Page 54 of Saving His Heart
Dear Loki,
Do I write dear when I’m writing to a dude? I can’t remember what the etiquette books say, and I doubt you give a shit either way. My dad’s been gone a year, it’s hard to believe, and yet, at the same time, it feels like a lifetime has passed.
I know when your parents died, and you moved in with us, you became close with him, too. I hate that none of us got the chance to say good-bye, so in a way, I guess that is what these journals will be for me. A final good-bye spread out over as many years as I have. I’m starting with you because you are a Westbrook in all but name, and I’m worried about you. I’m not sure what happened to you the last couple of years, but I’m going to keep an eye on you, brother. Even when I’m gone, you’ll always be a part of my family. I want you to know that.
Good old Sylvie Westbrook has eight sons as far as she is concerned, so don’t let her down when I pass. She and my brothers will need you to step in for a while, and I know you will. If you’re reading this, I’ve already passed. I’m sorry for not telling everyone the truth, but I had my reasons.
Dad had a heart condition, something called cardiomyopathy, and it had the possibility of being genetic. You might remember my brothers and I all flying to Boston after the funeral for testing. Easton, Halt, Colton, and Ash’s tests were all negative. Mine was not.
I have a slightly more aggressive form of cardiomyopathy, and there is no cure. Without a heart transplant, my life expectancy is eight to ten years. I also lucked out in that I have a rare blood type that requires a very specific donor. The chances of me receiving one is less than half percent. It’s taken time and a hell of a lot of whiskeys, but I’ve come to terms with my diagnosis.
I decided early on not to tell anyone, and I’ll stand by it for all of my days. Had you known, I wouldn’t have been able to live my life with all of you authentically. You would have (rightly so) treated me differently, and that’s not how I’m choosing to spend my time. Is this selfish of me? Maybe, but I’m the one dying here, not you. (That was supposed to be a joke, by the way.)
I know you will all be sad. My mom may not recover, but I need you to be there for everyone. Dexter and Trevor will help, I’m getting to their journals next, but I’m asking you, as my friend, take care of everyone when I’m gone. Be the glue for our group and don’t let the guys fall away from each other. We have been friends for this long, don’t let anything tear you apart.
I’m sure you are looking at this book and wondering what the fuck I was thinking. So I’ll tell you. I want to live an honest life for as long as possible, but there will always be restrictions, things I will miss out on, and it haunts me. You are each getting one of these books so I can write to you, and you’ll have a piece of me with you forever. I won’t write every day, but when I do, it will be because something memorable happened that day or because I saw something you didn’t.
Some pages will be fucking tear-jerkers, some you may get pissed, and others will always give you a sense of home. What I promise you is that every page will be from my heart, so don’t shit on my parade and know that I love you.
Preston
Jesus, it’s been a long time since I read that, and it brings me right back to that day. My tears dot the page, blurring the ink where they fell. Each book has them. I never thought about the reaction they might have for the readers until now, though. I wish I had. It makes this whole thing that much fucking harder.
Turning back to Emory’s, I grab my pen.
Dear Emory,
I make one of these for everyone in my life. I have been doing it for years now. I’m just sorry yours won’t have as many entries because I’m pretty sure if I had the time, I could fill a hundred books for you.
“What are you doing?” Emory’s sweet voice asks.
I quickly flip her journal over and put Loki’s back on top. “I’m just writing.”
The rise of her eyebrow and crossed arms that push her tits up in a fantastic way tell me she is looking for more of an answer. Sighing, I point to the window shelf where they are all lined up.
“A year after my diagnosis, I started writing to everyone I love. When I decided to keep it from them, I wanted to be able to explain why. Then it turned into my final good-bye of sorts.”
Emory walks to the window, sinking to the floor as she runs her hands over the smooth leather of each one.
She runs a delicate finger over the engravings. “Do you ever think that you should allow them their chance to say good-bye?”
Getting off the bed, I walk to her and slide the two other journals onto the shelf with the spine of hers going in backward. Offering my hand, I help her stand.
“All the time,” I admit, but quickly change the subject. “How was Mr. T today?” She is continuing to volunteer at the infusion center, even though I ended my treatments. The benefits no longer outweigh the side effects for me.
“I’m afraid he won’t make it to Christmas.” Emory’s voice is soft and shaky. She has grown to care so much for this man. I hate that she will probably lose us both at the same time.
It makes me even more pissed that Ashton is dragging his feet in getting me this information about her license. She will need the distraction of practicing medicine after the holidays. I have a sinking feeling I’m not going to make it to Christmas either.
“Is that why you’re spending so much time in my library? Are you researching treatments for him?”
She stiffens, and I know whatever she is about to say won’t be a complete truth.
“Partly. I just feel like I’m missing something with the both of you. GG keeps telling me I’m going to ‘fixem.’ I just can’t figure out which one of you she’s talking about. I know it sounds crazy, but the longer I talk to her, the more she scares me. Those damn cards of hers keep telling her stuff she shouldn’t know.”
What the hell did GG figure out now?
“She is a little scary,” I agree. GG is still staying with us, though thankfully, she spends most of the day with Lanie and Dex. “But you can’t keep coming to bed every night, exhausted.” I know she is looking for a needle in the haystack that will save me, but I’ve come to terms with what my life is. I hate that she is running herself ragged searching for cures that don’t exist, though.
