Page 90 of Heart Breaker

“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” he says.

“I know.”

I trace lazy circles against his ribs, trying to decide where to begin. Once I start, there’s no pretending this part of me doesn’t exist anymore.

I inhale a breath. “My dad has a heart condition, as you know.” I pause. “Shortly after I was born, doctors found out that I inherited it too, which is unusual because Tetralogy of Fallot is not typically inherited.”

I feel Wes’s body go still beneath me.

“I don’t remember all of it,” I say quietly. “I was only eight when I had the surgery.”

Wes’s fingers intertwine with mine. Without saying a word, his arms tighten around my shoulders and he pulls me a little closer against his chest. His fingers drift through my hair in slow strokes, patient and steady.

“They opened my chest.” I pause. “Then a doctor stopped my heart so a machine could keep me alive while they operated.” His grip on my hand tightens imperceptibly. “It’s kinda wild when you think about it.”

“Wild?” He shakes his head. “Lottie, it’s terrifying.”

“I know. But I obviously didn’t know that when it was happening.”

He brushes his thumb over my cheekbone, letting the silence tell me he’s listening and not going anywhere. “What did they have to fix?”

I lay my hand flat over the grid of his abs, loving the warmth of his skin. “There was a hole between the chambers of my heart and the pathway that carried blood from to my lungs was too narrow. They had to patch the hole, remove the blockage, and widen a valve so blood could flow properly.” I shrug. “Basically, they had to rebuild my tiny heart.”

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of my hair. “They gave you a chance at a normal life, Lottie. They gave the world a chance to know you.”

A lump forms in my throat.

“It’s why I have to take the pills.” I try to make it sound more inconsequential than it feels. “When I was thirteen my heart started skipping beats and racing, which is common in people who have had the repair. The medication keeps my heart rhythms working like they’re supposed to. I’ll need to take them for the rest of my life.”

“And you hate that,” he murmurs into my hair.

I let out a quiet breath.

“I’m grateful for the pills. I just hate that every morning they’re a reminder that I’m different.” Wes lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss across my knuckles. I close my eyes. “I’ve watched my dad live with this disease my entire life. I’ve seen the appointments, the medication, the exhaustion… the way it slowly changes what your body can do.” I blink back the sting in my eyes. “I see a reminder that what happened to him…can happen to me. I think that’s what scares me the most.”

His arm tightens around me.

“Lottie—”

“I know medicine has come a long way. I know my situation isn’t exactly the same as his, but when you watch someone you love struggle for as long as I have…” My voice wavers. “It’s just hard not to wonder if that’s your future too. One day my heart might let me down. There’s the possibility that the repaired valve may wear out some day and I will need another surgery. Every morning when I take those pills, I’m reminded that my heart is different. That I’m different.”

He tips my chin up until I’m looking at him. “I wish you could see what I saw last night, Lottie.” His eyes never leave mine. “A woman who survived. I saw the strongest person I’ve ever met. I didn’t see something that needed hiding. I saw proof that you’re still here.”

A tear escapes before I can stop it and Wes catches it with the pad of his thumb. “You know what I thought after that?”

I shake my head.

“How grateful I am that they did whatever they had to do.” His voice softens. “Because if they hadn’t…” He exhales slowly. “I never would’ve had the privilege of meeting you.”

The room falls silent again as I tuck myself closer against him, my cheek finding its place again over his heart. For the first time, I’m with a man who makes me feel like the scar isn’t the loudest thing about me. Wes has somehow made me believe it’s simply one chapter of my story instead of the headline.

Emotion swells in my throat so quickly that it catches me off guard. Wes rolls me onto my back, his gaze searching mine as though he’s committing every part of me to memory. His hand cups my jaw, then he’s kissing me with a quiet certainty.

I wrap my arms around his neck, tears still damp on my lashes, and kiss him back with everything I’ve got.

What is happening between us?

The question has followed me all day. It lingered while Wes insisted on carrying the shopping bags I’d repeatedly told him I could manage myself. It settled between us as we wandered through Pine Ridge, ducking into little boutiques, splitting pastries from the bakery, and stopping every few blocks so Wes could kiss me.