Page 42 of The Broken Hearts Club

He asked, “Do you know why I’m wearing this?”

“Because you’re planning to hit the clubs?” I sincerely hoped that wasn’t the right answer.

“Nope.” He took a seat on the arm of the couch, so he was facing me. “I’m wearing this top because it’s the last time I’ll ever be able to.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it’s see-though, and after tomorrow I’m going to have a huge, ugly scar.” He delicately touched his chest as he said that.

I put down my phone and asked, “You mean you’re actually going through with the surgery?”

“I kind of have to. I can’t go through life wondering if I’m going to pass out at any moment, being afraid to drive, and constantly injuring my heart by making it work way too hard.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You did.”

“But I didn’t say anything to try to talk you into it.”

“No, you didn’t, and that wouldn’t have worked anyway. Part of what convinced me is the fact that you showed up today. You could’ve let me go, but instead you came and found me. I wanted to give you an out, because taking care of someone after major surgery is a huge burden, and it might have been more of a responsibility than you actually wanted. But you looked for me and asked me to come home.”

“You’re making the right choice,” I said.

“I know, but it’s still absolutely terrifying.”

“What else convinced you?”

“The fact that you weren’t mad at me.” He dipped his head shyly and admitted, “The thought of putting myself in your hands during my recovery makes me feel really vulnerable. But you were patient and kind even when I was being ridiculous, and that made me feel safe with you.”

After a moment, I said, “You should wear that top anyway. Scars are sexy.”

“When people say that, they really don’t mean scars from open-heart surgery. They mean, like, a cool scar you’d get from being in a knife fight.” He looked down at his chest, rubbing it through the thin material of his shirt. “Maybe I can hide it with a huge tattoo.”

“That doesn’t seem like your style.”

“It would if it was ironic, or messed up in some way. I could get, like, carpe diem in a huge calligraphy font, but I’d spell it wrong on purpose. Crap-ay diem. Imagine all the discomfort I could cause!”

“Please don’t. That would make me twitchy forever.”

A mischievous grin played around his lips. “See? It’s already working.”

“You wouldn’t really do that, would you?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? The things I say and do are as surprising to me as they are to everyone else.”

I was surprised by how much I loved that about him. I’d always thought I needed everything to be planned out and predictable. But Collie was constantly proving me wrong.

10

Miller

Early the next morning, I drove Collie to the hospital. His surgery wasn’t scheduled until that afternoon, but first they wanted to run some tests, and do whatever else needed to happen beforehand.

He was surprisingly calm. He’d even slept the night before. Meanwhile, I’d paced around the house and thought about all sorts of horrible what-ifs that I’d never repeat to him.

About an hour before the surgery, we were alone in his hospital room. They’d stuck an IV in his arm and hooked him to some monitors. And somehow, he seemed perfectly relaxed. It was like whatever happened, happened. He’d made peace with it.

As for me, I was still nervous as hell and trying my damnedest not to let it show. He could probably tell, though. Maybe to distract me, or both of us, Collie said, “Tell me something I don’t know about you, Miller.”