Page 119 of My Last Dance

“What does that mean?” I asked. He sat, staring at the carpet. My eyes scanned his body, like I’d somehow be able to tell what was wrong. “What’s going on? You have to tell me. Please start talking before I—”

“My dad,” he said, cutting me off.

“Your dad?” I questioned slowly. The only time I’d ever seen him was in the wedding picture above the mantel at his mom’s house.

“He died.”

“Of…?”

“Cardiac arrest.” His hands trembled. “At thirty-two.”

My stomach dropped. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean that’s going to happen to you.” I shook my head. “That doesn’t mean that you have the same—”

“I have it.” He held his jaw as he stared up at me.

It felt like I was plunged underwater. “What?” My mind ran through the past, trying to place when this would’ve happened. “When?” My voice came out as a whisper. “When did you find out?”

“In the spring, I didn’t have a concussion,” he repeated. “I passed out at practice. The team labeled it as concussion protocol so no one would ask questions. I wrote it off as a fluke. Buried it deep. Pretended it didn’t happen. I was too nervous to go to the check-ups, so I just blew them off.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “We only had one game left, so I just pretended everything was fineuntil…”

“Until?” I croaked.

He closed his eyes like this conversation was hurting him, but I needed this information. We needed to fix this. Right now.

“Until when?” I demanded, feeling equal parts scared and furious that I was just finding out about this.

“End of the hockey season, mandatory testing.” He sighed. “They pulled me away from the group and made me do this EKG stress test. Mine was all fucked.”

My mind spun. “End of the hockey season?” I ran through my mental calendar. That was smack in the middle of my two months in Montreal. “That wasmonthsago, almost a year ago.”

Everything started to click into place then. The way he was acting all off-balanced after picking me up from the airport. The way his mom was crying. The way he got emotional when visiting Centre Ice.

“I thought it was just…” He shook his head, cutting himself off. “I don’t know what to say. I was in denial. I felt good. I thought it was just…a fluke. A mistake.”

Everything was tunneling in on me. My ears rang. My eyes blurred.He passed out on the ice.MyRichard passed out. His dad. Thirty-two. Richard was thirty-two.

“We have to go. We’re going to a hospital. We’ll fix this.” I reached for his hand to pull him up, but he wouldn’t budge.

“No.”

“What do you mean? What are you saying?” Shaking my head, I started frantically gathering our clothes and shoving them into our bags. “C’mon.”

He stood up. “Stop, Piper. Just…stop.”

“Why aren’t you moving?” I asked, my whole body trembling with panic.

“Because I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “We have the Gala.”

I stared up at him in utter disbelief. He must’ve lost his ever-loving mind. “Skating doesn’t matter!” I burst out, shocking even myself by those words, but it was true, and I didn’t take it back.

“Yes, it does. It’s the only thing that matters to me,” he bit back.

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re wrong. What thefuckare you doing to yourself, Richard?” I cried. All the information whirled in my brain. “Why aren’t you finding out if you need treatment? Medication, surgery! It could be getting worse!”

He just shrugged.

Feeling like my legs were giving out on me, I braced myself against the dresser. My mind ran through all of our exchanges over the last few months.How had I missed this? How?My brain snagged on one vital question, one that he meticulously avoided over all these months together.

“Why are you skating with me?” I asked. “You told me it was because you liked me, but you also told me it was self-serving.”

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