Page 43 of Defend Her Heart

“Say what you need to. This entire situation has pushed me out of my comfort zone. I don’t like letting people help me, especially an ex-boyfriend. But here we are.”

He inhales through his nose and blows out a breath. “Why don’t we talk on the way to your place?”

“Okay.” I hand over the phone with Tamara’s address plugged in. It says it’s a twelve-minute drive with downtown traffic this evening. I know that’s not long, but right now it feels like an eternity. Because every second in this small space is a reminder. I’m reminded of the way Connor used to reach over and grab my hand without thinking. Or how our late night drives never felt long enough. Or how easy it used to be to just sit in silence together as we drove to nowhere.

There’s too much history here. I fold my arms tight across my chest, like that might keep my feelings from escaping, as I wait for him to continue our conversation. Barely any time has passed, but the silence that stretches between us is agony.

I try like hell to focus on the windshield in front of me. My knee starts bouncing, and before I can grab it to try and keep it still, Connor’s hand is there. His palm rests above my knee for a few beats, grounding me. After all this time, he can still notice my anxiety and instinctively try to steady me in a calm, gentle way.

The light in front of us turns yellow, and Connor eases on the brake, bringing his truck to a stop. He lifts his hand off my thigh, giving me a few seconds to collect my thoughts.

Finally he speaks, breaking the tension I’m not even sure he’s feeling.

“All right, I’m just going to say something and I’m sure it’s going to piss you off, but I need to say it.”

My eyes move from the windshield to him, but his focus is straight ahead.

“I’m worried about you, Avery. And I know I have noright to be. But after everything I read online, the low blood volume, the blood pooling in your legs, the heart palpitations…I’m not even sure if it’s a heart condition or not. There was so much to read, and some sites had conflicting information. But some said you need a cardiologist. Are you sure you can wait for these tests?”

His thumbs tap on his steering wheel as he babbles on about everything he learned online.

“Okay, slow down, Doctor Google. Not everything you read online is true.”

His focus turns to me and the glare he attempts to give me has me laughing.

“I’m sorry! You’re just sitting over there spewing all these things you read on the internet like you got your degree online.”

The light turns green and Connor looks ahead again. “Well, you won’t talk to me about it. Sadie and Niko won’t talk to me about it. So I researched on my own.” He shrugs, and I feel guilty for making fun of him. He’s done more to learn about my condition than Bryan ever did. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

I’m not sure what else to say. I’m overwhelmed that he cares this much, that he took the time to research a condition Imighthave.

“Since Google apparently lied to me, can you tell me about POTS?”

I take in his side profile, not at all surprised at how earnest he’s being. This is who he always was. Both intense and sincere in almost everything he does.

“Sure.”

I spend the next ten minutes of our drive describing everything that’s been going on with me. I’m surprised at how easily the words fall out. I discuss everything from what type of chronic illness it is, to the other domino effects that couldhappen if I am diagnosed with POTS. This condition has made me question everything about me. I went from a professional athlete to someone who can barely stand for long periods of time.

“The biggest things for me are feeling like my heart is racing even when I’m doing nothing. A lot of people think it only happens when standing up for extended amounts of time, but there are times when I’ll be sitting or lying down and it feels like I just ran a marathon. Things that used to be easy for me like going up the stairs, doing laundry, or even just taking a shower, feel almost impossible.”

The map on Connor’s dash indicates we’ve arrived at our destination. He finds a parking spot just outside Tamara’s place and turns the engine off. Conflicting feelings are at war within me. Part of me is grateful that we’re here, so I can escape and not have to explain how I don’t even recognize who I am anymore. The other part of me is disappointed we don’t have another ten minutes to keep talking.

To my surprise, Connor turns in his seat and rests his elbow on the steering wheel, leaning his head onto his hand.

“So, cardiologists do handle a lot of POTS patients but it’s actually a nervous system disorder?”

I nod and smile at him. It’s refreshing speaking to a man and having him actually hear what I’m saying.

“I think I understand it better now. I still have a lot of questions, but I’ll spare you for now.” We both laugh, and I go to grab the handle of my door, thinking that is the end of the conversation.

“Avery, wait.” Connor’s hand lands on my forearm. He’s not grabbing me hard but the warmth of his fingers against my skin makes me feel warm all over. I look down at where he’s holding me, wondering why this one simple touch has such a large effect on me.

Connor must think I’m annoyed by the contact because heyanks his hand away. I want to beg him to put it back but the words are trapped in my throat.

“Sorry, just…can you tell me about these tests? It still sounds like you really need them.”