Page 68 of Defend Her Heart

“Do you have any more questions for me?”

I work through the information he’s given me already, knowing I have some questions but I can’t think of them for the life of me.

Connor clears his throat. “You mentioned some targeted exercises to improve cardiovascular fitness. Will you be providing a list of exercises we can do, or a program we can start at home? I have tons of trainers and there’s a gym at our place of work that we can utilize. I’d like to put something together today if you have time.”

Is this real life?

I’m not sure what I did to deserve this, but having Connor here through all of this is something I didn’t know I so desperatelyneeded. Who would’ve thought the boy I loved in high school would be the one helping me put my life back together?

The three of us go through exercises and put together a program we can do to get started as soon as we leave here today, but I basically watch from the side while Connor does most of the talking. Dr. Lang hands me a pile of paperwork, resources ranging from symptoms, to diet recommendations, to possible conditions I may develop in the future. POTS apparently often coexists with other conditions such as chronic fatigue syndrome, autoimmune disorders, fibromyalgia, and some other ones I’ve never heard of.

I might have thought I was prepared for this diagnosis, but this is a lot. It’stoo much. I feel myself shutting down, folding in on myself, not wanting to face all of this.

Dr. Lang excuses himself, and I sit there staring at the wall, not hearing the last of what he said or anything Connor continues to say next to me. The next thing I know, Connor is on his knees in front of me, his hands cupping my face.

“Breathe for me, Aves. Watch me.”

I spend the next however many minutes trying to mirror Connor’s breathing. Finally, I feel myself come back to the present. His hands on my face, a welcome balm that I lean into. Without thinking, I press my forehead against his. In an instant, his arms are around me and he’s pulling me into his chest.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” He repeats the affirmations while rubbing circles over my back.

At some point during all of this, I start crying. When I finally pull back, I see the mess of makeup and tears I made on his gray T-shirt.

“God, I am a wreck. Sorry.”

He tips my chin up with his finger. “No, Avery. You’re not a mess. You’re human. You’re allowed to break down after your world gets flipped upside down. Go ahead and fall apart. I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces.”

His words only make me cry harder and I fall into his chest again. I’m not sure how long it takes but eventually the sobbing stops and my breathing calms.

“I think I’m ready to go now.”

Connor stands and reaches his hand out. I take it without hesitation and don’t plan on letting go anytime soon.

Connor has been gone for three days now and the fact that I have a countdown going in my head for when he returns should concern me. I feel like a teenager again with a huge crush, and that feeling is only amplified when I look down at my notebook and see I’m literally doodling his name right now.

It isn’t lost on me that I’ve scribbled his names a thousand times before, but I’m a grown woman, for fuck’s sake. Not to mention, this whole thing istemporary. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

Now that I have my diagnosis, there’s really no need to stay fake married to him—and I will admit this to no one, but I don’t want our time to end yet. How much longer until he brings up the annulment? I don’t know what I’m more afraid of, missing him like this or not having enough time to figure out what this all means.

Slamming my notebook shut, I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it’s well past dinnertime and Tamara still isn’t home.

Realizing that I haven’t eaten anything yet, I trod into the kitchen hoping there’s some leftovers in the fridge. Openingthe doors, all hope is lost when I see the empty shelves. I scour them, looking for anything feasible to throw together that might constitute a meal. I’m about ready to grab a bag of shredded cheese to melt on top of tortilla chips when I hear the door open.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Grabbing the bag of cheese, I close the door and holler back. “I’m in the kitchen! About to make a very sad excuse for nachos.”

I open one of the cupboards and grab a paper plate. When I turn to head to the pantry, Tamara is blocking my way, holding a takeout bag out in front of her.

“Looks like you can skip the nachos. This was waiting outside the door and your name is on it.”

Confused, I grab the paper bag from her. Looking at the receipt, it does have my name on it but that doesn’t make any sense.

“I didn’t order any food.”

Tamara hops onto the counter, and I set the bag next to her. Peering inside, I see several different takeout containers. My curiosity gets the best of me so I take them all out and open them. Each one is filled with food that smells so good my mouth is watering.

“Girl, either you pick one or I will. I haven’t eaten since seven this morning. I amstarving.” Tamara grabs one that contains chicken and asparagus before I even have the chance. She grabs a plastic fork and stabs a piece of asparagus with it. When it’s a few inches from her mouth, I grab her wrist.