My brow pinched. “Everett is okay. That’s all that matters. We’ll be okay.” I was rambling it, my head nodding, all the adrenaline and fear I’d felt on the trip over draining out of my system.
I just wanted to get to my family.
Dad squeezed my shoulders harder. “Evan. Listen to me. The doctor needs to talk with you, and I know this is about Everett, but listen to me hard . . . talk to her. Today. It is the only way you two are going to make it in the future.”
Dread clamped down on my ribs. A frown pulled across my brow, misunderstanding seeping through. “What are you saying?”
Sorrow filled his expression. “Just talk to her, Evan.”
Then he turned his back and motioned for the door to the emergency room to be opened, expecting me to follow.
Legs still shaking, I did, not sure how the hell to handle the overwhelming relief that was dampened by the urgency of what Dad had said.
By what he’d implied.
I walked deeper into the depths of the emergency department.
Nurses were quick as they came and went in the small private rooms, most with the blinds drawn, and there was a large work station in the middle.
Dad led me through, and I caught the vibe of the stares. No doubt, most everyone knew him there, his reputation as one of the best physicians in Gingham Lakes preceding him.
He slowed in front of a closed door, glancing back at me once in some kind of warning before he opened it.
My heart bottomed out again when I walked through and Everett was in this odd crib. Super high railings on all sides, the front of it dropped open while a physician was checking one of the monitors he was attached to.
It didn’t matter that she was there. Didn’t matter that he was hooked up to a ton of wires and monitors, an oxygen tube in his nose and taped on his face to keep it in place.
I rushed for him.
Didn’t say a word to the doctor when I picked him up and held him. Needing to feel him chest to chest. Heart to heart.
Overwrought with the need to feel the life running through his veins.
His little fingers dug into my shirt and I thought maybe he was relieved, too.
I breathed out, hugging him closer before I finally felt confident enough to turn my attention to the physician.
She sent me a careful smile. “You must be Evan Bryant.”
“I am.” I shook her hand when she extended hers.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Lucero. I’m the pediatric cardiologist who was supposed to see Everett in my office next week, but it looks like he was impatient to see me.”
She attempted to inject some humor into the mood.
I wasn’t exactly feeling it.
Hugging Everett tight, I glanced around. Mom was there, anxious, tears staining her face, pacing in her worry.
But it was Frankie who was huddled in the very back corner that sent a riot of worry stampeding through me, the girl appearing so small. Like she’d been cracked wide open and she no longer knew how to hold herself together.
She refused to look at me.
But I felt her.
God. I felt her.
Hugging herself as tight as I was hugging Everett.
I wanted to go to her. Call to her. Promise her it was okay. Tell her how thankful I was that she was with him when this happened. Or maybe just bury my face in her hair and sob my guts out, so goddamn thankful that Everett was okay when I’d been certain that a day that had started out pure and perfect was going to end in tragedy.
Instead, I focused on the physician, trying to keep the trembling out of my hand when I shook hers. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Encouragement filled her smile. “I spoke with your father at length about your disabilities as well as the concern for Everett. I took him for an emergency echocardiogram, and I see no abnormalities. I want to order an MRI in order to be certain, but I’m confident this test will be negative as well.”
I wanted to drop to my knees with the sheer magnitude of the relief.
My nose went to Everett’s cheek, inhaling his sweet scent.
The innocence and vulnerability.
Overwhelmed by the miracle.
Overcome by the grace.
It was all mixed up with the flickers of grief and shame and guilt that had crowded in, crawling out from where I’d had them chained, threatening to take me over.
Thinking I’d condemned my son.
After everything, I didn’t think there was a chance I would have been able to stand under the misery of that.
“God.” My eyes pressed closed, relishing in the deliverance. I blew out a heavy breath.
Dr. Lucero continued to explain, “The emergency room physician will be in to speak with you. He is the one who treated the allergic reaction with anaphylactic shock. There will need to be further testing with that, but all symptoms point to a severe food allergy. He responded quickly to the epinephrine dosage. But in light of his emergency room visit, I’ve made a call to expedite the rest of his genetic testing so we can clear him before he is discharged. I hope to have a definitive answer for you this evening, even though I would still like him to keep his appointment with me next Wednesday so we can go over the results in detail.”
I nodded understanding. “Okay. Yes. Good.”
So maybe I wanted to shout.
To sing.
To chant with this joy.
She turned her gaze to Everett with a sympathetic smile. “It’s a huge relief, I know. He is such a sweet boy.”
She cast a slight nod to everyone in the room. “Someone will be in momentarily to take him for the MRI. I’ll be back in to speak with you as soon as I have the outcome of that test.”
My dad spoke at my side, “Thank you, Dr. Lucero.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’ll talk with you soon.”
She glanced around at everyone in the room, offering a soft, reassuring smile as she exited.
The door shut behind her.
The aura in the room shivered.
Rays of relief and streaks of sorrow.
Mom sniffled, swiped at her tears. “Evan. Thank God.”
She threw herself at me. Hugged us hard. Letting go of the fear she’d been holding.
Maybe it was the first time I got a real glimpse into what she must have felt when I was a child.
When I’d been clinging to life.
Skating the edge of death.
I was certain it was only her faith that had kept me here.
She leaned back, her cheeks wet, her gaze soft. She set her hand on my cheek. “Thank God.”
I nodded at her, though it felt difficult to move beneath the torment that still flooded the room.
Thick and dense and unrelenting.
“Can you take him?” I asked, knowing I needed to get to Frankie Leigh.
“Absolutely.”
Mom took him, and I planted a kiss to his temple before I warily turned around to where she was tucked back in the farthest corner, still hugging herself with her head dropped, like she could disappear into the wall.
Could see she was trying to restrain the sobs that wracked her body.
Had only seen her like this once before—the last time we’d been together in this hospital.
Regret gusted and blew.
And I wondered what she’d thought. What she’d had to go through this morning.
I inched her way. “Frankie.”
Could feel her name slice through the dense air.
Could feel her flinch.
I kept moving that way, and with each cautious step I took, she slowly lifted her head.
“Frankie,” I murmured.
She turned to look up at me.
My chest squeezed.
The girl demolished.
Crushed.
Eyes red-rimmed and swollen.
Her spirit tortured.
Thrashing and flailing as it seeped into the atmosphere.
“Frankie, sweet girl.” The words barely made it over t
he gravel lining my throat. “It’s not your fault.”
Her mouth twisted, the girl choking out a sound that I knew shouted with misery. She pressed her face into both her hands, and I tried to pry them away.
“Frankie. Please, Frankie. Stop crying, sweetheart. It’s good news. It’s such good news.”
We needed to be celebrating.
Loving and laughing and hugging.
But her head shook in rejection.
Trembles tumbling down her spine and wracking through her body.
I could feel the piercing gaze of my dad, and I glanced that way, remembering the dire warning he’d given. He angled his head for us to follow him.
“Hey, sweet girl. Please . . . come with me. We need to talk.”
She clutched her chest at that, but she was nodding through the tears that kept pouring out, her head tipped down, refusing to fully face me.
Gulping around the distress, this alarm that screamed and pounded and roared in my chest, I took her by the elbow to guide her out.
Dad led us to a private waiting room, didn’t say anything as we stepped inside, let the door swing shut behind him.
As soon as he did, I turned and took her by the face.
Forced her to look at me.
“Frankie . . . what is it?”
Tears raced into my hands.
“Evan, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Thirty-One
Frankie Leigh
Eighteen Years Old
Frankie Leigh knocked quietly at the office door. She was so nervous she thought she was going to throw up.
Nausea coiled in her stomach.
Nerves frayed and sparking and making her twitch.
From the other side of the door, she heard her uncle Kale call, “It’s open.”
Visibly shaking, she turned the knob.
This was the only place she could go.
Surprise curled her uncle Kale’s face into a questioning smile. “Frankie Leigh. What are you doing here? Come in and have a seat.”
He gestured to the two chairs that sat opposite his desk. Probably thousands of his patients had sat right there in front of him through the years, and she knew he would have given gentle diagnoses and plans and words of hope.
Frankie was almost afraid to feel any of it.
Terrified. Scared. Overjoyed.
Hope.
But it was there, and she prayed he would be able to help her. That he would know what to do.
She shuffled into his office and uneasily took a seat. Nervously, she twined her fingers over and over, trying not to rock to soothe herself, but doing it anyway.
Her uncle immediately caught on to her distress, and he stood from the desk. Rounding it, he came to kneel in front of her. He touched her knee. “Sweet Pea. What is going on?”
“I need your help, Uncle.”
He searched her face. “Of course. I’ve always told you that you could come to me for anything.”
She sniffled. “I know. That’s why I’m here. Because you’re the only person I can trust, and the only person who will really understand.”
Worry passed through his features, but he just knelt there, waiting.
The supporter he’d always been.
How many times had she sat in front of him as his patient? As a tiny girl, her daddy used to constantly rush her to the ER for any little scrape or bruise. Her daddy always so terrified to lose her. That this cruel world might steal her away from him.
Right then, Frankie Leigh fully understood.
“What’s going on, Frankie. You can tell me, trust me, with anything.”
A tear slipped free, and she frantically brushed at her cheek, that worry bottling in her chest and spinning her head and making her sick all over again. “I’m pregnant.”
She guessed that maybe he didn’t look all that shocked. She was eighteen and known to be wild and reckless and the first to experience every single thing in life.
What else would she be coming to him this way for? A freaking cough?
She knew he knew better than that.
But the thing was, he was also Evan’s father.
Even though she knew he was trying to hide it, she saw the distress that blazed through his expression.
She twisted her fingers so tight they were blanching white, cutting off circulation.
He exhaled a heavy sigh, contemplated, glancing to the wall before he looked back at her. His voice cracked. “Is it Evan’s?”
Her nod was jerky, and the tears started coming faster. She sniffed, reached up to try to wipe the moisture away. “Yes.”
She and Evan hadn’t told anyone about their relationship.
Maybe they’d been having too much fun sneaking around.
Loving the feel of something scandalous and secret and special even when them being together made perfect sense.
She wondered just how obvious they were.
If she was obvious then.
If anyone else would know.
“Oh, God, Frankie.” His brow pinched. “Are you okay?”
She choked out a disbelieving sound. Of course, he would think to ask her how she felt. Exude all his care. She gave a harsh shake of her head. “No, Uncle Kale, I don’t think that I am. I’m . . . I’m scared. I’m so scared and I don’t know how to keep this inside any longer.”
Evan had crammed it into her head thousands of times that he could never give her a family. That he could never take that chance. Told her to chase after something better. Told her to go after what he believed was a better life because there was a part of him that believed he was nothing but a sickness and disease.
But the thought of this child as something different than extraordinary broke her heart right in half.
“We were careful, Uncle.”
Except for the couple times that they weren’t.
When they’d been so caught up in the other that they didn’t have time to think about anything else.
Consequences or gifts.
Guilt seared through her flesh, cutting her open wide.
God, what had she done?
“I . . . I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, feeling her mouth tremble all over the place.
Her uncle’s brow pinched. “He doesn’t know?”
Her throat bobbed, and she tried to swallow around the mountain of jagged rocks that were gathered there, boulders pressing down on her chest.
The weight too much.
“No. Oh God, Uncle. He’s . . . he’s going to be so upset. He’s told me so many times that this can never happen.”
But it was already happening.
“He has a right to know, Frankie.”
“I know. I’m going to tell him. I will. I just . . . have to make a plan. Figure out what we’re going to do.”
His nod was one of reluctance. “Do you know when your last period was?”
She dropped her head, more of that shame streaking free, whispered toward her lap, “Almost four months ago.”
“God, Frankie.” That was the first amount of disappointment he’d shown.
But she’d ignored it for too long. Tried to will it away before she’d started to beg for it to stay.
He shook his head like he was trying to shake off any judgment. His voice softened. “What do you want to do, Frankie Leigh? Do you know?”
It was the one thing she did know in all this mess.
She ran her hand tenderly over her belly, a wistful smile breaking through the tears that kept streaming down her face. “I love her, Uncle. I love her so much.”
Her uncle seemed to struggle, both trying to be the man he’d always promised her he would be. Supportive. But it was up against the outright worry that instantly sagged his shoulders. Dimmed his eyes. “Okay. We need to start with some testing.”
* * *
“No, Uncle. Please. Don’t say that.” It was a whimper.
Sorrow rushed and spilled and spun the walls. She couldn’t see. Refused to hear.
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry, Frankie Leigh, but her heart abnormalities are incredibly severe. There is little chance of her making it to term, let alone through delivery.”
She tried to hold it back, but the sob broke free. She pressed her hand to her mouth.
Trying to keep in the hope. Not to let it go. If she believed hard enough, it would be.
She rocked in the same chair she’d been sitting in for the last five hours. She’d been there waiting and waiting and waiting in a private office after she’d been sent for a special echocardiography in Birmingham.
Her uncle Kale had driven her there after he’d arranged for her to meet with a fetal cardiologist.
Her entire world had dropped out from under her when it had only been him coming through the door to give her the results.
She’d known it the second she’d seem him.
Mourning already engraved on his face.
She pressed her hands to her chest, angling forward. “There has to be something that can be done. There has to be. She . . . she can get a transplant like Evan did. Evan is perfect. She’ll be perfect, too.” The words tumbled free. A prayer. A plea.
Sadness shook his head. “Frankie.”
“No, Uncle, no.”
It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that this curse could steal the life right out of her hands.
Evan.
Oh God, Evan was going to be destroyed.
Blame himself forever.
She gasped for a breath.
It felt like her lungs were collapsing.
Closing in.
Shutting down.
“Please,” she begged, pain sheering through her insides. Twisting her in half. Cutting her in two.
He climbed down to his knees in front of her. “I am sorry, Frankie. I . . . I am devastated over this, and I know it doesn’t come close to what you are feeling right now.” He took her by the hand. “If there was anything . . . anything in this world that I could do, you know that I would. I have to recommend you terminate this pregnancy, Frankie Leigh.”
She clutched at her chest, feeling like her heart was getting ripped right out. “No. No. I can’t do that.”
“Frankie.”
“I can’t.” She clawed away from him, flying from the chair, shaking her hands out in front of her like it could possibly wake her up from this nightmare. She paced, stumbled, tried not to fall to her knees.
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