Page 36 of On the Brink of Passion

I open the envelope and inside are a bunch of pictures. No, pictures isn’t quite right. Images? Not X-rays, but more like an MRI or something?

“What the hell are these?”

“Those are an MRA and a CTA. Kind of like an MRI and a—”

“I know what that means.” He doesn’t seem to take offense at my tone but just crosses an ankle over a knee as I stare at the images, trying to make sense out of them at all. But people train for years and years to be able to read these things, and I barely got my GED. It just looks like cross-sections of someone’s head, and weird squiggles.

“Seriously, what the fuck is this?”

“Proof.”

His quiet one-word answer makes me look up. He’s looking back at me, his blue eyes wide and earnest and I can’t look at him in the face for long, because he’s killing me.

“Proof of what?” I mutter, turning my attention back to the black and white Rorschach-looking things in my lap.

“Proof that I’m not going to keel over dead from a brain aneurysm at practice one day, injuring you in the process.”

The scowl on my face would freeze most men’s balls off, but Beckett isn’t most men.

“Scowl at me all you want, honey, I’m game.”

Maddening. Which is the only reason there’s a lump forming in my throat. Rage crying, that’s what I’m getting ready to do. It’s totally a thing. One I’ve only ever experienced once before, but Beckett seems to inspire the most aggravating reactions in me so I wouldn’t be surprised if he caused my first wrath weeping.

“Did you also get your heart checked? Because there’s heart attacks, and all kinds of other bad . . . things that can be wrong with your heart and you’d never know.” I can feel the tendons in my neck pressing against my skin as my chest shudders in and out. With my nostrils flaring with my hope-and fear-laden breaths, I must look ridiculously attractive.

“No, I didn’t. But I can if you want. I’ll get a work-up like the world has never seen if it means I get to be with you, but you’ve also got to realize I could leave your apartment building and get hit by a bus.”

“You couldn’t, because there aren’t any bus routes that go down my street.”

“Fine. I could get hit by a bus leaving the clinic where I will have undergone all of these expensive and unnecessary tests.”

More glaring at his preposterous counterarguments, and I get more smiling in return. Even his teeth are perfect. Jerk.

“You’re not doing a great job making your case.”

“I think it’s a great way. I mean, if you came with me, you could get hit by the bus instead. And yet see how I’m still willing to take that chance?”

I shake my head. It’s not the same, and he knows it. This is not a hypothetical to me, this is my real life. It’s not like I’m paranoid, because this has happened to me. In less time than it takes to pull off a triple axel, I lost everything. My skating partner, my husband, my life. I even came perilously close to losing my career in the same fell swoop. It’s not fair of him to compare himself to me, and he goddamn well knows it. “It’s not the same.”

The timer on my phone goes off, and I pick it up to make the beeping stop. It’s far away enough on the table that I have to stand up to reach it. Part of me wants Beckett to leave, but another part of me wants him to stay forever. I suppose I can split the difference for now and let him stay until he makes me really unhappy and then I’ll kick him out.

After I’ve shut the alarm off and I’m still on my feet, he stands too. He moves to hold me, and heaven help me, I don’t resist. Don’t want to resist. I’ve missed him so much, I feel like I’ve severed a limb.

“Hey, I know it’s not. I’m not trying to make light of Stephen’s death. I’d never do that. I know how much he meant to you—how much he still means to you—and I don’t want to replace him. He can’t be replaced. To be honest, if you could give me a fraction of the love you gave to him, I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

Beckett brushes some of my greasy hair back from my face and my insides go quivery.

“I do know what it’s like to be abandoned. I do know what it’s like to be alone. I know what it is to lie awake at night wishing for someone back with all my heart. I know you can’t have Stephen back, and believe me, I’m sorry for that. If I could trade places with him so you could be that happy again, I would. But the world doesn’t work like that, so all I have to offer you is me. I know I’m not him, and I swear I’ll never try to be, but you can’t tell me Stephen wouldn’t want you to be happy.”

I’ve had this argument with myself a hundred thousand times. What would Stephen want my life to look like after him? I’m pretty sure Beckett is right, and what kind of monster would Stephen be if he wanted me to suffer, pining for him, wasting away to nothing because I missed him so much? He wasn’t a monster. He was kind and generous, and he loved me to the ends of the earth. Until the very last millisecond of his life.

I want to answer Beckett, tell him something, even if it’s to shut the fuck up and get out, but I can’t seem to find my voice. Maybe it’s my heart strangling my throat in an effort to get me to shut up and listen to him.Let him give you something you can believe in.

“I swear to you that I will do anything in my power to make you feel happy, safe, and loved. I want to cherish you, Jubilee. I want you to be my sunrise and my sunset. I want you to be my moon and my stars. But if you can only give me the light of a single candle, I’ll take that too. A little flicker of hope. Please.”

Beckett

This is further than I’ve ever gotten. She’s letting me touch her, letting me talk. She didn’t send me away even after the alarm went off. She could have and I would’ve gone. There’s a limit to how far I’m willing to travel down theshe-says-no-but-I-know-she-means-yespath. It’s not very far.

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