Page 44 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
But I didn’t know.
Later, she sent that email explaining some of what she’d been through.Vague medical terms that I didn’t fully grasp at the time.By the time I replied, she didn’t answer.And when I wrote to her to congratulate her on her BSN, I thought whatever we had had fizzled out (on her part).
She hesitates.“The year before Pittsburg, when I told you my parents and I were going on a cruise after my finals, for Christmas, that’s when I did my autologous stem cell transplant.A few days after, I had full-blown sepsis.My heart…” she exhales sharply, like she’s still hearing the beeping, still feeling the burn in her veins.“SVT.A spectacular one, apparently.They had to stop it with adenosine.The one night one of my parents didn’t stay overnight because my grandma had fallen and needed help and my dad had to work.”
The word hits like a fucking punch.Adenosine.I understand what that means.What it does.The sensation of your heart stopping before it starts again.My throat closes up.While I was probably pulling all-nighters over anatomy textbooks, Eve’s heart was being chemically reset like some malfunctioning equipment.And I wasn’t there.Couldn’t be there.Didn’t even know to check in on her that night when her parents couldn’t stay.The thought of her lying there alone with monitors beeping and nurses rushing in makes something primal twist inside me, a helplessness I can’t stand.
She was alone.
And I thought that time I got kicked by Mrs.Clark’s rescue horse was a bad day.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.It’s not a competition,” she murmurs.
My fingers trace a circle on her hip, and she doesn’t look away.All those times she wore my UPenn shirt, she was fighting for her life, and I had no idea.
“I didn’t tell you because I wanted normal.Because I didn’t want to talk about fevers and heart rates… I wanted…” She trails off.“I wanted to be me.”
I get that.
Inhaling deeply, I stay still for a moment.Processing.Outside, winter batters the windows of Sally’s overheated B&B.The mechanical Santa display across the street keeps flashing its damn nose through our window, painting Eve’s bare shoulder red every few seconds.Normally I’d get up and close the curtains tight, but right now?I’d let a whole army of light-up reindeer watch to keep her talking, to keep her here.
I was what she needed during another Christmas season.I just didn’t know what she was surviving.
I drag a hand over my face.“Fuck, Eve.I should have—”
“No.”She shakes her head.“You were there in the way I let you be there.And I know you.You would have made it your personal mission to save me.You would have looked at me differently.”She swallows again.“And then… when I was finally able to sit up again without help?” She stops.“I put my pink wig on.”Her voice is lighter, but it’s not a joke.“It was itchier than before.Turned the light off so I wouldn’t see too much.”She inhales sharply.“Crossed my fingers I still had eyebrows.”
I swallow hard.Because fuck.
And then she whispers, “That’s when I called you.”
Chapter fourteen
ADAM
That’swhenshecalledme?My chest clenches with the weight of everything she went through, with the boulder of everything I wish I knew.
“You picked up,” she says, voice soft.“And the first thing you asked me was if I’d watched the latestiZombie.”
I blink.Because that’s it.That’s what I was to her in that moment.Not a doctor.Not a caregiver.Not someone asking about her numbers or the next scan.I was… me.Not trying to make anything better.Or do anything.
And she needed that.And I had no idea.
I wrap my arm around her, holding her, caressing her back, listening even as my heart’s turned into a wolf that wants to howl at the damn moon.For her.
“You told me you had gotten back and were doing an internship.That you were between breaks.”
“You started ranting about Liv’s latest brain and how the medical accuracy was complete shit,” she continues.“And I wanted to tell you that hospital Jello had nothing on brain-food styling.Like Liv my taste buds went bu-bye for a bit after transplant and I couldn’t even dose the food in hot sauce.”
My other hand tightens at the base of her skull, fingers sliding into her hair as I tip her chin up.I brush my thumb along her jaw, voice rougher than I mean it to be.
“I would have been there for you.In any way you wanted me to.”I pause.“Granted, I was younger,” I admit.“Still working on being frustrated when I couldn’t help people… but I would have tried.And Eve, you were and are fucking funny, brilliant, beautiful.”
“That’s the thing, though.”She shakes her head.“Everyone was trying...no one was just being.”She lets out a small laugh, but it’s tired.Worn.“And I couldn’t tell the truth like, there’s nothing inspirational about singing‘cancer go away’in the shower after another stint at the ER because you had fever and you stumble while you walk because your neuropathy got pretty bad.”She shivers.“Or they give you a bone marrow biopsy without anesthesia.Or you start learning the pattern: the good days and the shitty ones, but something fucks up your new routine again.”
I don’t tell her that she sounds strong.Or that I cannot imagine.I let her talk.
“I did the work before the transplant.The paperwork.The what-ifs.The thinking.Therapy where I learned to communicate better.And I almost told you.”Her voice drops to barely above a whisper.“But I still wanted a romance novel moment.”Another breath.“And calling you?That was that.And it was real.Without being real.”She’s steadier now, but I catch every micro-expression.“You mentioned Comic-Con not long after without worrying about my reaction.Six months after transplant.Six months before Pittsburgh.”Her laugh turns bitter.“iZombiewas going to be there, and I almost went.”
