Page 46 of Wicked Ruin

My phone buzzes with a text that’s, thankfully, not from Declan this time.

Bronwyn

Hey babe, how are you doing?

Bronwyn’s the youngest of the McCarthys on Cavin’s side, one of the few people I can call friend.

So I text back.

Not feeling great. Think I have some kind of stomach thing

Bronwyn

Are you sure it’s not the Declan’s-engagement flu?

For a fraction of a second, I fear she knows. But we’ve always joked about the available men in the McCarthy family because I don’t date, and Bronwyn wants me to be part of the fold.

Bronwyn

There’s still Colm or Lorcan or Daire… but you need an older man. Too bad Ashland’s taken and Torin’s not home.

Ashland, yikes. The most severe of the lot. The man genuinely terrifies me, though god knows he loves his soon-to-be wife. And Torin's serving a life sentence.

Interesting options, the McCarthys have.

Back to the drawing board, I guess

Bronwyn

Also I know I’m asking about you but I need to tell someone. Da’s heart thing is worse than Mam’s letting on and I can’t say it to anyone here without starting a whole thing. So. There it is. Now tell me how YOU are

I’m sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?

Bronwyn

Nah, I just needed to talk. It’s gonna be ok. feel better!

And that’s how I know she’s changing the subject. Just in time too.

I set my phone down and press my palm flat against my stomach. The nausea rolls in again, slow and deliberate.

I barely make it to the bathroom.

When it's over, I press the back of my hand to my mouth and lean against the cold floor when a splotch of red hits the tile. The fuck?

My heart races. My nose is bleeding. I tilt my head back, pinch the bridge, and wait, counting the seconds the way I've done a hundred times before.

This is not a stomach bug.

I know how this starts.

I stay on the bathroom floor longer than I need to. Then I get up, rinse my face, and look at myself in the mirror for a long moment. How long has it been since the last blood draw, exactly? Is the nausea from stress or…?

I’ve been here before, and I know where this goes. I cannot do this again.

I can’t.

I remind myself of Dr. Rosenberg’s words—the chances of it returning were slim.