Page 48

Chapter 48

Hannah

I shiver involuntarily as I lie back on the cold slab of the MRI machine in nothing but a thin hospital gown while the technician gets me set up. She’s been incredibly sweet and friendly through the whole process, so logically I know I don’t have anything to worry about, but there’s something about being forced to lie completely still in this whirring magnetic tube that’s sending panic through my veins.

“We’re almost done,” the technician says with a smile as she hovers above me. Her name is Melissa—she introduced herself earlier with a warmth that made me feel slightly less terrified. She slides some sort of contraption down that forms a little halo around my head, and I close my eyes as it beeps and comes to life.

“Is it normal to be this scared?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

“Completely normal,” Melissa reassures me. “Everyone gets nervous. The noise is the worst part, but we have something for that.”

The noise is unsettling enough, so the less of this I have to see, the better. But closing my eyes only intensifies my thoughts, and they’re the last company I want right now.

I’ve been waiting a week for this appointment, and every single day has been torture. Between the anxiety around what the MRI might find and missing Declan so much it feels like my heart is being slowly cut to pieces every day he’s gone, I’ve been completely overwhelmed.

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.

“Yes, that’s it. You’re free to get dressed and go.”

She waits patiently as I get to my feet and stretch, keeping close in case I get dizzy or unsteady on my feet or something, I suppose.

“Okay, thanks. When should I expect to hear about the results?” I ask as I reach for my clothes sitting on the nearby counter.

“One of the techs or the doctor will follow up with you in the next few days once they’ve reviewed the results and written their report.”

“So I just have to wait?” I ask, unable to hide the anxiety in my voice. “What am I supposed to do until then?”

Melissa’s expression softens. “I know waiting is the hardest part. Try to keep your routine as normal as possible—it helps.”

With that, she slips out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The silence feels oppressive after the constant noise of the machine.

I lean against the wall for a moment, suddenly exhausted. This limbo is almost worse than knowing. I feel like I’m locked in a place where time has no meaning, trapped in a suspended animation between normal life and potential catastrophe. And knowing it’s going to be another several days before I have an answer isn’t doing anything to ease my anxiety.

But I have no choice other than to live with it, so I strip out of the hospital gown and get back into my clothes. My legs are shaky with nerves, and they stay that way the whole walk out of the hospital back to my car, but at least I can still walk.

The sun is painfully bright when I step outside, forcing me to fumble for my sunglasses. Another bad sign—the light sensitivity has been getting worse.

I’m just shoving the key into the ignition when my phone starts ringing in my purse on the passenger seat. I dig it out, and my stomach drops when I see that it’s my dad calling.

For a terrifying moment, I wonder if the hospital called him somehow. If they found something so immediately concerning they reached out to my emergency contact.

I haven’t told him or my mother anything about what’s going on, and while I’d love nothing more than to have him comfort me right now, I’m not ready to talk about it. I’m still not sure what the hell is going on with me, so there’s no point in scaring him and my mother to death with something that might end up being nothing.

I take a steadying breath and answer. “Hi, Dad.”

“There’s my girl,” he says, his voice warm and normal. No trace of concern or worry. So they haven’t called him, then. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m okay,” I lie, surprised at how steady I sound. “Just busy with the usual stuff. What’s up?”

I try to keep my voice light and cheery to avoid any suspicion. I must be doing a good job of covering up just how unsettled I’m feeling right now, but I’m grateful for a reason to sit in the car for a few more minutes before I have to drive again.

“I was just wondering if you were going to make it to the game tonight,” he says. “Your mother is out of town for the weekend, and this is going to be the toughest game we’ve had all season, so I could use all the positive energy I can get out in the stands.”

My first instinct is to say no. The thought of seeing Declan, of that painful moment when our eyes might meet, is almost too much after everything else today.

But the alternative is sitting alone in my apartment, counting the minutes until the phone rings with my results. So before I can second-guess myself too much, I nod.

“I’ll be there,” I say, hoping that the distraction might actually help. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great. The team’s been playing well lately,” he says, then hesitates before adding, “Murray had a particularly good practice today. Kid’s got real talent.”

My heart clenches at the mention of Declan. Maybe it’s my father’s subtle way of checking in—he rarely compliments Declan to me, and I know he still disapproves of the fact that we were dating.

“About that…” I find myself saying before I can think better of it. “We… uh… aren’t together anymore.”

“What? Really?” My dad sounds genuinely shocked. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” I say quickly, unable to bear the thought of him blaming Declan. “He didn’t do anything wrong, Dad. I ended it.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long pause. I can almost hear him processing this information, reassessing everything he thought he knew about the situation.

He seems thrown by it, and I guess I can’t blame him after the last time he saw us together. I would’ve moved heaven and earth to get to Declan when he got injured in the last game, and I’m sure my father noticed that determination, so this is probably really confusing to him. But I’m not about to explain it now, not when I still don’t know for sure what’s going on with my head—or with Declan.

“Hannah, if this is because of what I said about dating players?—”

“It’s not that,” I interrupt, my throat going tight. “It’s… complicated. Can we talk about it another time?”

“Okay,” he says slowly, although I can hear reluctance in his tone.

“I’d better go. I’m just about to drive home,” I tell him, although I leave out where I’m driving home from. “I’ll see you at the game tonight.”

“Right. See you then,” my dad says, sounding a bit distant, like he’s still trying to make sense of what I just told him. “Drive safe.”

“I will. Love you.”

I end the call, but instead of turning the key in the ignition, I sit staring down at my phone. The weight of all these secrets is crushing, and some part of me is desperate to call him back and come clean.

My thumb hovers over my father’s contact, trembling slightly.

It eats me up inside to hide the truth about where I’m at and what exactly happened with Declan from my father, especially because I could really use his comfort right now. But I don’t want any of my drama affecting him at the game tonight, so I sigh and drop my phone back in my purse before I get any other bright ideas.

I start the car and drive home in silence. I need the time to decompress and mentally brace myself a bit before I head to the arena. There’s no way I won’t cross paths with Declan tonight, and I don’t know what I’m going to do if he tries to talk to me.

Maybe seeing him will give me some closure.

Or maybe it will just rip open the wound I’ve been trying desperately to let heal.

I take a long, hot bath at home to help with my head, then drive to the arena a few hours later. I’m feeling a little more settled, although as I take my seat and watch the players fan out onto the ice for their warmup, my heart aches with pain at the sight of Declan.

God, he’s beautiful. The fluid way he moves on the ice, powerful and graceful all at once. His jersey stretches across his broad shoulders as he accelerates, that familiar number making my heart skip.

I’m not sure if he knew I was going to be here tonight, but he finds me in the crowd anyway, as if some invisible thread still connects us across the distance. The look of anguish that flashes across his face when his eyes meet mine makes me feel sick to my stomach.

He looks away as quickly as he found me, and pain lances through my heart.

It’s written all over his face—I hurt him. Deeply. The knowledge that I caused that pain, even if it was to spare him what could be a much worse pain later, makes it hard to breathe.

I don’t blame him for being hurt after the way I dumped him without explanation, but seeing how wrecked he looks only makes me feel worse about it.

Maybe coming tonight really was a bad idea.

It’s hard not to think that as the Aces finish their warmup and the game gets underway, but the intensity of the match makes sitting with it a little bit easier.

And my father must not have been kidding about the rest of the league gunning for the Aces, because the Falcons are playing a particularly aggressive game tonight. They’ve always been a tough, physical team, and tonight they’re taking it to a whole new level. Every time the Aces try to make a play, the Falcons are there with bone-crushing checks and aggressive stick work.

I find myself following Declan’s jersey number instinctively, my breath catching whenever he takes a hit or makes a spectacular play.

The puck passes back and forth in possession so often and so quickly that it would be impossible to keep up with if it weren’t for the commentators and the roar of the crowd every time it happens.

But even so, it’s all a bit too much for me right now. The lights, the noise, the stress—my nervous system is already frayed after everything I’ve been through today, and by the time the third period rolls around, I’m starting to feel like I’m actually going to be sick.

My head pounds in rhythm with the crowd’s cheers. Each flash of the arena lights sends a spike of pain through my skull.

But I don’t want to disappear this close to the end of the game, and I don’t want my dad asking any questions when he notices I’m gone, so I try to stick it out.

I press my fingers to my temples, trying to massage away the building pressure. The nausea rises in waves, making me swallow hard against it.

But my head is pounding, and despite massaging my temples to try to get things back into bearable territory, I panic when I glance back up at the ice and see those familiar halos dancing across it.

The same halos Dr. Singh had asked about. The same visual disturbance that sent me to the ER in the first place.

No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Not now .

I’ve got to get out of here.

I grab my purse with shaking hands, mumbling apologies as I squeeze past the other spectators in my row. Just a few more steps to the exit. I can make it.

I just need to lie down or go somewhere a bit quieter for a while, maybe in the family and friends lounge or something. But as I reach the end of the row and start to head up the stairs, the world tilts alarmingly. The voices of the crowd around me start to sound distant, as if they’re all underwater.

Someone nearby asks if I’m okay, but I can’t find the words to respond.

And as I start to lift my foot to take the next step, everything goes white.