Page 94 of You Owe Me

The casual affection in her message makes my chest tight in a way that has nothing to do with my condition. She trusts me. Completely. The same way she trusted me last night when I told her to get in that tattoo chair.

And now I’m about to repay that trust by lying to her face for three days straight.

I sit in my car for a long moment, engine running, trying to figure out how to make this work. The story needs to be airtight—simple enough that I won’t contradict myself, detailed enough that she won’t ask too many questions.

Cooper’s baseball season is winding down. Pops has been asking me to visit. The timing works perfectly for a long weekend trip that just happens to coincide with major cardiac surgery.

My phone buzzes. Sebastian again.

“What?” I answer on the second ring.

“Poker night’s still on, right? Rowan found some fresh blood—a kid from the business school who thinks he knows how to count cards.”

“No, it’s canceled.”

Silence. Then, “Everything okay?”

“Family stuff. I’m driving out to see Pops Friday morning, probably staying through the weekend.”

Another pause. Sebastian knows me well enough to recognize when I’m not telling the whole truth, but he also knows me well enough not to push when my voice goes flat like this.

“Want company? I could drive out with you, catch up with Cooper.”

“No. Family time.”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound convinced, but he doesn’t argue. “Text me when you get there.”

“Will do.”

I end the call and immediately pull up Ainsley’s contact. My thumb hovers over her name for a solid minute before I finally type:

I need to take a trip to see Pops this Friday. I’ll be gone for the weekend. Will you be okay alone?

Her response comes back almost immediately:

That’s so sweet of you. I’ll be fine!

And just like that, the foundation is laid.

By Saturday, if everything goes according to plan, I’ll be recovering in some anonymous hotel room, fielding texts about Cooper’s games and Pops’s latest fishing stories, pretending I’m exactly where I said I’d be.

The lies come together with mechanical precision. Room reservations at a hotel near the hospital. A cover story about Pops wanting help with some quarterly reports. Backup plansfor backup plans, because that’s what you do when you’re used to controlling every variable in your environment.

Except this time, I’m not controlling anything. I’m just managing the fallout from a body that refuses to cooperate with my schedule.

My watch buzzes. 138 BPM. Still elevated, but better than it was an hour ago. Three more days of this, and then hopefully, it’ll be someone else’s problem for a while.

I put the car in drive and head back toward campus, already mentally rehearsing the performance I’ll need to give. Casual mentions of Pops wanting to see me. Complaints about having to spend a weekend dealing with family business instead of more interesting pursuits. Maybe even a few jokes about how boring it’ll be, stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but listen to old-man stories.

The Irony is that all of this—the lies, the deception, the elaborate cover-up—is supposed to protect the people I care about. Ainsley doesn’t need to worry about surgical complications when she’s already stressed about whatever she’s been hiding. Pops doesn’t need to know his grandson’s heart is acting up when he’s still recovering from his own health scares.

Sometimes protection and betrayal look the same.

The difference is intent. And right now, my intent is to come back from this weekend the same as I left—just with a heart that actually works the way it’s supposed to.

Everything else is just details.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

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