Excerpt of If I Were Your Woman by LaConnie Taylor-Jones

Ray closed the door and followed. He clenched his fists
and resisted the urge to grab her and hold on tight. At
that moment, he needed an anchor against the storm. With
his hands behind his back, he paced the length of the room.
It was safer for him, safer for them both, if there was
distance between them. He’d promised not to touch her
because if he did, the words he needed to say might remain
unspoken. He halted mid-stride and stuffed sweaty palms
inside his pants pockets.

Laney patted the empty space next to the sofa where
she sat. “Let’s talk—”

“We don’t need to talk. I-I just need you to listen
to me for a sec. All right?”

Laney folded her hands on her lap. “All right. I’m
listening.”

Ray fused his left hand at the base of his neck. “We
need to put the brakes on things.”

Laney wasn’t shocked by Raphael’s statement. Before
he opened his mouth, she had a fairly good idea from his
subtle movements that what he was about to say wasn’t what
she wanted to hear. She didn’t cry. She never let herself
do that. Her chest heaved, and with soft, labored breaths,
she struggled to control her emotions. “Are you no longer
attracted to me?”

“Don’t go there, Red.” Ray paused. “I-it’s just that
the timing is all jacked up.”

“Raphael, just because you have cancer doesn’t mean
we can’t be together.”

“Red…” Ray sat next to her with his hands clasped
between his legs. The only body part that moved was his
head. He held her gaze for a moment. “I can’t give you what
you need…not now.”

Laney saw a raw pain, an almost brutal anger
reflected in his eyes. She wanted to wrap him in her
embrace and somehow help him deal with this situation. She
scooted along the sofa until her thigh touched his. She put
her slim hand on top of his much larger one. “Darling, you
have one of the most treatable forms of cancer there is.”

Laney’s term of endearment coupled with her staunch
declaration of his prognosis was about the only bright spot
of his day. Still, Ray knew there were some difficult days
ahead. He glanced at her, again. Sharing his most private
emotions with a woman was something he’d never done. If
there was one lesson he’d learned from his years in the
music industry was not to put his trust in everyone. Only a
scant few had earned his confidence over the years. He
squeezed his eyes shut. How had this soft-spoken woman
garnered his trust without even trying?

Did she really mean what she’d told him—that his
cancer didn’t matter? Or was she simply going through the
motions to make him feel better? Right now, the last thing
he needed was a pity party. The light overhead shone
directly down on her and cast a soft glow on her head. Ray
wanted to release the soft, reddish curls from the comb and
run his fingers through it. God, she looked like an angel,
his angel. His insides knotted. His mind should be on the
fact he had cancer, but it wasn’t. He needed to touch her.
Ever so slowly, his hand turned, his fingers wrapping
around hers.

Ray glanced down at the petite hand inside of
his. “It was twenty-six years ago.” His voice was low and
strained. “I lost my mère to germ cell ovarian cancer. She
died in my arms on my twelfth birthday.” He went silent for
a moment, then shuddered, the expression in his eyes void
as he thought back on that day. “She was diagnosed shortly
after she found out she was pregnant with Aimee,” he said,
referring to his youngest sister. “She absolutely refused
to undergo any type of treatment she felt would put Aimee
in danger. Two months after she was born, mère died.”

The picture was clearer now. Laney knew Raphael’s
mother had died when he was young. Knowing the cause of her
death explained why he feared his diagnosis. “Raphael, I’m
not going to sit here and tell you I know how you feel
because I don’t. Sometimes, we can’t fully understand
things until we go through the experience ourselves. Nor
will I sugarcoat things by telling you what you’re facing
isn’t serious or that it will be easy. I can tell you this.
You will need the support of your family and friends to get
through this.”

Ray went on and told Laney everything Dr. DiMaggio
had explained to him about the orchiectomy, the procedure
to remove his cancerous left testicle. “And you’re sure
they can do this on an outpatient basis?”

Laney nodded. “Yes. Usually you’re admitted early in
the morning and if everything goes well, you’ll be released
later that day. I plan to be with you.”

“No!”

“Raphael—”

“Red, I said no, so drop it.” Ray shouted back. A
second later, he was halfway across the room.

Laney called out softly from behind, her voice
strained as she fought against the tears. “You need to know
something.”

Ray halted, but didn’t turn around.

“The cancer doesn’t change anything for me.”

“Don’t say that,” Ray muttered. Maybe it didn’t
matter to her, but it did to him. If he thought the odds
were the least bit in his favor that he’d be the same after
surgery and treatment as he was now, he’d reconsider his
position. Suddenly, frustration hit him hard and fast. He
was defenseless to a disease he had no control over,
aggravated he couldn’t do a doggone thing about, and filled
with rage because it now forced him to walk away for the
one and only woman who mattered to him. “I-I can’t put you
through this.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

The strong, quiet, admission sobered him, but it
wasn’t enough. “I’m not.”

Ray squared his shoulders and walked out the room.