Page 113 of Cross Check Hearts

I’ve lain awake in bed for hours every night, wondering if I made the right choice pushing him away. Every morning, the first thing I do is check my phone, half-hoping to see his name, half-dreading it because I don’t know what I’d say.

And on top of the hole in my heart, I’ve also been grappling with the idea that I might soon have to tell my parents they could be losing another child.

A tear streaks from the corner of my eye as emotions surge through my chest, and Melissa makes a little sympathetic noise. “Aw, it’s okay, don’t cry. It looks and sounds so much scarier than it actually is, and it’ll be over fast. All you need to worry about is staying as still as possible.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I manage with a wobbly smile.

“You’re right, it is,” she acknowledges with surprising honesty. “But I’ve seen thousands of people go through this machine, and the anticipation is always worse than the experience.”

You’re not the one potentially facing what my brother went through,I think, my stomach twisting. The image of Casey in his hospital bed flashes through my mind—all those machines, all those tests that led nowhere but heartbreak.

Melissa chuckles. “That’s why we have the music. What do you like to listen to?”

I would shrug, but I can’t really move on this slab. I peer over at her as she lifts my legs to put a little wedge pillow beneath them like I’m going for a massage. “Classical or jazz or something easy.”

“Great choice,” Melissa says and winks at me. “You’re going to be fine. You’re in good hands.”

“I’m holding you to that,” I whisper as some gentle piano music starts twinkling inside the machine. It doesn’t do much to calm my chaotic emotions, but it does help things feel at least a little less oppressive inside this claustrophobic space. At least the soundtrack is soothing if I’m about to face life-altering news.

“We’re ready when you are. Are you situated?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to try to calm my pounding heart.

“See you soon,” Melissa says and presses a button on the control panel. The slab starts sliding slowly into the machine, and she gives me an encouraging smile as I pass her.

I force myself to breathe evenly as the machine envelops me.In, out. In, out. The piano melody weaves through the mechanical whirring, providing a thin veil of normalcy.

My thoughts drift to Declan as I stare straight ahead. God, I miss him. The solid warmth of his body next to mine. The way his face lit up every time he managed to get Ralph to wear one of those silly hats he crocheted. The way his brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at me like I was the only woman in the world. How safe I felt in his arms.

A wave of claustrophobia washes through me, and I do my best to concentrate on the music instead of the whirring of the machine around me.

But concentration hasn’t been easy for me lately, in every context. Facing down a potentially horrible diagnosis has a way of bringing everything in life into crystal clarity, and school hasn’t been spared. I was already feeling disillusioned with it after what happened at the alumni mixer and the conversation I had with Mr. Brooks, but now it’s near impossible to care about my studies.

How could anyone care about something as trivial as law school when they might have a brain tumor?

That thought makes my eyes sting with tears again, but I hold them back. The last thing I want is to fall apart on this slab with the tech watching me. Besides, I want this MRI to be over as soon as possible, and making them stop to check on me is just going to drag it out even longer.

It’s true, though. Since Dr. Singh told me about the potential for a brain tumor, it’s been next to impossible to think about or focus on anything else. That would’ve been the case even if the migraines and visual disturbances hadn’t gotten worse, but that isn’t helping, either.

Every time the halos appear in my vision, terror grips me. Every headache feels like a countdown timer.

I feel like shit for not telling Declan the truth. My heart splintered into a million shards watching him beg for me to tell him what was going on, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I keep replaying that night in my head—his face crumpling, his voice breaking as he pleaded with me. I’ve never felt so cruel, so heartless.

But I know firsthand what it’s like to sit by and watch someone die, to watch them slowly wither away, and the damage that does to a person. I care about Declan way too much to put him through that, and I refuse to let anyone else experience the trauma my family went through with Casey.

Breaking his heart like that wasn’t the most awful thing I’ve been through in my life—losing Casey takes that cake—but it was damn close. I just hope that one day, when all of this is over and he learns the truth about what was going on with me, he’ll understand why I did it.

It’s one of the few pieces of hope I have left to hold on to.

Because Declan is gone from my life now, and I know without a doubt after the way I told him in no uncertain terms that I couldn’t be with him anymore that he won’t try to come back. Because I hurt him with what I said, I know I did, but I didn’t have another choice. It sounds terrible, but I really was trying to protect him.

The tube beeps again while I’m lost in thought, pulling me out of my mental spiral. The whirring is slowing down and getting quieter, and Melissa appears off to my right, smiling. I can only assume that means the MRI is over already, but it seems way faster than I thought it would be. She presses a button on the control panel, and I want to ask her if we’re really done already, but I also don’t want to move, so I wait.

“All done. See? It wasn’t too bad,” she says as my slab starts sliding back out of the tube.

“That’s it?” I ask, still unsure. She chuckles at me and offers me a hand to help me sit up.

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