Page 66 of Saving His Heart

“What are you doing?”

Emory scares the shit out of me, and the journal goes flying. She’s closer to it than I am, and in slow motion, I watch as she picks it up, then turns it over. Her face pales instantly.

“Emory Anne Westbrook.”

“Okay, just hear me out.”

“Hear you out, Preston? This book says Emory Anne Westbrook. West. Brook!” She paces, waving the book in the air.

I stand quickly and wish I hadn’t. The dizzy spells are getting worse, and she notices.

“Sit down, Preston. How long have you been getting dizzy like this?”

“Today?” I ask evasively.

“What do you mean today? How long have you had these spells?” Laying the notebook on the nightstand, she runs to the closet for her medical bag. “How long, Preston?”

I know by her tone not to argue with her. “Probably since Vegas,” I admit.

She spins to face me—a mixture of hurt and anger clouding her otherwise perfect face.

“Vegas? That’s an entire week, Preston. Seven days. You didn’t think to tell me this?”

Placing my hand over hers as she puts the stethoscope to my chest, I get her to stop and look at me. “It doesn’t matter now, sweetheart. I spoke to Dr. Terry this morning. I’m too far down on the donor list, and my symptoms are progressing much too fast.”

“I read about a new procedure last night. They are testing it in Mexico now, but I’m sure we can get you in. Let me make some calls. We’ll—”

“Emory,” her name is like a prayer on my lips. “I’m done,” two words that hold so much heartache. “Dr. Terry agrees. I want to just live the next few weeks, checking off as many boxes as I can. Having as many of your firsts as I can.”

“No, Preston,” she wails. “You don’t just give up. I told you there’s new research. There are other options. We can buy us some time.” The first trickles of tears fall down her face.

“We can buy us some time.”Does she realize what she said?

“Sweetheart? Our time is now. Right now is what we have.”

“What is that journal?”

“I told you. I write letters to everyone I love.”

A strangled sob gets caught in her throat. “No.”

“Yes.” I chuckle. “Never have I ever asked someone to marry me.”

She stares at me with wide eyes, shaking her head.Well, that’s not the answer I’m hoping for.

“We barely know each other. You can’t be serious, Preston.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so serious. There is so much I want to do. So much I know I won’t have time for. Some of it for my family, but this? You and me? This is for me, for us. I wasn’t lying when I said I want all your firsts, and I realize this is beyond selfish. It’s definitely the most selfish thing I have ever done. I want to marry you, Emory. When I die—” The words get caught in my throat, and I have to swallow multiple times before I can finish.

Emory sobs quietly on the edge of the bed.

“When I die, I want to have been a loving husband, even if only for a short time. I want to be your loving husband, so when your life moves on, you know how you deserve to be loved. I want you to remember how life should be. I want you to remember the life I gave you and never settle for anything less. When you get your life back, I want it to be the best version it can be. And selfishly, I want that chance to show you how perfect you are. I want to show you how it feels to be loved. I want to be the first to love you with all of my heart.”

“Y-You can’t love me, Preston.”

Shaking my head, I kneel in front of her. “I’m pretty sure it’s too late for you to make that demand.” Reaching behind her, I pull out the ring box I had hidden under the pillow when she walked in.

“You’re asking me to become your widow,” she cries—deep, painful, earth-shattering cries.