“All right, I’ll be back to check on you in an hour,” Shera explains and pats my arm. “I’m a big fan, Mr. Walsh. We’ll take good care of you.”
The knot in my throat doesn’t allow me to speak. My gaze turns back to Heather, and I wait.
A single tear rolls down her perfect cheek. I watch as it lands on her lips, ones I know I’ll never feel again, and my heart breaks. I wonder if this could’ve been different. If I’d told her I was sick, would she have stayed? I’ll never know.
“You’re sick.” Her soft voice is filled with pain.
“Yes.”
Heather’s hands shake as she tries to wipe her face. “Do you have Huntington’s disease?”
“No, I have relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis.”
Her lips part, and I watch her face fall. Fear beams from her eyes before another tear descends. “Are—” She clears her throat. “Are you okay?”
Agony like I’ve never felt before spreads through my body. Not because I’m actually in pain, but because even though she knows I’ve been hiding my condition, she’s still worried about me.
I’m a fucking piece of shit.
I don’t deserve her.
“I haven’t been symptomatic in a while. I usually take medication that helps keep things under control.”
She nods slowly while twisting her hands. “I see. And you’re not taking them now?”
I’ve been reckless with my body the last few months. On tour, I didn’t take the infusions regularly. Then I met Heather, and I thought I could be free for a little while. I didn’t know we’d have something like this. Yes, I had feelings for her, but I truly thought they would fade, not intensify. My time with Heather has been the first time I felt warmth in my life, and I know the darkness will be that much deeper when she leaves.
“Not like I should.”
Her gaze moves to where her hands are laced tightly together in her lap. “Okay. How long have you known you have MS?”
Her calm tone scares me more than if she were yelling.
“I had my first symptom ten years ago.”
“Right. Ten years.”
There’s no anger in her voice, only resignation. She keeps her eyes down, leaving me no indication of what she’s thinking. She has no idea how much guilt I’ve grappled with. But my need for her won out. Self-preservation came before anything else. I had to have her. I needed to keep her.
“I wanted to tell you,” I admit.
“But you didn’t.”
Because I’m a fucking pussy. “I couldn’t.”
Her eyes lift, a mix of hurt and anger fill her gaze. “And you thought lying to me about it was the better option?”
“I couldn’t tell you. I tried, but I couldn’t do it.”
She clutches her stomach and drops her head.
My chest aches and dread spreads through me. She’s going to leave, just like Penelope. As soon as she found out I wasn’t the perfect man, that I was damaged, she took off. When Heather returns her gaze to me, I see the same goodbye in her eyes, exactly like all those years ago.
“You kept the fact that you were sick from me. You . . . hid this.” She chokes on the words. “Even knowing everything I went through? How could you do this to me? How could you make me believe that we were building a future together, when all the while you were keeping something so serious from me? How, Eli, how?” Her voice cracks at the end, and I curse myself for being weak.
Weakness in my heart. Weakness in my body.
I can’t go to her. I can’t grab her and force her to hear me out. Even though, I have nothing but excuses. Dread fills the room, weaving its way around my broken heart, squeezing tighter as I prepare for her to leave me.
“I’ve hated myself for it. I wanted you to see me, know me, love me, and then I was going to tell you. I know it’s fucked up. But when you told me about your sister, I couldn’t tell you. Then the day I was finally going to tell you, Stephanie died. After that, there was no way I could say it.”
“And what about all the time since then?”
“Each day I kept it in, it became harder to tell you. I was afraid if I did, you were going to leave.”
“What?” She turns with a mix of anger and shock. “You thought if I knew you were sick, that I’d walk away from you? You think that’s who I am?”
“I think it’s easy to love a man who isn’t falling apart.”
“And you think I’m that shallow? Do you know me at all? I would never have left you because you were sick!”
“I couldn’t know that!”
Heather stands and moves toward my bed and tears fill her eyes as she touches my cheek. I want to relish in her touch, but I won’t allow myself any of it. “You didn’t give me a chance to show you.”
“If you’re going to go, then go,” I spit the words.
She shakes her head, opening and closing her mouth before she collapses in the chair. Heather’s body sings of defeat. I’ve broken her.
Anger toward myself builds like blocks. Each stacking higher and higher until I can’t see over the wall. I punch my way through, each blow causing my panic to rise. She’s going to leave me, and I won’t be able to stop her.
“I want to fucking stand and come over to you,” I say, hoping she is still listening. “I want to take you in my arms and be the man that you thought you had. But my fucking legs won’t work. I can’t walk, Heather. I can’t fucking walk. I screwed up every goddamn chance I had with you. I know this. I hate myself for it, and I won’t hurt you.”
Her head lifts, and she wipes the tears with the back of her hand. “What do you mean your legs won’t work?”
“I had shooting pain up and down my legs earlier. They’re now numb.”
Her lips part and she sucks in a breath. “Is that how you fell?”
“Yes, I knew it was happening, but I tried to pretend it wasn’t.”
Heather doesn’t say a word. She watches me with her gorgeous eyes. Eyes that I know each speck of gold, each tiny piece of light brown, and every darker spot by memory. Eyes in which I’ve found everything I’ve ever wanted. She’s loved me because I’ve been the man she needed. Because of my MS, I’m now broken, weak, and a liar.
I decide she needs to hear the entire ugly story. Let her get a glimpse into the hell my body is stirring. “My hand has occasionally been going numb over the last week.”
Awareness flashes and she gasps. “Like when you dropped your phone?”
“Today, I was in the bathroom and realized I’d left my phone on the table in the bedroom. My foot started to tingle and there was shooting pain up my legs. I sat at the tub, thinking I could rub my legs enough to make it stop, which it did enough that I thought I could get to my phone.” I look over, wanting to see her face when she hears it all. Heather is a statue, she doesn’t move or even breathe, so I lay it out. “I took one step before I went down. My head slammed on the side of the counter.”
“Eli,” she gasps.
I lift my palm to stop her. “I don’t think I passed out then, and I knew I was bleeding. But I couldn’t feel my legs.” Her hand covers her mouth as another tear falls. “I couldn’t move, and all I could think about was disappointing you. I knew you needed me, but I couldn’t get to you. I was lying on that floor, refusing to fail you. So, I used every fucking scrap of strength I had and clawed my way out of there. Using only my arms, I pulled, pushed, and struggled to gain each goddamn inch. Knowing that this was going to be how it went.” She moves to my side, and I brush away her tears. I touch her blonde hair, memorizing the way it feels in my grasp. I touch her face, wishing I could go back in time. “I couldn’t get far before my arms started to ache. My hands weren’t closing like I wanted them to. I was weak, because that’s what this disease has made me.”