I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
He looked away, blinking hard. “I know you are.”
A knock came at the door and it clicked open. The doctor stepped in with clipboard in hand, a tall, balding man with thick eyeglasses. His name tag read Dr. Kramer.
“Archer, how are you feeling now?”
“I could run a marathon.”
The doctor’s lips twitched. “Your humor is still intact at least. Let’s see, your tests confirm a mild myocardial infarction—a mild heart attack. You’re lucky your team acted fast at the office. We’ll keep you here for a couple more days for observation and testing.”
Archer listened quietly while the doctor mentioned medication, follow-up visits, rest off from work for at least amonth, change of diet, and managing stress. “We’ve talked about this at your last several appointments. You can’t keep running at the pace you have,” he said. “You were very lucky today. Your body gave you a warning. Take it seriously.”
“I will. Thanks,” Archer croaked.
When the doctor left, Brooks stood by the window. It should have been my cue to go, his turn to come in. But I couldn’t stand leaving Archer yet. Even though the silence sat too heavy between us.
I squeezed his hand. “The doctor is right. You push yourself too hard.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “That’s what people who love me keep saying.” His eyes searched mine, raw and uncertain, a huge question mark.
“I’m one of them. I love you, Archer.”
“I wish you had trusted me with the truth. Told me everything.” He would not drop this, would he?
The tears came hot and fast. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
He shifted in his bed, grimacing. “Right for you or me?”
The question sliced straight through me. “I thought if I could spare you?—”
“I don’t want to be spared.” The sharpness of his tone scared me. He shouldn’t get worked up again. The heart monitor quickened, betraying his rising pulse and the emotion he tried to contain.
“Please, it can’t be good to get worked up about this. We can talk about this once you’re out of here, when you’re stronger.”
He inhaled and exhaled, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m only saying it hurt. I don’t have the strength to untangle what that means for us right now.”
“What?” My breath caught in my throat. I reached for his hand, but he hesitated before letting me take it.
The pause gutted me.
“Archer—please. Don’t shut me out,” I whispered.
Brooks knocked on the door and stepped in, hovering there, clearing his throat.
Archer met my gaze, heavy and tired, and swallowed hard. “I’m not, Penny. But I think you’re right. We should wait to have this conversation when I’m feeling better. I need to focus on me and my health now.”
I fought back more sobs and forced myself to let him go.
“I’ll give you space. Please rest.” I leaned down, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “I love you.”
He closed his eyes, saying nothing—not returning those three little words. Would he ever? What if… what if this was the end of us? I thought I was protecting us, keeping these things from him, but turned out I might have lost him for good.
My heart splintered with an ache so real in my chest. Was this what he had felt during the attack?
Blinded by the pain, I somehow forced myself to walk out of the hospital room, out of the building, swallowing back the tears until I was outside, where I burst. I bent over, hands on knees, and wept openly, not caring who might see. The weight of the day pressed down harder and harder until I thought I’d crumble to the ground.
One thought kept pestering me.
