Page 37 of Manhattan Heart

He told his parents not to come to the hospital, but I’ve called them several times already to let them know everything is fine. His oldest sister now lives in Japan with her husband and his twin siblings are on a school trip to Switzerland.

Mom and Hank have stayed in touch too and I’ll let them know when Gray is in recovery. I’m just glad there’s no gang of people around, I can’t cope with their emotions as well as my own.

Praying like never before that this procedure is as solidly easy and regular as the doctor claims it is.

The inside of my brain is a messy place, it’s not fit for company right now. Serious junction of insecurities and inner fears all tangle as one amalgamation of my own self-awareness and mental instability, aiding in my many freak outs.

It’s his freaking heart.

My god, there’s nothing easy and regular about that.

They’re literally stopping his heart.

The heart that loves me.

The heart that belongs to me.

I can’t stand the thought of it not beating, not even medically induced.

My own starts to race and I bend my head over my clasped hands, trying to breathe, trying to come back to the light side of sane before I lose my shit.

It’s when I’m hunched over my hands that a pair of scuffed boots come into my vision and when I look up the legs that belong to those boots and then see the face, I sigh.

Goddammit. Not him. Not now.

Cal Prince. Prick extraordinaire and Grayson’s best friend.

I still don’t know why. I put it down to Gray being the most tolerant man on the face of the planet. They’re as different as nice and not nice and yet, they’re thick as thieves and seem to get along really well with their other friend Lincoln. I met this overly egotistical prick the first night Gray took me to one of their gigs. The three of them have a rock band together, mostly hobby, but surprisingly they do so well for gigs in and around New York. Cal is the singer and doesn’t he just milk it for all the adulation his ego thrives on. In his daytime life he’s a music teacher, yeah, still shocked about that too.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. Then. “Actually, I don’t care, you can’t be here right now. I can’t deal with you.”

The idiot ignores me and folds himself down at my side, resting both arms on his legs, head turned towards me.

I suppose if you liked the blond, manwhorish, up his own ass look, then you could categorize Cal Prince as good looking. He’s about Gray’s size, with long limbs and all the usual aesthetics to go with being a guy of his age. He has stubble and tattoos, not sure of his money status, but I don’t care. I tolerate him for Gray’s sake, but his personality really just grates on my nerves.

“Any news?”

“No, not yet. What are you doing here?”

“My best friend is having his heart cut open and his wife is alone. Where else would I be, babe?”

“They’re not cutting him open. It’s a minimally invasive procedure, they make holes through his rib cage.”

“He made sure I came to sit with you.”

I look at him skeptically. My eyebrows high on my forehead. “You? Really? I find that hard to believe.”

He half-laughs. “Yet he did, so here I am. He knew I wouldn’t lose my shit like some of your girl squad might.”

Whatever. I have no spare brain power to deal with his bullshit. Not today.

“You can stay, if you have to. But please don’t be you, Cal. I’m tired, okay? I’m terrified and I have no comeback for when you’re a giant asshole. Not today.”

Cal is argumentative, a colossal asshole with a giant ego and most often I give back what he dishes out. He says shit just to get a rise out of people.

Gray insists he’s a decent guy. Where this decency is, I don’t know.

I keep my eyes front and center, counting the milliseconds.

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