“How are you feeling?” His ankle slides from its place of rest on the opposite knee when he sits forward.
“Like I died, and someone shocked me back to living, I guess.” I try to laugh, but it comes out more like a hacking cough.My throat, I think, pressing my hand to it. “I hope I look better than you do.”
Something that looks like dark amusement skitters across his face as one of his beautiful hands lifts, sliding across the bristles. “I haven’t seen a mirror for a while, so I can’t comment.”
“Jeez. Kick a girl when she’s down, why don’t you?”
“Sorry.” As his gaze dips, I experience a pang of regret. Why did I have to hurt him? And then I remember. He wants children. He wants children, and I have a genetic condition that killed my brother and my grandfather, and Lord only knows how many people before him. I have a genetic condition that could kill a child of mine with no advent of science to prevent it. That’s ultimately why I had to let him go.
“No, I’m sorry,” I whisper. “About everything.” Because he knows my secret now. He knows about this thing I’m carrying. The rest he won’t understand. No one ever does. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
He doesn’t lift his head, and he doesn’t immediately answer. But when he does, I feel incredibly small. “Your parents filled in the blanks when I called to tell them you were in a coma.”
“Oh.”
“When you were on a ventilator, a machine that did your breathing for you.”
“I know what a ventilator is.” My answer sounds harsher than it should. Harsher than I’d like it to.
“Then I told the doctors, which seemed to help them. Brugada Syndrome is genetic, right?
“Yes. It’s what killed Connor, though we didn’t know at the time.”
“You’ve known for a couple of years. Had regular testing and watched for the symptoms.”
“I see my parents have been very chatty.”
He stands abruptly, and my unreliable little heart does a jig, settling again when he lowers himself on the bed, taking my hand between his. “What on earth were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I didn’t want to live my live with a sword hanging over my head.”
“So you thought you’d just take your chances. Dice with death?”
“It’s not so cut-and-dried when you’re looking at it from this side.”
“If you’d had the surgery—”
“I see you’ve read the literature,” I mutter, pulling my hand away. “But just the parts that spoke to you. The same parts my parents liked. How it’d save my life. Shock my heart when it stopped. But do you know how?” Before he can answer, I rush on. “By sending eight hundred volts of power into me. Worse than being kicked by a horse, apparently.”
“A horse kick that would make sure you lived.”
That’s why I came to London. To live. Before I gave in to fear because that’s what having an ICD represents to me. Living in fear that I might die.”
“News flash, sweetheart. You already did.”
“I know—it wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve lived with this for years, and the symptoms only started to appear a few months ago. I figured I’d have time, and I was going to use that time to experience freedom for the first time in my life.
“I didn’t mean for it to touch you. I didn’t come here with the idea of seducing you. I thought you’d be way beyond the touch of a girl like me—and you were. You asked me if I believed in magic that afternoon at your mom’s house.” I feel the tears begin to fall, batting them away with my hands. “I didn’t. Not anymore.”
I don’t know how it happened, but I was already falling for you when I left your apartment with my scrunched résumé in my hand, my insides still pulsing in time with your words.
“Stop. Calm down.” I can see he wants to press me back against the pillows but restrains himself from doing so.
“Why? It’s not like I’m going to die now.” I’m behaving like a child, I know. I have to. I can’t let this go on.
“Isn’t it?” His voice is so arch as he watches me tap my fingers over my chest.
“No, because I’m in the hospital. I won’t be leaving until I’ve had the device fitted.” My fingers close over my chest and swallow over the ache of loss. I won’t regret having the operation. I’ve found I have too much to live for.Even if I can’t have him.
