Will I?
I lean my head back against the cabinet door and shut my eyes, trying to breathe around the weight settling in my chest.
For the first time in a very long time, I don’t know what my next move is.
And that scares me more than anything else.
Chapter sixteen
You’re such a bad fucking liar, Havoc
Carina
The next few days blur.
I keep to myself mostly, staying late at the hospital and taking on extra cases when I can. Anything to fill the void of one hundred internalized questions a minute. I stop answering Heidi’s texts unless they’re about the clinic roster. Skip yoga. Decline invites.
I sleep, but it’s not restful. My body goes under like a switch has been flipped, and when I surface again, it’s with a dry mouth and a throb in my temples.
The sun’s already up this morning when I wake. Light seeps through the edges of the curtain, casting long shadows across the floor. My phone is on the nightstand, face down. I roll ontomy back and stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, then reach for it.
Three unread messages, two from last night, one from this morning.
REID HUTCHISON:Back in town.
REID HUTCHISON:Can I see you?
REID HUTCHISON:Hope everything’s okay.
The last message is a voice memo, but I stare at the waveform for a beat too long, and don’t press play. I open the reply box and type out half a dozen things, trying to figure out the best way to brush him off.
Me: Long days right now.
Me: I’m fine, just tired.
Me: I can’t do this right now.
Me:I’m sorry.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
I lock the screen and tuck the phone against my chest as though that’ll keep the ache at bay. My hand stays pressed to it for a second, as though I can hold the weight of him through glass.
As though maybe if I hold it close enough, I won’t want to answer.
But I do.
God, I do.
And I can’t answer, because if I do, I know what will happen. I’ll let him in, just a little. He’ll say something soft, or stupid, or steady, and I’ll fall into it like it’s safe. As though it doesn’t change anything.
Because I’ve already changed everything.
Instead, I take a scalding hot shower and brush my teeth, hoping it’ll fix the sour taste of fear at the back of my throat, then head to the hospital before I can think too hard about anything.
It’s not just fatigue anymore; it’s nausea blooming behind my ribs. A wariness in my limbs. A shift in my body that no longer feels like stress alone. I sip water. Eat half a banana. Pretend it helps.
I make it through two surgeries and a consult before I feel that familiar drag in my hips again. A pulse low in my belly that has nothing to do with my cycle and everything to do with the blood vessels starting to shift.
