Page 113 of Crash

He poked at it dubiously with one finger. “This is … fascinating. Is this what they used to brew coffee before electricity?”

My brother’s gaze returned to my face, then wandered south, to the little wire attached to the small black box clipped to my waist.

“What the hell is that?” Ryker barked.

The heart monitor felt heavier on my waistband.

“What are you, going undercover? Trying to get somebody to confess to a crime or something?”

Such a typical thought for a lawyer.

“No, it’s …” Crap. I squared my shoulders. “It’s a traveling heart monitor. A cardiologist asked me to wear one for four weeks.”

My brother’s attention snapped to my eyes. Jace went completely still by the coffee maker, his gaze sharpening as he looked between me and Blake.

“A cardiologist,” Ryker repeated, his tone shifting into concern. “Why do you have to have your heart monitored?”

Ladies and gentlemen, it was time to buckle up and return your tray tables to their upright position.

I had thought long and hard about how I would break the news to my older brother that I had been battling a medical mystery, and whenever I thought about it, I imagined a calm conversation organized by me, after I had plenty of answers to reassure him. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

Blake reached into my fridge, rummaged around, and found an ancient beer left by Eli, popping the cap off and handing it to Ryker.

“Here, man.” Blake put the bottle in Ryker’s hand.

“It’s not even noon,” Ryker balked.

“Trust me. You’re going to want a drink for this.”

56

TESSA

Ryker slumped at my kitchen table, a bag of frozen peas on his punched eye, looking less like the tough-guy big brother I knew and more like the scared kid who used to check under my bed for monsters. His beer sat half empty, probably warm by now.

In the corner, Jace was obviously trying to stay out of this conversation. Currently, he was staring at my ancient refrigerator, the kind with manual defrost that occasionally made sounds like a dying whale. The way he studied it, you’d think he was contemplating whether it belonged in a museum of American history.

“Jesus, Tessa.” Ryker’s voice was rough. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Are you kidding?” I gestured toward the front door, where he’d nearly killed Blake twenty minutes ago. “Exhibit A in why telling you anything is a terrible life choice.”

“I wouldn’t have beaten anyone up over you being sick.” He actually managed to look wounded.

“You’re a control freak, Ryker. The second I told you, you would’ve swooped into my life like some demented helicopter parent and tried to micromanage everything from my doctor’s appointments to what brand of toothpaste I use.”

“That’s not true.”

I cocked my head and channeled our mother’s patentedreallyexpression.

“Okay, fine,” he grumbled, “it’s true. But you still should have told me. I’m your brother, Tess. Finding out like this …” He shook his head, and the hurt in his eyes made my body ache.

“I know you mean well, but I didn’t have the capacity to manage your bulldozing skills. I had enough on my plate, trying to launch a business and juggle medical appointments.”

Ryker tossed the peas on my table, pushed to his feet, and started pacing, his tall frame making my kitchen feel suddenly smaller. Each heavy footfall matched the pounding in my head.

What ensued was a follow-up interrogation that would’ve made the FBI proud. More details around my symptoms. What tests had been run. Which doctors had I seen. Had I gotten second opinions? Third opinions?

Jace, meanwhile, was holding up a manual can opener as if it were an archaeological find. Our eyes met briefly, and he quickly set it down, returning his attention to the unfolding drama with the composure of someone used to high-stakes situations, if not outdated kitchen tools.