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The sharp bark of a question leaves my lips before I can stop it. “What are you doin’ here?”
“I’m—” Her pink mouth opens and closes. “I have anemia,” she blurts, snatching the pill bottle up before I can get a good look at it. It’s the first time I’ve seen her look flustered.
I frown as we stand. “Is it bad?”
She tucks a long lock of rose-gold hair behind her ear. “It’s fine. Not like it’s your business.” She slings her purse over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
I grit my teeth, annoyed by her comment. She’s right. It isn’t my business, so why the fuck am I bothered by it?
“Visiting a friend,” I tell her. “He has cancer.”
“Oh.” Chewing on her lower lip, she locks her eyes to mine. “I’m so sorry, Charlie.” The way she says it—with genuine sincerity—has a strange ache settling in my chest.
I open my mouth, but she cuts me off.
“See you around, Cowboy,” she says, giving me a sweet smile and damn if it doesn’t twist me up inside. She takes a step to the door, pauses, then turns and looks at me over her shoulder. “I’m staying in Resurrection, by the way.”
Then she’s gone, floating out the door into the bright sunshine, and I stand here like an idiot, watching the hem of her sundress flip up with the breeze.
Goddamn it.
After a long second, an internal war consuming me, I storm out after her.
I’m a liar.
I’m not anemic, but I panicked, and it was the first thought that came to my mind. The only way to explain that little orange bottle spinning across the tile.
A great way to kick off this relationship, even if it only consists of glares and grunts so far.
But what was I supposed to tell Charlie? The truth? That my heart is planning to give out somewhere down the line? That I’m running away because I’ve never lived my life?
The truth is since the day I was born, I’ve been told I was most likely destined to follow in the genetically macabre footsteps of my mother and my aunt, who both passed away at age twenty-eight. My aunt had a massive heart attack. My mother died in her sleep. The doctors said her heart just gave out.
I refuse to understand that. How do you stop something beautiful from beating? How does the very organ which gives you life decide your time is up?
I have a heart condition called supraventricular tachycardia. SVT for short. While a normal person’s heart rate is 60 to 100 beats per minute, mine varies between 150 to 220 beats a minute. My erratic heartbeat wreaks havoc on my heart’s upper chambers, but I control it the best I can. A daily medication is all I need to slow it down. But if I’m really unlucky, stress makes it worse, as does excitement or overworking or being overtired. My cardiologist warned me not to drink alcohol, caffeine, or do high adrenaline sports becausewhat-if...
It’s thewhat-ifsthat have ruled my life.
But not here. Not in Resurrection.
Icouldtell Charlie the truth, but I don’t owe him that explanation. We’re strangers. He’s not planning to worry about me. Doesn’t even want to know me. So, I’d like to exist in this town without a past. Just be a person without all the doom and gloom attached. It feels nice to escape that part of my life, if only for a few months.
Even if my old life still has skin in the game.
I went to the clinic this morning to transfer my information, get three months of medication refills and discuss my condition with a doctor. Now I’m beyond starving and excited to see Resurrection in the morning’s bright sunshine.
I need a big breakfast and a map.
But I have a surly cowboy stomping after me. I can practically feel the street shake under his boots.
“Where are you going?” Charlie’s deep voice rumbles behind me, sending a vibration through my core.
“I’m on a hunt.”
When there’s a grunt, I lift my gaze to see Charlie keeping pace beside me. Even in profile, he’s handsome. Bearded jaw so sharp it could cut glass. Eyes so blue they look like gemstones. “You could askfor whatinstead of grunt.”
After a beat, there’s a gruff, “For what?”
