Page 45 of Crash

“Have they ruled out depression?”

I stopped cold. “Tell me you’re not one of those doctors.”

“And what kind of doctor is that?”

“The kind who, when they can’t find an answer in their precious textbooks, decides to blame the patient. Make them think they’re being irrational, or old, or just complaining too much.” I stepped closer, fury making my words sharp. “Just because we don’t have the answer doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It’s arrogant to think any of us has all the answers.”

Johnson’s face tightened. “You asked for a second opinion. I took time out of my day to review her records, and you have the nerve to call me arrogant?” He jabbed a finger at my screen.“This woman has had more testing in the past year than most patients see in a lifetime. Take it as a win that they didn’t find something terminal.”

“I won’t?—”

“I’m not finished,” he snapped. “You know what’s arrogant, Dr. Morrison? Thinking you’re smarter than every doctor in this hospital. It’s a quality the board likes least in candidates for chief positions.”

He let that threat hang in the air for a moment before turning on his heel, leaving me alone with the scattered papers and the weight of Tessa’s trust.

I stared at the test results littering my floor, seeing them through new eyes. This is what she’d faced. Dismissal after dismissal while something inside her continued its quiet ravaging. My fists clenched at my sides, anger mixing with a deeper resolve.

I would not let this go. Whatever was destroying Tessa’s body, whatever had slipped past every test and specialist, I would find it. Even if it cost me everything.

But first, I had to break the news to her. After all the needles, the scans, the endless questions she’d endured at this hospital, I had to tell her we were no closer to finding her an answer. Or a solution. The thought of crushing her hope made me physically sick.

“Blake?”

Tessa’s voice—that sweet voice that haunted both my dreams and nightmares—cut through my dark thoughts. I spun to find her in the doorway, and for that one precious moment, suspended in time before she registered the devastation on my face, I cataloged every detail of hers.

Bright, hopeful eyes that still held traces of the vibrant woman I remembered from before all this began. A smile—God, a genuine smile that made my heart stutter—and the way herbody unconsciously leaned toward mine, as if some invisible thread kept trying to pull us closer together. It was only then that I recalled the text I’d sent her, and I silently cursed myself for not warning her this was bad news. For letting her walk in here, carrying that beautiful, fragile hope.

If I had, I wouldn’t have had to watch it all crumble. Her lips fell, her shoulders crumpled as if under some invisible weight, and her eyes began to water as she whispered, “Did they find anything?”

The tremor in her voice shattered what was left of my heart.

After seeing that smile on her face, this was harder to tell her than any diagnosis because I was the one that got her hopes up. I made her get back into the fighting ring. And now it wasmyglove that was about to knock her out.

27

TESSA

Blake stood in his office, a sterile shrine to modern medicine with its gleaming white furniture and endless rows of medical texts, where sunlight drifted through the window. It was the kind of light that made everything look softer, more intimate—even the man himself, who’d forgone his usual white coat and scrubs today in favor of a crisp blue button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. But what struck me most were the papers scattered across his pristine office floor like confetti.

“I have bad news, Tessa.”

God Almighty, it’s happening.My worst fear was finally materializing. Every time I’d imagined this moment, it played out the same way. They’d finally figure out what was wrong with me, only to say,Sorry, turns out you’re dying. Maybe if we’d caught it sooner, you could have had the life you always wanted. You could have planned that sunset wedding you used to dream about, felt the weight of your newborn against your chest, seen your name splashed across magazine covers as Chicago’s most successful entrepreneur. But sadly, you should probably look into the economy package at the local funeral home.

My heart thundered so erratically that I was pretty sure the cardiologist monitoring me was already reaching for the crash cart.

“The tests all came back normal,” Blake announced.

I pressed my palm to my chest, letting out a whoosh of relief that made my knees weak. A smile crept across my face, slow at first, then spreading like wildfire.

“Oh my GOD, Blake. Don’t do that to me!”

“Do what?” His brow furrowed in that adorably confused way that made him look more like a puzzled golden retriever than the brilliant doctor I knew him to be. The one who probably hadn’t scored below a 98% since kindergarten.

“Look like you’re about to tell me I’m dying!”

To think, I’d had that pity party from barfing. If this didn’t put things in perspective, nothing would.

“This is bad news, Tessa.” He swept his arms toward the paperwork on the ground. The sight of straitlaced, perfectly pressed Dr. Blake Morrison, the man who probably ironed his socks, having thrown what appeared to be a full-on tantrum made my heart dance.