Page 48 of Ripple Effect

“That’s not weird at all,” Harper reassures, her voice a comforting caress, her smile gentle and sincere. “I think it’s really sweet, actually.”

I reach up to tap at June’s tiny shoes, the soft clinking sound punctuating my words. “So, how’s the hockey season going?”

“Could be better.” Harper gives a lighthearted shrug. “The team lost some key players last year, so it’s hard to rebound from that.”

My brows quirk up. “If you’re talking about Beck, please spare me.”

Harper chuckles. “I thought you two were getting along lately.”

“We are,” I concede, rolling my eyes in a dramatic show of annoyance. “But he’s still kind of a little shit.”

“A little shit that’s in love with your best friend,” she teases. But then the mood shifts as her brows knit together, worry etching lines into her forehead. “Speaking of Kaia, does she know about what happened with you last weekend?”

“No, not yet,” I mutter. I haven’t bothered to tell Kaia because I’d like to have answers for her first. She’s a chronic worrier, that one. So, I’m waiting until the end of next week, when this Holter monitor comes off and the doctors are able to put two and two together.

“How have you been doing since then, El?”

Instinctively, I deflect, brushing off her concern with a shake of my head. “I’m fine,” I say. “It’s all good.”

But my perceptive sister-in-law isn’t so easily fooled. She pivots, turning her warm, inquisitive eyes to Daisy. “Now will you tell me how he’s really doing?”

Daisy hesitates, her gaze flitting to me as if searching for permission. I can practically see the gears turning in her head before she finally answers, her tone threaded with honesty. “He seems to be doing well. No issues this week.”

Harper takes Daisy at her word and lets the subject drop, shifting the conversation toward something more lighthearted. They quickly delve into a discussion about Daisy’s major, which classes she’s taking this term, and I distract myself by goofing around with Juney.

It’s not too much longer before the game nears kickoff. Anticipation in the stadium builds, the crowd erupts into cheers, and I hoist June into the air again, her tiny REYNOLDS jersey bunching up at the waist. We play around, me lifting her up and down in time with her giggles.

But then, without warning, a heavy strain tugs beneath my rib cage, like my heart is trying to punch its way out of my chest. Panic surges through me, but I fight it back, passing June off to her mother and keeping my face as neutral as possible. I don’t want anyone to worry, not unless they have to.

As I clutch my chest—discreetly sliding a palm over my heart—my knees buckle, and I grip the back of a chair for support. The world around me spins, the noise of the crowd dwindling into a distant roar.

Through the haze, Daisy approaches, her eyes filled with concern. Her words come to me like echoes in the fog, her touch on my arm barely registering.

My body’s in turmoil, my heart pounding so hard it’s all I can hear, all I can feel. And then, the rest of the night barely registers.

I remember Daisy leading me out of the stadium, her hand warm in mine. I remember the long, silent struggle to buckle me up on the passenger side, the soft glow of the streetlights reflecting on her worried face. I remember her insisting on driving me to the hospital and me, stubborn as always, resisting.

But eventually, I relented. Because it’s Daisy. And for some reason, I can’t seem to say no to her.

And now, we’re sitting in Harbor Point’s parking lot, the charged silence stretching between us like a rubber band ready to snap. I finally decide to break it, the frustration and fear bubbling over all at once.

“I can’t even play around with my fucking niece anymore,” I snap, slamming my fist against the dashboard. “This is such bullshit.”

The words, harsh and bitter, hang heavy in the enclosed space. I glance at Daisy, expecting her to be angry or upset at my outburst. But she’s not. She just looks at me, her eyes filled with concern, and slides a calming hand over mine.

“I know. But we’ll get to the bottom of this,” she says, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “And in the meantime, I’m here for you, El.”

* * *

Hours have passedsince I was first admitted into the ED. Bright, clinical lights beat down incessantly, and medical professionals continue to weave in and out of the room.

Echoes of machinery beep softly in the background, the rhythm eerily in sync with my own heartbeat—too quick, too erratic. And now, the attending physician, Dr. Hayes, is standing at the foot of my bed. My medical file is clutched in his hands, its contents betraying a reality I’m not yet ready to confront.

“Mr. Reynolds, we believe it’s wise for you to stay overnight for monitoring,” Dr. Hayes finally breaks the silence, his voice echoing within the sterile confines.

I steal a glance at Daisy, her features strained with worry. It’s still early in the evening, but the day’s events have already sapped all the energy from me.

“I’d rather not,” I say through pursed lips. “Is there any way I could just ... take it easy, head home for the night, and come back tomorrow?”

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