Page 27 of Manhattan Heart

Gray is going under the knife for the most vital organ we have and I’m devastated. My fear reaches heights I’ve never been to before and I cry it all out.

I cry until I’m dry and heaving. Until my chest hurts and my eyes sting.

I cry until I can safely say there’s no more tears left in me and I can calmly clean my face and pad back to bed some two hours later.

I don’t sleep. Of fucking course I don’t.

What decent wife would get a wink of sleep now or ever again after being given that kind of news?

Instead, I lie in bed next to Gray.

My hand on his chest feeling the familiar thud-thud-thud.

I become obsessed with feeling it keep a steady pace in his sleep, hardly breathing or moving. I concentrate on that rhythmic motion.

Nothing will happen to my Grayson.

It’s an impossibility because I refuse to believe I can ever be in a world where he doesn’t exist.

He’s not just the other half me, or my husband.

He isn’t a dick I fell on and quite liked.

He isn’t just my best friend.

He’s my life.

Gray is the reason I breathe and get up every day.

He’s my whole fucking solar system.

So this heart shit can just suck it.

My confident mask in place, I take a shuddering breathe, waiting for the sun to come up.

And hope I’m right.

C H A P T E R 8

India

Of course, my workaholic husband goes into work the following morning.

It’s not as though he gave me devastating news the night before or anything.

I’m up with God and for someone who hates mornings, that is surprisingly easy.

I’m fixing breakfast when Gray strolls into the living area in just his ass-hugging boxer briefs.

He comes for me instantly, even as the two pups dance around his ankles.

“You didn’t sleep.”

“Is that your way of saying I look monstrous?”

He snickers and hooks me in with a hand around the back of my neck. I get his gorgeous Gray manly scent when he leans in and taps our lips together. “Beauty could never look monstrous. You do look tired though.”

“I’m good. Sit down, I made breakfast.”

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