Page 46 of Crash

I pressed my hand to my forehead, my smile growing wider.

“You seriously need to LEAD with,You are not dying, Tessa. For a minute there …” I shook my head, almost giddy with relief.

It was astonishing how everything could change in just a few seconds. Like I’d had a loaded gun to my head, someone’s finger pulling back the trigger, and just when I’d braced for my doomed fate, the gun vanished, and I was told I had another chance to live.

This was the second time I’d felt it. The first time, when my heart had stopped beating, I hadn’t fully experienced the fear like this because I’d only learned about the danger after it was over. This time, I’d seen the gun, felt its cold barrel against mytemple, heard the click of the hammer that should have been my last sound.

“You know what?” My smile widened. “THIS was the shock I needed. Thank you.”

Without thinking—and that was probably good because if I’d thought about it, I never would have done it—I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Blake froze, and a current of warm electricity snaked through my body at the feel of his skin against my lips. He smelled like coffee and something woodsy and expensive, and for one dangerous moment, I wondered if he’d taste the same way. It was a thought I had to actively push aside to stay focused.

“Here I was, feeling sorry for myself after throwing up at my meeting.”

His whole demeanor changed in an instant, doctor mode snapping into place like a shield. “You threw up?”

I waved my hand dismissively. “Had a full-on pity party. You should have seen me, sobbing on the bathroom floor of that fancy place. Really added a certainje ne sais quoito their marble tiles.”

“Today?” His voice sharpened to a scalpel’s edge. “You vomited today?”

“No one likes a Debbie Downer,” I continued. “And that wasn’t even the first time. I mean, damn, when I think about this past year …” My voice trailed off, realizing the joy I’d let this steal.

That was the worst casualty in all of this, wasn’t it?

Blake stepped closer, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Definitely not helping my heart rate situation.

“Tell me exactly what happened when you got sick today.”

But I was riding my wave of perspective, determined not to let it crash.

“I haven’t just felt sick this past year; I let myself feel depressed over this.”

“People don’tletthemselves feel depressed, Tessa.” His voice softened, and something in it made me look up at him. Bad idea. He was giving me that look—the one that made me feel like I was the only person in his world. “That’s not how depression works; it’s not a choice. You’re going through something terrible, and it would take a toll on anyone. Even someone as strong and cheery as you.”

My cheeks warmed at his words. He saw me as strong? And cheery? Ihadbeen cheery my whole life, hadn’t I? The proverbial happy person who always saw the silver lining. Until my health started slipping away and I’d let my happiness and cheer slip away right along with it.

Until now. Now, I felt her return—the old me, the happy me, throwing up or not.

“To think of all the times I’d cried myself to sleep.” I shook my head at my past self. “All those wasted nights I should have been counting my lucky stars I wasn’t dying.”

Blake’s entire body went rigid, like someone had replaced his spine with steel. “You’ve cried yourself to sleep?”

“So many times that I lost count,” I said absently. “But the point is, this whole time, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself; I’ve been taking all the other moments of my life for granted. I’m still here. And, sure, my body doesn’t feel like the epitome of health, but think of all the people hooked up to ventilators who’d wish to be in my shoes. Or people fighting terminal illnesses, or facing atrocities around the world, or not here anymore. They’d all wish they could be in my shoes, Blake.”

“Stop doing that.” He reached for me, then seemed to think better of it, his hand falling back to his side while the ghost of thatalmost touchlingered between us like static electricity.“Stop telling yourself that your suffering needs to be justified by someone else’s pain.”

“This is the universe shaking my shoulders and making me see how much I still have, not just what I’ve lost.” The words tumbled out faster, higher, riding that desperate wave of forced optimism. “I needed something to snap me out of my funk, and this was it!”

His face tightened, and I could read the worry there plain as day. He thought my feelings were temporary, but he didn’t want to burst my bubble. If I was happy, even artificially so, he wanted to preserve it like a rare butterfly under glass.

“I’m not done with this, Tessa.” The quiet determination in his voice cut through his office.

“I know.”

“I want to run more tests.”

“Figured as much.”

“Talk to me about vomiting today.” His doctor voice was back, all business.