Just looking at her makes my anxiety ebb the smallest bit. She’s here, still breathing.
Slowly, I lean down so my head hovers just above her chest. When she still doesn’t wake, I lower myself a final inch until my ear presses above her heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Th-thump.
I try not to panic at the uneven beat. Dr. Markovic warned us that irregular heartbeats were typical, and that we only needed to contact him if Maura’s heartbeat raised over 100 beats per minute.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I listen, counting the beats as I watch the second hand tick by on my watch. We pass a minute, reassuring me that her heartbeat is at a healthy 75 beats per minute. I don’t lift my head just yet, though. I keep my ear against her chest, listening. The beats are uneven but determined. Her heart won’t give up on her—it’ll carry her through this, and as far as it can go.
My sanity anchors itself to each gentle thump. Each beat reminds me that she’s here, she’s fine, she’s safe. My eyelids grow heavy, sleep lingering at the edge of consciousness. I still can’t bring myself to move. I don’t know how to keep panic at bay without that steady reminder.
She’s okay.
She’s okay.
She’s okay.
Then I’m blinking awake, my neck muscles stiff and aching. I sit up slowly, careful not to jostle Maura. Shit, I didn’t mean to fall asleep listening to her heartbeat. Thank god I woke up while it was still dark. I wouldn’t want to face her wrath if she found me here in the morning, doing quite a bit more than justhovering.
My footsteps are as quiet as I can make them as I walk away. I let myself pause in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her moonlit face. It’s a balm to my ravaged mind.
In the dark, there’s no denying the truth. I’m in this marriage far deeper than I ever intended. As angry as I might have been ather for hiding her condition, it’s nothing compared to the relief I feel that she’s still here. That I haven’t lost her.
Because now, when I think about the future, I’m not just thinking about my company. In fact, Sequel tends to drift further to the back of my mind. I know now that there’s no version of his life now that doesn’t include Maura and our baby.
37
JAMES
The text comes in just as I’m about to get on the elevator and go to the poker room on the third floor.
Beau
Change of plans: no poker night. Nate and Ryan got dragged into a double date.
Meet the single losers at Terrace, we’ll have some steak instead.
I rub my temples, frustrated. I've been a mess ever since we got back from Greece, and poker night would've been the perfect distraction. Going into a smaller group is dangerous. It'll make it easier for the guys to spot what a mess I am, and the last thing I want to deal with now is being grilled about it.
Because I haven't processed the news about Maura’s illness at all. In fact, I've hardly slept for the past week. As soon as I drift into slumber, I jerk awake in a panic, convinced I just heard Maura scream for help. She never does. Every time I sneak into my wife's bedroom to check on her, she's sleeping peacefully. At least that makes one of us.
Oh, well. It's too late for me to back out of boy’s night now. I just have to go to dinner and hope nobody picks up on how broken I feel.
As I walk into the steakhouse, I send my silent thanks to Beau’s lighting designer. It's dim and atmospheric enough in Terrace that the guys might miss the bags under my eyes.
The hostess directs me to a table in the back. Beau and Luke are already sipping beers and snacking on a basket of fries. When Beau sees me, he frowns.
“Dude, you look like shit,” Beau says.
