending some incompetent, scene-fucking, grammar nazi to babysit your writing?”

Bryan’s lips pursed in amusement. “Please play nicely with the publisher’s editor, GoGo. It’s going to take weeks of non-stop writing and editing to tame this beast of a book as it is, I don’t want any unnecessary tension added to the mix.”

A firm knock sliced Margo’s acerbic response at the root. Turning to the door she watched as it opened slowly and a head popped through the gap.

A very handsome head.

Brassy blonde hair with dark highlights, an aquiline nose, pouty lips, the man slid into the room with a polite smile.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said with a grin.

Margo let her eyes trail from his arresting face, down his muscular neck and shoulders, to a tapered waist. The short sleeved shirt fell just over his belt that she felt he probably didn’t need, as his jeans moulded to thighs just enough, she felt that alone would hold them up.

“Who are you?” she asked, the words slipping free before she could catch them. She’d had a hell of a day at this point. A handsome stranger barging in on them came close to throwing her over the edge

“I’m Freddie,” the handsome man said with a sharp smile. “The incompetent, scene-fucking, grammar nazi, here to babysit your writing.”