“Marnie, wait?—”
“Ice your shoulder,” I cut him off, already at the door. “Twenty minutes on, twenty off. I’ll be back later.”
I leave before he can respond, before I have to see the confusion and hurt in his expression, before I can examine too closely why watching him get hurt feels like losing someone I love.
Love.
That’s what this is. This terrifying, overwhelming feeling that makes my chest ache and my hands shake and my professional judgment disappear.
I’m in love with Roman Varga.
And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.
The hospice facilityis quiet this late, just the soft beeping of monitors and hushed voices of night staff.
Mom’s room is at the end of the hall, light on under the door.
She’s awake when I slip inside, propped up slightly in bed, looking small and tired but her eyes are clear. Lucid. Thank God.
“Marnie?” She smiles, surprised. “It’s late, sweetheart.”
“I know. I just...” I sink into the chair beside her bed. “Needed to see you.”
Her expression sharpens with that mom-radar that apparently doesn’t fade even when your body’s shutting down. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I press my palms against myeyes. “Roman got hurt tonight. During the game. He’s fine—just a bad hit—but watching it happen...”
“Scared you,” she finishes.
“Terrified me. And then we fought about it because he doesn’t understand why I’m so upset, and I couldn’t explain it without...” I trail off.
“Without admitting you’re in love with him?”
I glance up at her, startled.
“Marnie. I’m dying, not blind.” She reaches for my hand, her grip weaker than it used to be but still steady. “You’ve been in love with him for weeks. Maybe longer.”
“I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Why do you have to do anything?” She shifts slightly, wincing. “You love him. He clearly loves you—I’ve seen how he looks at you. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is I’m terrified.” My voice cracks. “I’m already losing you. What if I lose him too?”
Mom closes her eyes slowly before opening them to study my face with that look she gets when she’s choosing her words carefully.
“Baby, you can’t live your life scared of losing people. That’s not living at all.”
“But—”
“Listen to me.” Her hand squeezes mine. “I know it’s hard right now. I know you’re grieving me even while I’m still here. But you can’t let that fear stop you from loving someone who’s right in front of you.”
“What if something happens to him? His job is dangerous, Mom. Tonight proved that.”
“Life is dangerous, sweetheart. You could lose him in a car accident. A freak illness. Hell, he could choke on a piece of food.” She manages a small smile. “You can’t control any of that. All you can control is whether you’re brave enough to love him anyway.”
The simple truth of it sits heavy.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
