Goose bumps erupt on my skin, and I feel sick. “Noah?”
“Baby, I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.” He swallows his words as he stares at me.
“It’s true. What he said, it’s true, and you didn’t tell me.” I stumble back, the earth giving way under my feet as I take in their stricken expressions. Spinning, I look at Noah’s dad and Conan, but both are frozen, looking as shocked as I am. They didn’t know either. “You knew and didn’t tell us.”
Sitting up, he struggles from the bed as if to get to me. “I knew, and I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He reaches for me, but I stumble back, and his hand lingers in the air. “Baby, please?—”
The room spins and grows hot. My skin overheats, and I can’t think as spots dance in my vision. “You didn’t tell me. You didn’t trust me.”
“That’s not the reason, please,” Noah pleads as he stands, but I shake my head and step back.
“I need a minute.” I hold up my hand as he steps toward me. “I know what you’re like. Stay here.” The terror etched on his face hurts my heart, but I refuse to comfort him right now. Instead, I turn away, ignoring his call and outstretched hand. I need to get away. I need a moment to think.
I push past his dad and Conan, ignoring their calls, and rush down the corridor. I don’t even realize I’m running for a moment, faces and noises blurring.
I need to get away.
I need air. I can’t breathe.
I don’t even remember finding my way outside, but I sink to my ass on the pavement, my chest heaving as I struggle to pull in air.
“In and out. It’s a panic attack. It will go away, just breathe.” The familiar, calm voice guides me through it, and when I can see, I look at him. Henry, the doctor, smiles sadly. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Henry, Noah’s friend and doctor. He said you could ask me anything. If you don’t have any questions, I’ll just stay with you,” he offers as he pulls a cigarette out and lights up, seemingly uncaring about the sign right near us with a clear warning not to smoke. I stare for a moment, unsure what to say or do.
“He’s going to die?” It slips free, choked and terrified.
He blows out a puff of smoke and looks at me, his eyes sad but raw. “If he doesn’t get the surgery, yes. I don’t know when, but he will. His symptoms will get more severe until he can’t function.”
“And he knew he had this?”
His lips purse as he takes a drag. “He found out years ago. It’s why he stopped racing. I told him if he got into another car and had another accident, he would die. He was smart enough to listen. I think back then he tried to ignore it though. It was only recently that he started to really listen to me, take the pills, and try to improve his life to lessen the symptoms. I’d say it was the same year you came to work for him. I guess he finally found something to live for. He didn’t want you to worry.”
I scoff bitterly at that, and he grins.
“He’s an idiot, I know. I’ve told him a million times. I can’t speak to his reasons, you should ask him that, but medically, I can tell you everything.”
“Like he’d tell me the truth,” I snap angrily.
He’s been lying to me. I need to go, to leave, but I stay rooted in place, unable to take another step away from him. Even now, hurt and angry, I can’t leave him.
“He would. He would never deny you anything. I’ve never seen him look as broken as he did when you walked out.” Covering my hand, he keeps his cigarette hanging from his lips as he speaks around it. “I’ve known Noah a really long time, and I’ve never seen him likethis. He loves you, Mackie, don’t ever doubt that. He’s just . . . human. He made a mistake, but I know from talking to him that he did it to protect you . . . and maybe a little out of fear. He’s still a person, no matter how big you build him in your mind, and facing death? That’s enough to have anyone running for the hills as fast as they can, but he stopped running when he met you, and maybe now he’s finally able to face it, but he needs you. I’m not saying he isn’t a fucking idiot and that you shouldn’t be mad and hurt, but give him a chance to explain. That’s all.”
I stare at the ground, unsure what to say, and he lets me sit in silence. “The surgery . . . How risky is it?”
“Every surgery is risky,” he hedges.
“Don’t give me the pamphlet answer,” I snap. “That’s the man I love. How risky is the surgery?”
“Not as risky as not having it.” He sighs. “Without it, he’ll have maybe a year or two, or even a week. I don’t know. Yes, it’s risky, but not as risky as doing nothing.”
“And he knows this?” I rasp.
He searches my gaze and nods, so I look away, wrapping my arms around myself as I sink deeper into the concrete. He doesn’t try to make me feel better or explain, he just sits with me, and for some reason, that helps.
Noah knew. He could have told me a million times and he didn’t. He chose not to, and that hurts more than anything. He thought I couldn’t handle it. We have been planning our future together, all while he’s planning not to be around long enough to live it.
Was he just going to die and not tell me?
My fear quickly turns to anger, and I hold onto it. It’s better than pain and the fear of losing him. I let it fuel me until it’s all I feel over my breaking heart.
