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Talia has crawled across the console, her brow knitted with deep concern. Gone is the indignation. Her hands tremble as they stroke up and down my arms.

“What happened?”

“I think you had an absence seizure.” Her cool palm presses to my cheek. “God, Tate, I forgot how much I hated those. You were just…gone. One second you were talking and the next you stopped.”

“Ah. That explains the time lapse.” I scrub at my face. These seizures are nothing compared to the one I had last week. It’s like someone presses pause, but the rest of the world continues spinning. “I swear I took my meds.”

She doesn’t release me, her nails scraping through the short hairs curling around my ears. “I know you did. I check your pill box every morning.”

Exactly like she used to.

The simple act kick-starts my heart. “Should I be concerned with you going through my stuff?”

“I’m serious, Tate.” Fear ripples across her face. “After seeing you in the hospital and now this. You couldn’t hear me. Your face was—It scared me. I hate seeing you like that.”

“I’m fine, Tally Girl. It’ll take a lot more to get rid of me. It happens and they always pass.”

“What if one day they don’t?” Fear ripples over her face in a dark wave. “What…what if you forget me and this time it’s permanent?”

Oh, my sweet girl. I know she’s referring to my first seizure, and the one and only time I’ll ever forget her. I want to soothe her worry away with kisses.

I lightly pinch her chin. “Do you really think I could ever forget you?” I stroke my thumb over her bottom lip. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“But if I don’t, who will? You weren’t taking care of yourself on tour, and even now you’re overdoing it. Paintball? You were in the hospital ten days ago.” A car zooms by, shaking the truck, but it doesn’t stop her rant. “You’re moving your stuff upstairs. No more sleeping on the couch. And you’re calling Dr. Summers the second we get home.”

She finally exhales.

I hate the doctors. At least when I’m unconscious, I can’t feel them poke and prod me with needles. Whenever I visit my neurologist, she treats me like a pincushion. “I’ll call her.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She nods, satisfied with my compliance. “One more week of rest and then you’re free to do as you please.” She turns to start the engine, but before she can put distance between us, I catch her wrist.

“Talia?”

“Yeah.” She pauses.

“Will you come with me to the doctor’s appointment?” She’s attended all of my appointments since we’ve been married. “This isn’t a ploy for you to spend time with me, and you don’t have to come into the room, but, uh, knowing someone is out there waiting for me might help.”

Talia clocks my nervousness straight away and her face softens. “Of course I’ll be there.”

TWENTY-ONE

TALIA

ONE YEAR AGO–EARLY APRIL

“Tally Girl!”

Tate storms into the apartment, face stretched with excitement. I wave at him from my spot on the couch, lowering my book to my chest. “Where’s the fire?”

He vaults over the couch, almost squishing me as he bounces on the cushions. “You’re not gonna believe it!”

The rich smell of cracked sweet corn and aged oak lingers on his clothes after his show at the distillery tonight. I press my nose to the collar of his shirt, tugging him down until he’s lying horizontally on top of me.

“Parker is joining a convent?”