His Heart

by Claire Kingsley

  “Oh sweetheart, you’re bleeding.” Mary dug through a few drawers and came at me with damp paper towels and bandages.

  Someone lifted my backpack off my shoulders. Olivia. She gave me a sympathetic smile and set my bag down.

  “I fell,” I said while Mary attended to the worst of my scrapes.

  “Bee, your mom was hitting you,” Liam said. “I saw it happen.”

  I met his eyes, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. What did he think of me now? He was going to see what everyone at school always did—the real reason they ostracized me. They could tell. I was a nobody with no father and a drug addict mother who slapped me around when she got mad. Who wanted that girl around? No one.

  But I didn’t see disgust in Liam’s face. It wasn’t even pity that shone back at me in those bright blue eyes. Anger, yes. He was mad. But there was something else behind the spark of rage. Sadness.

  “I know things are awful for you at home,” Liam said, his voice soft. “You don’t talk about it, and I didn’t want to make you. But we know. We’ve heard things.” He glanced at his mom. “Mom suspected there are drugs involved. I wanted to ask you, but I didn’t want to make you feel bad. And I wasn’t sure if there was anything I could do.”

  Liam’s dad, Brian, had come into the kitchen while Liam spoke. I could see him from the corner of my eye, wearing an expression just like Mary and Olivia. Just like Liam. Sadness.

  I gaped at Liam. He knew. They all knew. And they didn’t hate me. They didn’t think I was awful just like her.

  Fresh tears fell from the corners of my eyes. “I can’t go back. She’s moving to Tucson and I can’t go with her. I can’t do it anymore.”

  Liam wrapped his arms around me and pressed me close. “No way, Bee. You’re not going anywhere with her. Never.”

  Mary rested her hand on my back. “You’ll stay here, with us.”

  “Mom, are you serious?” Olivia asked.

  “Yes,” Mary said, gently rubbing my back. “Can you share your room with her?”

  “Yeah,” Olivia said, “of course I can.”

  “It’s settled then,” Mary said.

  Liam held me close and I rested my stinging cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “There, Bee. You’re safe now.”

  Somehow, I knew he was right. I knew my mom wouldn’t come bang on the Harpers’ door and demand I move to Tucson with her. She’d just go, leaving me behind. She was probably throwing stuff in her car right now, relieved she didn’t have to deal with me anymore.

  The enormity of it left me dizzy, and I was grateful for Liam’s strong embrace. His family had always been good to me, but this took my breath away. They were going to let me stay. Live here, with them. A real family. No more smoke and drugs, dirty houses, and creepy men. No more walking on eggshells, wondering which woman I’d find when I got up in the morning or came home from school. No more stinging cheeks and punishments for things I hadn’t done.

  I wrapped my arms around Liam and held him tight. He kissed the top of my head. The relief that washed through me was so strong it warmed me from the inside, burning away my fear and shame. With Liam, I was safe.

  With Liam, I was home.

  6

  Sebastian

  January. Age nineteen.

  Letting my backpack drop to the floor, I slumped down onto the edge of the bed. I was missing my English class, but I didn’t have it in me. I was too damn tired.

  The medications I took made me feel like I was slogging through mud. Mornings weren’t bad. I usually woke up feeling fine. I could walk to class, and even carrying a shitload of books in my backpack didn’t bother me. But by early afternoon, my body was just done.

  By the time I got back to my room every afternoon, it felt like I’d been wearing lead shoes all day. My entire body ached, the fatigue settling deep in my bones. I felt like I was ninety, not nineteen.

  I lay back on my bed and let my eyes close. When I’d first been diagnosed almost a year ago, I’d figured it would take a few weeks, maybe a month, for my heart to get better. I’d hated the way the medications had made me feel—getting through an entire school day had been exhausting—but I’d known I could live with it for a while. I’d held on, doing what I had to do. After all, it was only temporary.

  A second heart biopsy, eight weeks after the first, had brought bad news. The inflammation wasn’t getting better. In fact, it was worse.

  They’d changed my dosages, added new medications. I’d slogged through the last couple months of high school as best I could. I probably wouldn’t have graduated without Cami’s help. She’d been at my house after school almost every day to help me with my homework. The meds made me so tired, I had a hard time staying focused. But I’d passed all my classes, and coasted through graduation.

  My friends had all gone out that night after the ceremony. Bonfires. Beer. Couples making out in the backs of pickup trucks. Everyone celebrating the end of childhood, and the beginning of a new chapter.

  I’d gone home with my parents and put myself to bed by nine.

  Summer had come and gone, and my parents had tried to get me to change my plans for fall. They’d wanted me to live at home, maybe take a few community college classes, or find something online. Something less taxing. But I’d stuck with my resolve to start at U of I.

  I needed to do this. I needed to be on my own. Letting my heart condition win wasn’t an option.

  I hadn’t had another ventricular fibrillation, but I’d been having a lot of smaller fibrillation episodes. I could feel them—times when my heart fluttered or beat erratically.

  Every time it happened, I was hit with a wave of fear. Was my heart going to stop again? Was there anyone nearby who could help if it did? I wore a medical alert bracelet with instructions, but someone would have to see it, and have the presence of mind to do something if I collapsed.

  So far, I’d been okay. But I lived with the worry every day that my heart was going to quit while I was sitting in class, and everyone would just stop and stare at the big guy on the floor.

  But even that hadn’t deterred me from starting school—or staying once I’d gotten here. I’d made it to January. I was doing okay.

  I looked up at the clock. Charlie had a meet tonight, so he was probably already down there, getting warmed up. Charlie and I had decided to room together, and he made a pretty good roommate. I’d assumed I’d be joining him on the wrestling team, but my heart hadn’t recovered enough yet. Coach Harris would welcome me to the team as soon as I was well enough to compete. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be this year.

  After a nap I hadn’t exactly meant to take—I’d basically passed out on my bed for an hour—I felt a little better. Which was good because I didn’t want to miss the meet. Injured wrestlers still supported their teammates. That’s all this was. An injury. Athletes got them all the time. Mine was just taking longer to rehab than most.

  Before I left, I texted Cami. I wasn’t sure what she had going on tonight, but she knew there was a meet, so we didn’t have plans. Despite being on the same campus, we only saw each other about once a week. Classes kept us both busy, and Cami was a joiner. She’d pledged to Delta Gamma, and her sorority had a full calendar. I figured it was good for her. I didn’t have the energy to do a lot of extra stuff, so her friends kept her busy.

  I gave myself extra time to get over to Carver-Hawkeye Arena. Fortunately, I could take Cambus—the free university bus system—to get around, so I didn’t have to do too much walking. Coach Harris had given me a wrestling season pass to get me into all the meets, since I couldn’t technically be on the team. When I got to the arena, I flashed it and walked inside.

  The entire place buzzed with energy. Every college meet was like the high school state finals—packed with cheering spectators. Audience chants. Shouts and cheers for campus favorites. I’d never cared a lot about the attention from the crowd. I’d always been focused on the match ahead, on my competition. But now, the roar of
the crowd uncurled a thread of jealousy in my gut.

  I should have been doing my pre-match routine right now. Pacing. Listening to loud music. Prepping my mind for the battle to come. Instead, I felt out of shape and weak. I wouldn’t last ten seconds against any of these guys. I’d lost weight, and the fatigue I battled every day left me feeling frail. I hated it.

  The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. I made my way through the crowd to the main arena. Coach let me sit down with the team, so I didn’t have to be up in the stands. Everyone was focused, so I didn’t say anything when I got to their spot. Just took a seat in an empty folding chair on the sidelines.

  Charlie was on the floor nearby, stretching. He met my eyes for a second and gave me a brief nod. I nodded back, but kept it at that. I didn’t want to break his concentration.

  I watched each match. Cheered for my teammates. There were two other guys from Waverly on the team—one who was a year older than me, and another guy from my class. It was weird seeing them here, dressed in singlets and headgear, while I sat on the sidelines in street clothes. They both won. I clapped. They nodded to me in acknowledgment. But that was it. No good-natured bullshitting. No post-win taunts or friendly insults tossed in my direction.

  It was like they didn’t know what to say to me anymore.

  My heart fluttered, the beat suddenly irregular. I took slow breaths to stay calm, my eyes locked on the floor. People moved around me, but I had to stay focused. Will my heart to keep working. My chest tightened and it felt as if my lungs had suddenly shrunk to half their size.

  Resisting the urge to put a hand on my chest—I didn’t want to scare anyone—I gripped my thighs and tried to breathe. This was the worst episode I’d had in a while. My head swam with dizziness and the pressure in my chest grew. At least I was already sitting down.

  “You okay?” someone asked.

  I nodded and my voice came out strained. “Yeah, just need a second.”

  My heart resumed its normal rhythm and the pressure gradually eased. My phone buzzed in my pocket—it was probably Cami—but I needed to breathe through this first. I kept my focus, eyes on the floor. Air in, air out.

  I looked up to find Charlie standing in front of me, his hands on his hips. “You good, man?”

  “Yeah,” I said. Damn it, I didn’t want to mess with his routine. “Nothing serious. Just uncomfortable.”

  “You sure?”

  I met his eyes. “Yeah.”

  He glanced around, then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “No tough guy shit with this, okay?”

  “Yeah, man, I know,” I said. “Now get out of here and go make that North Dakota asshole cry.”

  Charlie grinned. “Oh yeah, he’s fucked.”

  I laughed a little, but Charlie’s confidence was well-earned. Even at the collegiate level, he was a tough competitor. I watched him wrestle, noting a minor mistake. If Coach didn’t point it out, I’d make sure to tell him. I tried not to focus on the fact that the guy I’d beaten last year was kicking ass this season. I was pumped for Charlie to win. But it was still shitty to be stuck on the sidelines.

  After the last match, I followed the guys into the locker room. Another wrestler, a junior named Randy, was out for the season too. He’d torn his rotator cuff in practice last week and he’d need surgery soon. He slapped guys on the back, congratulated them on their wins. There were handshakes and bro fists.

  I realized, as I sat on a bench off to the side, that no one was treating me like an injured team member. Maybe it was because I hadn’t started the season with them. A lot of these wrestlers were guys I didn’t know well. Older than me, or freshmen who’d come from different high schools. We hadn’t bonded like teammates yet.

  But even the guys I did know—guys I’d wrestled with for years—looked at me differently.

  Everyone knew who I was. Sebastian McKinney, Iowa state champion. But that’s not what they saw when they looked at me now. They saw the wrestler who’d collapsed at state. The guy who was still too sick to wrestle. Who’d lost twenty pounds since last season and couldn’t work out to put the muscle back on. The guy who had some weird heart condition most people mispronounced.

  I’d been trying to deny how much my illness had changed me. Trying to hold on to the guy I’d been before the state finals. Tough. Focused. The best at what I did. My entire identity had hinged on being an athlete. It was all I knew.

  But I wasn’t him anymore. I could no more win a wrestling match than run a mile. Hell, I could barely walk a mile.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket, remembering I’d gotten a text.

  Cami: Busy tonight, babe. Not sure about this weekend. The girls want to go to a thing. If you’re up for it, you can come.

  A thing probably meant a frat party. Just the thought of a crowded house full of dumbasses drinking beer out of plastic cups was exhausting. She knew I didn’t have the energy for something like that. I could tell she was getting bored of our usual stay-in-and-watch-a-movie routine, but what the fuck did she expect me to do? Maybe I should have texted her back, but I didn’t.

  I heard some of the guys making plans to go out—probably to grab some food. I got up and slipped out of the locker room. I didn’t want their pity invite. And the truth was, I’d have said no anyway. My limbs were heavy and the pressure in my chest was wearing me down. I was so fucking tired.

  I took the bus back to my dorm and tossed my wrestling season pass in the garbage. What was the point of sitting on the sidelines? The rest of the team didn’t give a shit if I was there. I made them uncomfortable. Even my old friends didn’t know what to say to me anymore. These guys lived and breathed wrestling. I couldn’t practice, couldn’t work out. I could barely make it to my classes.

  Whoever—whatever—I was now, it wasn’t a state champion wrestler. I was just a kid with a sick heart. A guy who spent more time in doctor’s offices than college parties.

  A guy who didn’t know who he was anymore.

  7

  Brooke

  October. Age eighteen.

  Liam wasn’t home when I got back from class. I dropped my backpack near the door and slipped off my shoes. I’d aced my history test that morning, and my English Lit professor had given me an A on my essay. That was a great way to end the week.

  I’d been in college for almost two months, and already I felt like I’d finally found a place I belonged. It was so much better than high school. Granted, the last part of my senior year, living with the Harpers, hadn’t been all that bad. I’d had a stable, clean, safe place to live. The Harpers had treated me like part of the family. Dating Liam had made me untouchable to the Mean Girls, so no one at school had bothered me. For the first time in my life, I’d actually been happy.

  It had been nine months since I’d seen my mom. She’d left that night, after Liam had brought me to his house. Her car had been gone in the morning, and none of us had seen her since. A week or so later, we’d seen the owner of the house hauling stuff out to a big pickup truck—probably getting the place cleaned up so he could rent it out again. But as far as I knew, Mom had never come back.

  She hadn’t called either. I was torn between feeling relieved and rejected. She’d been a terrible parent for most of my life, but she was still my mother. Liam insisted that her leaving me was the biggest act of love she’d ever shown—that she’d known I’d be better off without her, and that was why she’d stayed away. I wasn’t sure if he was right, but I liked his version better than mine. It was nice to think that she’d left because she loved me, not because I hadn’t been good enough to make her stay.

  After graduation, Liam and I had decided on a college—Arizona State—and made plans to move. He had a college fund his parents had started when he was little. Between financial aid and scholarships, I’d managed to scrounge enough to make college possible for me.

  We’d found an apartment just off campus. There was so much freedom in having our own place. Freedom, and privacy. I was endles
sly grateful to the Harpers for bringing me into their home, but they’d been strict with me and Liam. They’d made it very clear that I was to sleep in Olivia’s room, and they wouldn’t tolerate me and Liam sneaking around.

  We had, of course, although not at first. I’d been too afraid of breaking their rules and getting kicked out. But it hadn’t taken long before the temptation had become too much to resist. What had started as snuggling and making out under the covers had quickly escalated.

  No one had been surprised when we’d announced we were planning to get an apartment together after graduation. Neither of us could imagine living apart. We knew we were young, but that didn’t matter. Liam and I were great together. Comfortable. He made me feel secure.

  Our apartment was tiny, but adorable. It had a bedroom, a little kitchen, and enough living space for a couch, TV, and a table that we mostly used as a desk. A big window at the front had the ugliest curtains we’d ever seen—olive green with a floral pattern—but they were so hideous, we loved them. I’d strung up twinkle lights and we’d bought some cheap but cute artwork to hang. It was all very college-student-chic, but it was ours.

  On the biggest wall, right above the couch, we’d hung a huge world map. We’d decided that after college, we were going to travel. We brought home travel magazines and pored over websites, talking about where we wanted to go. Then we’d put pins on the map to mark the locations. The map was looking pretty full already.

  I wondered if we’d ever make it to all those places. Despite having moved around a lot, I’d never really been outside the southwest. Even places like New York seemed exotic and exciting. I couldn’t imagine what it was going to be like to hike in a tropical rain forest or wander through a city in Europe.

  I opened the fridge and laughed. Liam had obviously been to the store; the top shelf was fully stocked with peach iced tea. He had the weirdest obsession with it. He’d also bought more Coke, which was what I preferred. I grabbed one and brought it to the couch.