Page 23 of Parallel

“Well, if this turns out to be something, I still think you shouldswitch.”

No. My shoulders are rigid and it takes everything in my power not to snap at him. His concerns have nothing to do with Nick’s professional abilities. He’s just jealous, and as much as it pisses me off…he’s more right than he knows. For my own sanity, for the health of our future together, Nick Reilly is the last person I should be spending timewith.

10

QUINN

Nick creeps into the flat, trying hard not to wake me. He always does this, on the nights he works late, but I’m a light sleeper and there are little things that give him away long before he sets foot in the room: the clink of keys against a counter, a coat falling against a chair. He keeps a spare toothbrush at the kitchen sink for nights like this, just so the bathroom light won’t wakeme.

“I’m up,” I tell him when he comes into the bedroom, feeling around in the darkness for the dresser before he stubs his toe on itagain.

“Sorry,” he says. He pulls off his scrubs and slips beneath the sheets, wrapping cold arms around me, pulling the covers up to my chin. “I tried to bequiet.”

“I was already awake.” I scoot until I’m pressed tight to his chest. His bare skin, his smell, the weight of his arm—they’re all I need in the entire world right now. “I had the weirdest dream and woke up allupset.”

His calloused hand squeezes my arm lightly in sympathy. “Whatdream?”

My legs stretch, tangle with his. “We were together but we were teenagers, I think? And we were trying toelope.”

His low laugh brushes my ear. “That does sound terrifying. I’m bad enough now. A teenage Nick wouldn’t have left you alone for aminute.”

I roll his way, wishing I could laugh with him but I can’t yet. It all still feels so real. “We were at this gas station and I called home to tell my mother what we were doing and you were inside, in line. And I started crying because I was never going to see you again. I just knew somehow that it was all over, and I was going to die. And then I wokeup.”

I can’t get it out of my head—the sight of him in the convenience store, smiling at me from his place in line, while I stood there panicked, certain it was over. The distress I feel in dreams normally fades immediately. This one though—it remainsunchanged.

His lips press to the top of my head. “Hon, it doesn’t require a degree to figure that one out. Call your mom. She’s probably going to be less upset with you for getting married than she is that you waited so long to tell her. And you’re an adult. It’s not like she can ground you and lock you in yourroom.”

I nod, but I’m not so sure he’sright.

* * *

I wake missing Nick.I close my eyes and can almost imagine the way he fit against me, long arms pulling me tight. The mint from his toothpaste, a hint of chlorine as I buried my face into his chest. Jeff and I don’t cuddle like that, and he isn’t someone I share my worries with—I suppose because I’m too busy shouldering his. I leaned on Nick in that dream, physically and mentally, and it’s something I didn’t know I was missing until this morning. My future with Jeff contains wonderful things: a house, kids, a trip to the Jersey shore every summer. But right now I’m aching for what my future won’t containinstead.

I dress and head to the hospital. My inappropriate eagerness to see Nick outweighs my dread of what he might say—I’ve almost convinced myself that the need for another MRI is meaninglessanyway.

I’ve just signed in when his head pops around the corner. Like an idiot, like a teen with a crush, I begin blushing. It’s so strange to see him now, to be a stranger to him, when in my head, we were together an hour ago. I can still remember him sliding against me, bare aside from hisboxers.

I blush harder. I remember removing those boxerstoo.

“Come on back,” he says, holding the door so I can walk past. We go to his office, which is larger than I’d have anticipated. His diplomas are on the wall and there are photos too. I keep my eyes focused straight ahead, scared of what I’ll discover if I look too closely. It’s funny it never occurred to me, until this moment, that he might not be single. My gaze shifts to his ring finger. It’s bare. My shoulders settleagain.

He perches on the edge of the desk, long legs eating up the distance between us. “I’m sorry we had to ask you to come back in. How do you feeltoday?”

“Great,” I reply, “but I’m wondering why I need anothertest.”

He nods, his hands wrapping around the edge of the desk. “I don’t want you to panic when I tell you this, but we found something on your scansyesterday.”

Found something. I freeze, suddenly aware of my heart, pounding louder than normal, so loud I’m surprised he can’t hear ittoo.

He rises, flipping on a light board just to our left. What I presume is an image of my brain hangs there. I’m oddly relieved to see it looks normal, as if I thought it might be half a human brain and half something wildly improbable, like antennae or another set of teeth. “This,” he says, pointing at a black dot in its center, “is what we found. It’s so small I’m not even sure it’s what’s caused your seizures. Something of that size, in that location, should not besymptomatic.”

“What is it?” Iwhisper.

He takes the seat beside me. His eyes are the softest gray-blue, like the wings of a dove. “It appears to be atumor.”

Ice fills my lungs, making a deep breath impossible. “Atumor.”

His hand reaches out, and for a moment I’m certain it’s going to grab mine. But just like yesterday, he stops himself. “The majority of brain tumors are benign, so I really don’t want you stressing about this just yet. You very well could have had this for your entirelife.”

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