Page 129 of Fire

My heart plummets.

“Based on your test results and what I’ve observed, I think it’s safe to say you have all the signs of task-specific focal dystonia.”

That last flicker of hope that I might be wrong fades as I feel Hendrix’s whole body go rigid next to me. Dr. Deshmukh notices it too and looks to me for guidance.

“Could you give us a minute?” I ask.

“Absolutely. Take all the time you need.” She grabs her laptop and stands. “Just crack the door when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” I say, truly meaning it. I know she has other patients waiting, and considering we’re a work-in, this is more than generous. The door softly clicks behind her.

The room is blanketed in silence before I hear Hendrix suck in a long, ragged breath. It’s full of pain and sorrow. It breaks my fucking heart.

I get up from my chair and crouch down in front of it. His eyes are red and brimming with tears.

“It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about.” He lets out a hollow laugh, wiping his eyes. “It’s not like I’m dying. Hell, I’m not even in pain.”

I reach for him. He covers his hands with mine, holding onto them like a lifeline. I wait until his gaze finds mine, then I say, “Story Time.” My voice is a little hoarse and tinged with emotion, but this is our thing. If I can get through to him, this will be how. “I read about this musician last night—a guitar player. He was diagnosed with focal dystonia in the late nineties, and the process took years. Before his diagnosis, he sank into a deep depression and stopped performing altogether. He couldn’t trust his own body to do what he’d trained it to do. What he loved to do.”

A single tear falls down Hendrix’s cheek. I know this is the future he is envisioning for himself. I know the reality of the diagnosis is probably causing him to catastrophize and see only the worst possible future.

I need him to know there is hope, even when it feels utterly hopeless.

Maybe I need it too.

After his diagnosis, everything changed. He finally had doctors willing to treat him. He was able to stop focusing on what didn’t work and focus on what did. And that’s when he realized…he had a perfectly good left hand. So he started teaching himself how to play the instrument he loved, all over again, with his other hand.

I see a tiny flash of emotion in Hendrix’s eyes, and I feel my chest tighten and my eyes sting.

“It’s okay to be upset, Hen. It’s okay to feel sad or angry. This is something you love, something you’re passionate about, and it’s not fair that this is happening to you. And it’s not because some musician or band is fucking you over. It’s not due to a lack of opportunity or talent. It’s your own damn body that’s betraying you. So no, you’re not dying, but that doesn’t invalidate your feelings. You’re allowed every one of your emotions.”

It’s as if those words shatter the last of his defenses. His face crumbles, and the tears begin to fall. I climb onto his lap, and he wraps his arms around me. He holds me tight, and I listen as he mourns the life he could have had.

And tries to make peace with his new reality.

“Fuck, Zara. I don’t—” His voice cracks as he buries his face into my neck. “I don’t know who I am without music. When you said people have layers? I don’t. Music is all I’ve ever have. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” He’s adamant. “I was never good at sports like Myles. I couldn’t play the piano like Cash or sing like Presley. I was decent at school, but not a brainiac like Mercury. That bass”—his crestfallen gaze lands on his black guitar case—“is all I had.”

I lift my head. “You have me. And I don’t know much about sports, but I know you’re pretty damn good at loving me.”

Those denim blue eyes burn with intensity as his mouth curves into a warm smile. “Fuck yeah, I am.”

My forehead touches his, and I run my thumb along his cheek, wiping away the last of his tears. “You ready to kick some ass?”

He nods. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

HENDRIX

“Love you too, Mom,” I say for the fourth time. My mom’s cheeks are wet from crying, and my dad has an arm wrapped around her. They’re both sitting in the family room where we gather for Christmas morning and lazy Sunday dinners.

I can’t wait for Zara to be part of those memories.

Right as I’m about to end the video call, she waves her hand and practically shouts, “Oh, and tell Zara we love her too!”