Page 114 of Cross Check Hearts

“Yes, that’s it. You’re free to get dressed and go.”

She waits patiently as I get to my feet and stretch, keeping close in case I get dizzy or unsteady on my feet or something, I suppose.

“Okay, thanks. When should I expect to hear about the results?” I ask as I reach for my clothes sitting on the nearby counter.

“One of the techs or the doctor will follow up with you in the next few days once they’ve reviewed the results and written their report.”

“So I just have to wait?” I ask, unable to hide the anxiety in my voice. “What am I supposed to do until then?”

Melissa’s expression softens. “I know waiting is the hardest part. Try to keep your routine as normal as possible—it helps.”

With that, she slips out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The silence feels oppressive after the constant noise of the machine.

I lean against the wall for a moment, suddenly exhausted. This limbo is almost worse than knowing. I feel like I’m locked in a place where time has no meaning, trapped in a suspended animation between normal life and potential catastrophe. And knowing it’s going to be another several days before I have an answer isn’t doing anything to ease my anxiety.

But I have no choice other than to live with it, so I strip out of the hospital gown and get back into my clothes. My legs are shaky with nerves, and they stay that way the whole walk out of the hospital back to my car, but at least I can still walk.

The sun is painfully bright when I step outside, forcing me to fumble for my sunglasses. Another bad sign—the light sensitivity has been getting worse.

I’m just shoving the key into the ignition when my phone starts ringing in my purse on the passenger seat. I dig it out, and my stomach drops when I see that it’s my dad calling.

For a terrifying moment, I wonder if the hospital called him somehow. If they found something so immediately concerning they reached out to my emergency contact.

I haven’t told him or my mother anything about what’s going on, and while I’d love nothing more than to have him comfort me right now, I’m not ready to talk about it. I’m still not sure what the hell is going on with me, so there’s no point in scaring him and my mother to death with something that might end up being nothing.

I take a steadying breath and answer. “Hi, Dad.”

“There’s my girl,” he says, his voice warm and normal. No trace of concern or worry. So they haven’t called him, then. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m okay,” I lie, surprised at how steady I sound. “Just busy with the usual stuff. What’s up?”

I try to keep my voice light and cheery to avoid any suspicion. I must be doing a good job of covering up just how unsettled I’m feeling right now, but I’m grateful for a reason to sit in the car for a few more minutes before I have to drive again.

“I was just wondering if you were going to make it to the game tonight,” he says. “Your mother is out of town for the weekend, and this is going to be the toughest game we’ve had all season, so I could use all the positive energy I can get out in the stands.”

My first instinct is to say no. The thought of seeing Declan, of that painful moment when our eyes might meet, is almost too much after everything else today.

But the alternative is sitting alone in my apartment, counting the minutes until the phone rings with my results. So before I can second-guess myself too much, I nod.

“I’ll be there,” I say, hoping that the distraction might actually help. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great. The team’s been playing well lately,” he says, then hesitates before adding, “Murray had a particularly good practice today. Kid’s got real talent.”

My heart clenches at the mention of Declan. Maybe it’s my father’s subtle way of checking in—he rarely compliments Declan to me, and I know he still disapproves of the fact that we were dating.

“About that…” I find myself saying before I can think better of it. “We… uh… aren’t together anymore.”

“What? Really?” My dad sounds genuinely shocked. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” I say quickly, unable to bear the thought of him blaming Declan. “He didn’t do anything wrong, Dad. I ended it.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long pause. I can almost hear him processing this information, reassessing everything he thought he knew about the situation.

He seems thrown by it, and I guess I can’t blame him after the last time he saw us together. I would’ve moved heaven and earth to get to Declan when he got injured in the last game, and I’m sure my father noticed that determination, so this is probably really confusing to him. But I’m not about to explain it now, not when I still don’t know for sure what’s going on with my head—or with Declan.

“Hannah, if this is because of what I said about dating players?—”

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