Page 15 of Healed Hearts

“Not you, CT, the coffee,” he says. Oh fuck yes, I’m CT again. I feel like I’m back on even ground with Beck. “Well, I love you too. But the coffee, Hold. The coffee.”

A laugh breaks free of my chest, and within seconds he’s laughing too. I set down the spatula and turn to him. “I’m sorry.”

He’s shaking his head before I’m even done speaking. “No, don’t do that. I pushed too hard.I’msorry.” I stumble forward. I need physical contact. Fuck, I hate needing this.I hate it.But at least I have a safe way to get it now. The second I’m within reach, Beck wraps me in his arms and I sink into him, letting him infuse me with his warmth and kindness. “I’m so sorry, Hold. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”

His lips press into my hair. I want to stay right where I am. I need it. I feel so fucking off-kilter, but he’s apologizing tome, and he didn’t do anything wrong, and it’s making me feel all weird and squirmy inside, so I force myself to let go of him and give his exposed nipple a twist. He yelps, jumping away from me. “Don’t let it happen again,” I say, smirking at him.

He glares at me as he rubs his nipple, and Roman walks into the room. “Are you abusing my fiancé, Hold?”

“I would never,” I say at the exact same time that Beck says, “Yes.”

Roman chuckles. “I don’t know if I believe that, Hold. Seems like something you would do.” I shrug, neither confirming nor denying, and turn back to the stove to finish up cooking.

We eat breakfast together before Beck and I head out to go to work. Things feel normal—settled—none of the remnants of our argument last night to be found. Thank God.

Chapter Six

Julian

“Okay. Thank you for calling. We’ll come right in,” I say, my voice shaky.

I hang up the phone and look at Wren. I have no idea what’s going on, but the fact that they want us to come in to discuss her blood work isn’t a good sign, right? Surely if it was nothing, they would have told me that.

The familiar feeling of an impending anxiety attack starts to wash over me, so I run to the bathroom. Wren doesn’t need to see this again. I scared the hell out of her yesterday at the hospital.

I leave a small crack in the door, just enough that Wren can call for me if she needs me and I’ll hear. Gripping the counter, I try to pull deep breaths into my lungs.C’mon, Julian. Stay calm.

It doesn’t matter how much I talk to myself or breathe, the anxiety is building—constricting my chest like a vice, until I feel like I can’t draw in a deep breath.

Stay calm. It’s okay.

Why do they want me to come to the hospital? What could be wrong with her? Why wouldn’t they just tell me on the phone?

My heart is pounding against my ribs, and my vision goes blurry. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to block out the panic and the images of Maya in her hospital bed—withering away to nothing.

My grip on the counter is so tight that I’m not at all surprised to find my knuckles are white when I finally open my eyes.

Deep breaths, Julian.

I open the medicine cabinet with shaky hands, my eyes locking on the bottle of antianxiety meds they prescribed me when Maya was dying. I grab them, shoving them into the pocket of my sweats.

Get Wren back to the hospital and you can take one, Julian.Is it cool to make deals like that with myself? No. Probably not, but right now, I’ll do just about anything to trick my brain into calming down so I can get her where she needs to be. I turn on the sink, splashing some cold water on my face. The shock of it seems to pull me back to myself a little more. Okay, good. I hold my hand up, and while there is a slight tremor, it’s nowhere near what it was.

With another steadying breath, I turn on my heel and head back into my bedroom to get Wren ready. History has taught to me to prepare for the worst. So, after I help her put her shoes on, I go into her room to pack her a small bag with a couple of her favorite toys, and a few changes of clothes—just in case.

She seems better today, smiling and laughing, so the thought of something being wrong makes me feel out of control. I can’t even protect my own kid, and that sucks. No one warns you how hard it would be to not have all the answers.

“Wren, we have to go back to the hospital. Are you ready?”

She nods, blinking big brown eyes up at me. “We see Holden, Daddy?”

I know I shouldn’t, but I laugh. It seems the man has us both enamored. She hasn’t stopped talking about him once. Between my own mind, and her little voice saying his name, he’s been a constant presence in my thoughts. “Maybe, baby girl.”I hope so.

Once again, Wren and I are sitting in a hospital room. I somehow managed to make it in here without the need for the pills I have stashed in my pocket, but what I’m seeing on my phone is makingnottaking one seem more and more unlikely.

The doctor who came in today told us that her CBC came back abnormal. That all her counts were low. It sounded like gibberish through the pounding in my ears when he explained it, so I thought it would be best for me to search some things.Wrong.Because now I’m spiraling. Wren has not a care in the world, playing on the exam table with a doll, but I can’t say the same for myself. And I hate it. Hate that I can’t even handle the smallest fucking things without spiraling into anxiety. I was never like this until Maya got sick.

Note to self: when a doctor tells you that your daughter’s counts are low, do not add that, plus the tiredness, plus the random bruise you still have no explanation for, to your search bar.

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