I glare at her but say, “Yes.”
A victorious smile brightens her face. “It’ll be good to have someone who can come over and help take care of Oreo when you’re playing away games then, huh?”
My lips flatten. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Too late. I havesomany ideas,” she chirps far too enthusiastically. An evil grin splices her face. “With my very functionable brain. Because, despite what you think, I know that I was graced by the gods with a rare form of multiple sclerosis. And I know that makes it harder to treat. And Iknowmy life is going to get harder.” She gives me a pinned look. “But I can’t stop living my life. I can’t put everything I’ve worked for on the back burner. I’m not going to let this disease win. I’m going to be successful and happy and proud until the day this stupid tumor tells me I can’t. Until I need more intense medication to alleviate symptoms. Until my hands shake too much to do surgeries. Dammit, Thomas. That day isn’t here, so let me live my life for a little longer.”
I swallow at the elephant in the room she’s finally addressing. The elephant shaped like a large lesion in her brain that resembles a tumor. After years of medical problems that were ignored, she’d finally found out she had tumefactive multiple sclerosis. It’s not a common form of the autoimmune disease that causes breakdown of the protective covering of the nerves. Which means it’s harder for doctors to treat. When they determined the tumor wasn’t cancerous, it was simply a monitoring game to make sure it didn’t grow and impact her.
It explained the seizures she’d had in the past. The struggle she had with coordination as a child. The back pain. The headaches. It all made sense. Every reason that she couldn’t be the athlete her parents wanted her to be wasn’t because she lacked motivation or skill, it’s because she’s sick.
And having that answer changed her for the better. She stopped blaming herself for not being the daughter of her parents’ dreams and chose to move forward with her schooling to prove to herself she could.
“I just don’t want you to forget to take care of yourself,” I explain. “I love you, Em. I want to make sure you’re going to be okay.”
Because I can’t be there.
Because I wish I could be.
Because she won’tletme be.
“I am,” she reassures me. “I promise.”
We’re quiet for a second.
Her smile grows again. “Is now a good time to tell you that Winter and I talk?”
Theywhat? “What do you talk about?”
Is it about me?It’s got to be about me.
She grins. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would. That’s why I’m ask—”
“Oh, shoot. Look at the time. I should get going,” she says, glancing at her wrist that’s void of a watch. “It wasgreattalking to you, but I really need to sleep. Love you, bye!”
She hangs up the video call before I can respond, making me glare at the screensaver of her in that stupid chicken onesie. “Why are the women in my life such pains?” I ask Oreo, watching her stretch out her leg and knead her claws into my shirt.
Why am I talking to a fucking cat?
Maybe I needmyhead scanned.
Setting my phone down, I stare at the ceiling. I really should get up. Work out. Cook something for dinner.
But I find myself closing my eyes and letting myself melt into the couch cushions. This time tomorrow, I’ll be wiped out from practice. The only plus side of the sore muscles I’ll undoubtedly have is that they’ll be a welcome distraction from the girl I can’t stop thinking about.
Especially now that I know she still talks to my wife.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Winter
If I eatanother bite, there’s a possible chance I may spontaneously combust in the middle of Our Open Table. Then Vinnie will be mad at me for making a mess of his establishment. Although I’d be dead, so I guess it wouldn’t be my problem.
“I think you cheated,” Ridley accuses with narrowed eyes, before turning to an elderly woman sitting between us. “Don’t you think she cheated, Beth?”
Beth sighs, setting her cards down. “You always think she cheats when you lose. Ain’t nobody accusing you of playing tricks whenever you win.”
