Page 13 of Saving His Heart
“Okay, Preston. Any shortness of breath today? Any nausea? Sweating for no apparent reason? Shakiness? Weakness or fatigue? Blurred vision?” she runs through the list just like every night before.
“Your hair. It used to be redder,” I say instead of answering.
Emory stares at me like I have six heads. “Preston, I’ve been here for almost a year, and you’re just now realizing my hair is different?”
I stare at her, wondering why I never noticed. Gone is the strawberry shades of red. Now she’s blonde with golden highlights framing her heart-shaped face.
“When you put it like that, I sound like an asshole,” I acknowledge. “Why? I mean, it looks great, but the red was stunning.”
“I just needed a change.” She sighs, then as an afterthought, adds, “I guess I wanted to hide.”
“Why would you need to hide, Ems?”
“What?” She finally looks up from the machine. I have a feeling she just dropped a truth she hadn’t planned to share.
“Your hair, Ems. Why did you change it?” I ask again.
“Women’s prerogative, I suppose,” she evades. “So, any symptoms?” She is back in Dr. Camden mode.
I don’t take my eyes off of her even though it causes her to fidget uncontrollably. She is a mystery I’m now determined to solve. “Nothing, Doc,” I finally say with a wink. “Maybe Dr. Terry is wrong. How can I be this healthy and only have a handful of months left?” I’m aiming for lighthearted, carefree fun, and fail miserably.
“Preston …”
“I know, Emory. I know. No transplant is a death sentence. I’m just trying to, Christ, I don’t know. I just have to aim for the positive sometimes,” I tell her.
Placing both hands on my shoulders, she forces me to look at her. I know she is checking my pupils, but I notice something different in her eyes when I meet her gaze tonight. A pit the size of Texas forms in my gut.
“Alright then, shirt off and lay back so I can get you hooked up. This will be easier when Dr. Terry implants the portable catheter. Once that’s available, we won’t have to continue damaging your veins and it will help with all this bruising, too,” she murmurs while inspecting my arms. “Get comfy, I’ll get the pillows for your feet.”
Doing as she asks, I reach for her one more time to see if she recoils. As I do, I get the same shock, and from her wide-eyed stare, I know she felt it, too.What the hell is that?
“Ems, listen. I know we have known each other for almost a year, but is this the first time I have touched you? That can’t be right, can it? I don’t know if you know this about me, but I am a really affectionate guy. My entire family will know something is off if we aren’t demonstrative. You’re going to have to get used to me, touching you,” I breathe.Yeah, if you get that electric shock every time you touch her, you will have to get used to it, too!
Wait.What the hell is going on?I know Dex and Trevor both said they started having very loud consciences when they fell in love, but that’s not what this is. This, between Emory and me, is pretend—it’s fake. I don’t get the happily ever after. My conscience would do well to remember that.
Emory is waiting for me expectantly, and I know I missed her response.
“Preston, I said, we’ve had a strictly professional relationship. Okay, well, a pseudo-professional one, at least given the circumstances. You’ve had no reason to touch me. I can promise you, though, if I could pretend to be happy with my ex for so long, I can definitely pretend to be your girlfriend.”
I have so many questions for her, but I’m afraid to push too much too fast.
“We will need to have ground rules, though—real ground rules, and maybe a contract,” she says distractedly. “I definitely need my own room. That isn’t a question. We can show affection when absolutely required and in moderation.” Emory moves around me, setting up the IV and drip bag infusion, and I take the chance to stare without being caught.
Her hair falls a few inches below her shoulders in waves while her delicate features fight to be seen. I notice she works hard at blending in and want to kick myself for missing what’s been under my nose for so long. Emory is beautiful, with a light smattering of freckles covering her nose and fanning out across her cheeks. Her eyes are deep pools of emotion, and I know I could get lost in them for days.If only I were a different man.
Scared to touch her again, I say, “Emory, we have plenty of time for the details, okay? This is a lot all at once for us both. Let’s just let it be for tonight so we can both wrap our heads around our expectations, okay?”
Emory nods her head and mumbles something I don’t catch. Knowing I’ll be in this position for at least an hour, I try to relax.
“So, Ems, tell me about your sisters.”
Her shoulders lower with a genuine smile I realize I have never seen before, and it brightens the entire room.
“Where to begin? Honestly, Preston, they’re amazing. Even after I ruined their lives with my stupidity, they have never held it against me. Eli is twenty-three, Tilly is twenty-two, and Sloane, the baby, is twenty-one, but never call her the baby to her face.” She laughs.
I want to ask why she thinks she ruined their lives, but it feels like prying. How have I spent every single day for a year with this girl and know nothing about her?
“Are they still in Camden Crossing?” I ask.
