Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Allegra rubbed my shoulder. “Good.”
I checked my email repeatedly throughout the day Monday, but never got a reply from Finn Shepherd. Had he seen my message? Was he ignoring it? There was no way I’d gotten the wrong Finn Shepherd, Associate Professor of Neurology, was there?
I was just as obsessive about my texts, thinking maybe Dallas would come to his senses and reach out to me, or at least let me know he’d arrived in Boston safely and was going to do what the doctors said.
But he never did.
After work, I called Emme and asked her if I could come over.
“Sure,” she said. “Everything okay?”
“No,” I told her, fighting tears. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”
Nate opened the front door to their house and looked at me strangely. “Maren?” he said, almost like he didn’t recognize me. Admittedly, I was looking pretty haggard from the lack of sleep and all the crying, and I was on the verge of another meltdown right there on their front porch.
“Yes,” I squeaked, trying to hold it in.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded and squeaked again. “No.”
Emme appeared behind him, her eyebrows rising. “Maren! What’s wrong?”
One look at my big sister and I burst into tears, and I stood there wailing on their doorstep for a few seconds while they stared at me in shock. Nate recovered first and took me by the arm. “Come in, come in.”
I stumbled into their front hall and threw my arms around Emme. “He’s gone. He has a brain tumor and he’s gone.”
Emme gasped and embraced me. “What are you talking about?”
“Did someone die?” Nate asked.
I realized what I’d said. “No, no. He’s fine. I mean, he’s not fine—Dallas has a brain tumor—but he’s alive.”
“Oh my God.” Emme hugged me tightly and let me go. “Come sit.”
I went into their living room and sat on the couch. “Do you have any tissues?”
“I’ll get some,” Nate said, heading into the kitchen.
Emme sat next to me. “So what happened? Are you serious about this brain tumor thing? That’s what was going on with him?”
I nodded, trying to compose myself so I could at least get through the story. Nate returned with a box of tissues and handed it to me before taking a seat across from us in a leather and chrome chair.
“Okay if I’m in here?” he asked.
“It’s fine,” I said, blowing my nose. “Embarrassing, but fine.”
I told them about the conversation Dallas and I had had last night—how he’d attempted to break things off without telling me the truth, how I’d figured it out and confronted him, how he didn’t want anything to do with me going forward.
“He s-said he d-doesn’t love m-me,” I blubbered. “He said it w-was a m-mistake.”
“My God, you poor thing.” Emme rubbed my back. “That had to be so hard.”
They let me cry for a while without saying anything, but Emme made soothing noises and kept a hand on my back.
When I’d calmed down enough to talk, I grabbed another tissue. “God. I’m such a mess.”
“He seemed distracted at dinner,” Nate said. “I’m usually pretty good at reading people, and I had the impression he was really uneasy about something.”
“Maybe the fact that he was about to dump me? Or his brain tumor. Take your pick.”
“God, this is horrible. And so sad.” Emme looked like she might cry too. “I’m really sorry, Maren.”
“What’s the prognosis on the tumor?” Nate asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Can it be removed?”
I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know for sure, because he wouldn’t talk to me about it. He said he doesn’t want my pity. I think there’s a surgery he can have, but there are risks he’s worried about.”
“What kind of risks?”
I thought back to the conversation when Dallas had led me to believe it was his dad with the tumor. “I think he said something about potential loss of mobility on the right side.”
Nate’s expression was grim. “That has to be a particularly horrible prospect if you’re a tattoo artist.”
“I know, but not as bad as—as…” I couldn’t even think it. A fresh round of tears welled, and I sobbed into a tissue.
“So now what?” Emme asked.
“Who knows?” I cried. “I emailed his brother in Boston, the neurologist, but he didn’t email back.”
“Have you reached out to Dallas?” Nate asked.
I shook my head. “He told me not to.”
Nate looked surprised. “You’re just going to do what he says?”
“What choice do I have? He rejected me, Nate. He doesn’t want me.” Pain wrenched my heart all over again.
Emme spoke up. “First of all, I don’t think that’s true. He might not have been himself at the table last night, but I saw the way he looked at you. He adores you.”
“Then why would he push me away?”
“I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t want you to have to deal with his medical problems.” Nate shrugged. “He probably thinks he’s doing you a favor by cutting you loose.”