“I first noticed symptoms about six months ago. Didn’t think much of it. But lately it’s gotten bad. Saw one doctor who seemed more interested in my bank account than my health. Didn’t feel right. So I found the top guy in the field. He’s in the state. Saw him today.”
Knowing he came straight to me after that kind of day sends my heart into a flutter. But it’s also a bit fucked up, especially considering what he said last time we talked. He can’t give me more. And yet, here he is. I’m all over the place with my feelings.
I reach out, gently turning his face to look at me.
But he seems to shut down again, armor slamming back into place. “I’ve got it handled. No need to make a thing of this—people manage much worse.”
I give him a slow nod, understanding the fine line we’re walking here. I’ve been through the wringer before with my mom’s sickness. There’s a time to push and a time to hold back. And Connor is clearly a man who likes to handle things on his own terms.
“I’m trusting you with this, Lexi. I haven’t even told Killian.”
Wow, the weight of his trust lands like a ton of bricks. He hasn’t told Killian? That’s major. And kind of worrying. Why keep it from his brother?
“Why haven’t you talked to Killian?” I ask, trying to keep it light.
“It’s complicated. I’ll get to it,” he replies, sounding more like he’s dodging the question than anything.
It just goes to show, money can’t iron out every kink in family dynamics.
“I’m really sorry you’re going through that. I’m glad I know. If you need a friend I’m here for you.”
His lips curve into a half smile that could cause traffic jams. “Lexi Sullivan, you’re something else,” he murmurs. He glances away, the rugged lines of his jaw tightening. “But you’ve got Grace waiting.”
I make a split-second decision. “Grace will manage without me tonight. How about we grab that drink at your place?”
His eyebrow arches. “You sure?”
“Totally. But just as friends. If we can even call ourselves that,” I say, laying down the law.
Connor’s condition is not a get-out-of-jail-free card. My heart’s been through enough rollercoasters, and I’m not signing up for another ride, especially with Mr. Complicated here.
“Understood,” he says with a grin. “Friends it is.”
The termfriendshangs in the air, feeling a bit off as we drive away.
As he drives, I try gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” he responds sharply, then softens, squeezing my knee. “Sorry, I just need to unwind tonight. There’s no need to unpack all my problems right now.”
“Of course. Whenever you’re ready,” I reply, letting it go for now.
The drive to his place is quiet as my mind races. I’m desperate to understand the full severity, but don’t want to push too hard and shut him down.
He stormed out of a major interview over this, so it has to be serious enough. Is he in pain? Scared? How will this impact his future?
I want to comfort him, tell him it’ll be okay, but I don’t know that. Throwing around empty platitudes won’t help right now.
He clearly doesn’t want to discuss it further, so I resist pushing him. But I know from Mom that bottling things like this up isn’t healthy. The more he can open up, the better for him.
I sneak peeks at his rigid profile as he keeps his eyes on the road.
I try to put myself in Connor’s shoes, imagining being told I might lose my hearing. It’s huge. Terrifying. Just thinking about surviving without a sense I’ve always relied on makes me feel panicked.
How do you even begin to adjust to something like that? Going to work, adulting, doing everything without hearing when it’s been a constant your whole life? I can’t fathom it.
And not knowing how bad it could get . . . or if it will get worse at all. That uncertainty might be the scariest part.
Would I want to tell Mom and Grace? I know they’d freak out, and that would only make me feel more anxious and overwhelmed. I’d want to tell Dad first, I think sadly.
