Which is why I should walk away right now, especially knowing everything they lost.
But I can’t seem to be able to.
Instead, I nod.
He takes my bags and carries them to his car. Once they’re safe inside, he glances my way.
“Ready?”
I fall into step beside him, and we walk toward the historic downtown area of Sycamore Falls.
Now that it’s approaching December, the storefronts are decked out for the holidays, green wreaths and red bows decorating the lampposts, making it look like something out of a Christmas card.
The sound of conversation and footsteps echo around us, but Hayden doesn’t immediately speak. Instead, he remains silent for several minutes, his mouth set in a tight line, his brows furrowed, as if he’s trying to figure out what to say.
“I know I can be…”
“Difficult,” I offer. “Stubborn. Pigheaded.”
He chuckles, and the sound settles in my chest.
In my heart.
His wife’s heart.
“Yes. All of that,” he agrees. Then his smile drops. “I lost my wife a year ago.”
“I’m sorry.” I keep my expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away.
“It was an accident,” he continues. “A drunk driver ran a red light. T-boned her while she was taking Presley to dance class. Cora walked away with barely a scratch. Presley wasn’t as lucky. I was working that night. We used to live in Chicago, and I worked in the emergency room at one of the busiest hospitals there. We were always getting car accident victims wheeled in.” He shakes his head, briefly squeezing his eyes shut. “But nothing could have prepared me to see my owndaughter being wheeled through those doors, her head and body covered with blood.”
I can physically feel his fear. His panic. As if reliving that moment over and over again.
He probably is. It’s probably played on repeat every day since.
“Is that… Is that why she doesn’t talk? Because of the accident?”
“No. She was talking as she came in, which was a relief. She kept telling me how much everything hurt, and I assured her she’d be okay. And she was. Had some broken bones and a concussion, but nothing permanent.” He swallows hard. “But Cora…” His voice catches on her name.
“What happened? You said she walked away from the accident without a scratch.”
“That’s what I thought. She was walking and talking, so I didn’t think anything of it. I told her she should get checked out to be on the safe side. She promised she would once Presley was out of surgery and she knew she was okay. I didn’t push it. And I should have. If I had…” He trails off, his voice catching.
“She collapsed in the waiting room a short while later. At first, I figured it was just the adrenaline wearing off. But she never came back around. Never regained consciousness.”
“Oh god…” I press a hand over my heart instinctively —herheart — feeling its steady rhythm beneath my palm.
Hayden’s story is so sad. So tragic. To see her walking and talking one minute, thinking she hadn’t been injured in an accident, to then watch her collapse andnever wake up?
I knew the person who donated my heart had to have been declared brain dead in order for them to be able to retrieve her heart and transplant it into me.
But listening to the details knowing I have her heart is more emotional than I thought it would be.
“She had a brain bleed. Subdural hematoma.” His voice fractures. “She was rushed into surgery to drain it, control the swelling. They couldn’t. She died a few days later. Presley hasn’t spoken since she said goodbye to her mother as they wheeled her into the operating room so they could donate her organs.”
I hesitate for a beat. “Do you know who these people are?” I ask, praying he doesn’t find my question suspicious, but I have to know. “The people who received her organs?”
“No. And I don’t want to know,” he declares with determination.” I think… I think it would be too hard.”
