Page 110 of Cross Check Hearts

He pauses for a second to watch my face for a reaction. All I can do is stare at him and hang on his every word, my heart pounding. Whatever he says next feels like it’s going to change the rest of my life. When I don’t respond, he leans forward, clasping his hands together.

“There’s an outside possibility you could have a brain tumor, so we need the MRI to rule that out.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. It’s a good thing I’m seated because I might have fallen over if I wasn’t. A rush of cold floods my limbs, and I shake my head, ignoring the pain for the moment. I must have heard incorrectly, must be having a hard time making out what he’s saying because of what’s going on with these migraines.

“A brain tumor?” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. “You really think that’s what this could be?”

“I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily,” he says, his tone gentle. “The MRI will give us clarity. It could be something much more benign—migraines with aura, or even just severe stress. But with the progression of your symptoms, we need to be thorough.”

I nod, but the gesture feels automatic. Distant. Like I’m no longer inhabiting my own body.

Please. No.

Chapter47

Declan

When I park my bike outside Hannah’s apartment, the first thing I notice are the darkened windows. A ripple of concern works its way through me, a frown tugging at my lips. We had plans for dinner since I don’t have a game tonight, and she still hasn’t responded to the texts I sent her about her meeting with the dean.

This silence isn’t like her at all, and it makes me a little worried. Did the meeting go that badly?

After climbing the steps to her door, I knock and wait, straining to hear any movement inside, but I can’t pick up any sounds. I knock again, harder this time, my knuckles rapping sharply against the wood.

“Hannah?” I call, pressing my ear to the door as my pulse picks up a bit. Is she not home? Where else would she be? I’ve gotten to know her schedule at the yoga studio by heart, and she doesn’t have a class tonight. Unless she’s filling in for someone last minute?

I decide I’ll ride by the studio just to check, but as I’m about to turn away and head back toward my bike, I hear the lock click. The door opens a crack, and Hannah peers out, her face half-hidden in shadow. Relief floods through me, quickly replaced by a fresh wave of concern when I catch a glimpse of her expression.

“Hey,” I say, my brows stitching together. “Are you okay? I was getting worried. Can I come in?”

She opens the door wider, and I step forward to kiss her cheek. Her skin feels warmer than usual beneath my lips, and when I draw back, the sight of her red-rimmed eyes stops me cold. The confident, vibrant woman I’ve been falling for harder and harder every day has been replaced by someone who looks like she’s been shattered from the inside out.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, something tightening in my chest. My hand moves to her shoulder, my fingers trailing over the soft fabric of her t-shirt. “Hummingbird, are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer, giving a small shake of her head as she turns and retreats into the darkness of her apartment. I follow her inside, flipping on a light as I close the door behind me. My eyes scan the room for any sign of what could have upset her—did something happen during or after the meeting with the dean? Did her father say something?

The soft light from the lamp floods the room as Hannah curls up on the corner of the couch where she must’ve been sitting before she opened the door. A blanket has been tossed aside on one side of the cushions, and Ralph is sitting beside her. She looks small and fragile in a way that I’ve never seen before. I swallow hard, a sense ofwrongnessbuilding in my chest with every second of her silence.

“Hannah?” I sit beside her, setting a hand gently on her knee.

I can feel a small tremor run through her body as she shifts on the couch cushion. Ralph butts her nose against my arm and looks up at me, her luminescent eyes wide and concerned, but I barely notice it. All of my attention is focused on Hannah’s downturned face.

“Talk to me,” I say quietly. “What happened today?”

She lifts her gaze to mine, her blue and green eyes glazed with tears, and something inside my chest cracks. Before I can say anything else, she breaks down, tears spilling over her lower lids and trailing down her cheeks as her shoulders shake with silent sobs.

“Shit, come here,” I murmur, immediately pulling her into my arms.

She leans against my chest, her tears soaking into my shirt, her fingers clutching at the fabric as if she’s drowning and I’m a life raft. I stroke her hair, running my fingers through the dark strands before I rub soothing circles on her upper back, completely at a loss for what could have upset her this badly.

Did someone hurt her? Is she in trouble?

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together,” I say in a low voice. “I promise.”

She stiffens at my words, her entire body going rigid in my arms. For a heartbeat, her fingers tighten their grip on my shirt as if she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold on—but then she suddenly releases me and pushes away.

Scooting across the cushions, she slides to the opposite end of the couch in one quick movement, displacing Ralph. Her knees draw up slightly, creating a barrier between us as she settles against the armrest. The sudden distance feels like a physical blow, cold air rushing into the space between us, the cushion still warm from where she was sitting a moment ago.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, wiping roughly at her tears with the heel of her hand. Her breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. “I can’t do this.”

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