Page 81 of Heart Sick

The beat of his heart is erratic, reminding me of a chaotic piece of music. But I welcome the madness because I no longer hear white noise because music is beginning to fill the void once more.

Once I am done, I collapse beside Luna who is still on her stomach, catching her breath. We lay side by side. She turns her cheek to look at me. She’s flustered and a hot mess.

No words need to be spoken because we both feel it—the invisible tether between us has only drawn us closer together and before long, I know we will become one. That may have scared me in the past, but not now.

As my eyes slip shut and I focus on the gentle breaths of Luna, I realize I’m happy. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. Luna reaches for my hand and the moment we link fingers, that happiness is suddenly shrouded by feelings of shame.

And I don’t know why.

Iwake alone, but I’m not worried.

He’ll be back. He promised he would never leave.

I don’t know why it was so important to hear his promise, but I believe him. I also know he feels that we’re connected in ways we both cannot explain.

If only I could remember, things would make sense. But it’s not from lack of trying. Each time I think I’m about to recognize a memory, it feels as if my mind wipes it clean. I don’t know if my brain has gone into self-preservation mode which scares me.

What exactly am I trying to forget?

The door opens, and the moonlight illuminates Dutch like some ethereal god. Although I can’t remember my past partners, I am doubtful anyone will compare to him. I am deliciously sore. A girl from the club gave me some strong painkillers, which is why my injuries haven’t bothered me.

From the takeout bag Dutch holds, it’s evident he went out to get us food. On cue, my stomach rumbles in delight.

He switches on the lamp, the room bursting in hues of warm orange and yellows. He really looks like an angel with that long blond hair and beautiful face. I like this style—always in jewelry and his hair either tied back with wisps free, or loose, which frames that strong jawline.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

Settling against the headboard, I realize I am suddenly famished. Dutch kicks off his boots and settles beside me. Instantly, a sense of calm surrounds me. He offers me a tall cup of Coke before doing the same with a burger and fries.

We eat in silence, and although it’s not uncomfortable, it’s filled with thought. I ask the inevitable.

“What happens now?”

Dutch mulls over my question. “I know where he lived,” he finally reveals. “The donor. Your plan was fucking genius. The cops will hopefully stop riding our asses long enough for me to figure out something that makes sense.”

“So we go to his house and snoop around?”

Dutch nods, chewing pensively. “I need to know who he is and why someone wanted him dead.”

I’m suddenly not hungry and push away my food.

“If this makes you uncomfortable, you can stay here. I understand this is fucking…weird. But this is the only thing that makes sense to me.”

“And you’re certain he was murdered?”

“Without a doubt. His heart confirms it.”

“You talk about your heart like it’s its own person.”

“I know,” he confesses, shaking his head. “And in some ways, I feel that it is. It never felt like mine. So I need to somehow figure this out and hopefully uncover what secrets this bastard hides.”

I don’t want to ask, but where does that leave me? I don’t know who I am. How do I solve that mystery? “What was his name?”

“Jack,” he replies like they’re well acquainted. “I know he played college football. He was messed up with drugs and a bad crowd. I also know he was driving that night to get something for someone he loved very much. I see his death, Luna. He was run off the road by someone he knew. A woman.”

His pause leaves me suspicious. “Do you know who that woman is?”

When he averts his gaze, he answers my question.

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