Page 148 of A Little Complicated

I pull back, surprised. “What?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, but he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t have a future.”

“Mav—”

He gives me another helpless, almost resigned look as his chest caves. “I’m dying, Opie.”

45

OPHELIA

The words crash into me like a wrecking ball. They nearly knock me on my ass as I stand in front of him, replaying the words over and over again in my head.

I’m dying, Opie.

I’m dying.

Dying.

Clutching the edge of the door behind me for balance, I whisper, “What?”

His eyes shut, and he shakes his head. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“No. It’s not possible,” I argue. “There’s no way—”

“You really think I’d make this shit up, Lia?”

He’s right. He wouldn’t. No one would. You don’t joke about death. You don’t joke about dying. But the alternative makes me queasy and lightheaded. It’s not true. It can’t be. Acid burns my throat, but I swallow it back, sucking my quivering bottom lip into my mouth.

Attempting to maintain a semblance of composure, I slip my hand between us and tuck my hair behind my ear, ignoring the way my body trembles. “H-how do you know?”

“I’d been feeling really tired and shit, even passed out during practice at the end of last season, remember?”

My lips part, and I nod. “I remember.”

“I’d been getting winded and dizzy at practice, so I went to the doctor, and—”

“Before prom,” I finish. The memory is both hazy, yet so sharp and vibrant, it feels like it happened yesterday.

He dips his chin. “Yeah. The, uh, the doctor discovered I have HCM.”

The letters are meaningless to me, so I ask, “What’s HCM?”

“Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.”

“I don’t”—I peek up at him—“I don’t know what that means, either.”

His chuckle is almost warm but defeated, too, as it ruffles the hair along the top of my head. “My heart’s hypertrophying.”

The words jumble together like Scrabble pieces, leaving me just as confused. I shake my head, wiping at the corner of my eye and the moisture collecting there. “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me, Mav.”

He grabs my hand, dragging his thumb along my fingertips in hopes of erasing the evidence of my tears. Bringing them to his lips, he kisses me. “The tissue in my heart is getting thicker,” he clarifies, “making it harder for my heart to pump and work properly. For most people, it’s not life-threatening. They can go on to live normal lives as long as they keep their blood pressure in check and their doctors keep an eye on them.”

“Most people?” I swallow back the stubborn bile, but it still coats my throat. “I assume that doesn’t include you?”

“Doctor said I got the shit end of the deal.”

Squeezing my eyes closed, I let a tear slip free as his words wash over me. “W-what do you mean?”

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