“You did what?”
“I needed to know what was wrong with you.”
“Since when is it your business?”
I slap a hand against my chest. “Since I care about you. You weren’t going back to the hospital, and I overheard Dr. Harris talking about you.”
Slouched against the pillows, his jaw flexes. “What’d he say?”
“Something about your white blood cells. Your file said they’re too high.”
“So there is something wrong with me?”
“You need to follow up with the doctor about these tests.”
He swallows hard, shifting away from me. “No. No way.”
“Please.” It comes out more wounded than I intended. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch you in pain and wonder when you’ll fall unconscious again.”
He watches me intently, and his bottom lip twitches with undecided words.
I take his hands and rub my thumb over the rose etched into his skin. “You mean so much to me, Dax. I just want you to be okay.”
He wipes sweat from his brow, growing pale as he whispers, “I’m scared. I don’t know what they’ll find, or what it’ll mean.”
“It’ll most likely mean you get put on medication,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “From what I read online, your condition can be managed with a better diet, regular exercise, and quitting smoking.”
Dax chews his lip, and his eyes have trouble settling on one spot. “But what if it doesn’t work? I don’t want to find out if something way worse is wrong with me.”
I hold his hands tighter and pull him toward me. I rest my forehead against his, feeling the clamminess, and exhale slowly. He tries timing his breath with mine, but his anxiety spikes, sending his nerves haywire.
“I got you,” I whisper, briskly rubbing my hands along his arms. His skin is cold and prickly. I search his chest, finding his heartbeat, which races like a thoroughbred. “Oh, babe, this is the biggest problem. Your poor heart. This anxiety is plummeting your health.”
Panic rushes over his face. “I don’t know what that means.”
I sit up taller, and take another long breath in and out with him. He follows along shakily.
“I don’t want you to worry,” I whisper, holding the sides of his face steady. “It’s not your fault you were dealt a crummy hand in life. You’ve dealt with it in the best way you could. But it can get better from here.”
He shakes his head, choking on an inhale of air, and then coughing it out.
“Hey, hey,” I coo. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t want to drag you down,” he says in a hoarse voice, tapping a fist on his chest. “I don’t want to give you my problems.”
“But I don’t want to leave you alone with your problems.”
His eyes still and some color comes back to his face. His shoulders relax, and he leans forward, kissing me like I’m his life preserver. “Dang. How’d I get so lucky to have you?”
“So, is it a yes?” I gently kiss the nape of his neck, tracing my finger along his collarbone. “Will you see a doctor?”
He catches my hand with his. “Only if you come with me.”
I give the sensitive spot another butterfly kiss. “Of course, baby.”
In my back pocket, my phone buzzes. Keeping a hand firmly on the back of Dax’s neck, I pull out my phone. When I see it’s my dad calling, I immediately cancel the call.
“Maybe you should answer it,” Dax murmurs.
