27. TESSA
TESSA
Blake stood in his office, a sterile shrine to modern medicine with its gleaming white furniture and endless rows of medical texts, where sunlight drifted through the window.
It was the kind of light that made everything look softer, more intimate—even the man himself, who’d forgone his usual white coat and scrubs today in favor of a crisp blue button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
But what struck me most were the papers scattered across his pristine office floor like confetti.
“I have bad news, Tessa.”
God Almighty, it’s happening. My worst fear was finally materializing.
Every time I’d imagined this moment, it played out the same way.
They’d finally figure out what was wrong with me, only to say, Sorry, turns out you’re dying.
Maybe if we’d caught it sooner, you could have had the life you always wanted.
You could have planned that sunset wedding you used to dream about, felt the weight of your newborn against your chest, seen your name splashed across magazine covers as Chicago’s most successful entrepreneur.
But sadly, you should probably look into the economy package at the local funeral home.
My heart thundered so erratically that I was pretty sure the cardiologist monitoring me was already reaching for the crash cart.
“The tests all came back normal,” Blake announced.
I pressed my palm to my chest, letting out a whoosh of relief that made my knees weak. A smile crept across my face, slow at first, then spreading like wildfire.
“Oh my GOD, Blake. Don’t do that to me!”
“Do what?” His brow furrowed in that adorably confused way that made him look more like a puzzled golden retriever than the brilliant doctor I knew him to be. The one who probably hadn’t scored below a 98% since kindergarten.
“Look like you’re about to tell me I’m dying!”
To think, I’d had that pity party from barfing. If this didn’t put things in perspective, nothing would.
“This is bad news, Tessa.” He swept his arms toward the paperwork on the ground. The sight of straitlaced, perfectly pressed Dr. Blake Morrison, the man who probably ironed his socks, having thrown what appeared to be a full-on tantrum made my heart dance.
I pressed my hand to my forehead, my smile growing wider.
“You seriously need to LEAD with, You are not dying, Tessa . For a minute there …” I shook my head, almost giddy with relief.
It was astonishing how everything could change in just a few seconds. Like I’d had a loaded gun to my head, someone’s finger pulling back the trigger, and just when I’d braced for my doomed fate, the gun vanished, and I was told I had another chance to live.
This was the second time I’d felt it. The first time, when my heart had stopped beating, I hadn’t fully experienced the fear like this because I’d only learned about the danger after it was over.
This time, I’d seen the gun, felt its cold barrel against my temple, heard the click of the hammer that should have been my last sound.
“You know what?” My smile widened. “THIS was the shock I needed. Thank you.”
Without thinking—and that was probably good because if I’d thought about it, I never would have done it—I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Blake froze, and a current of warm electricity snaked through my body at the feel of his skin against my lips.
He smelled like coffee and something woodsy and expensive, and for one dangerous moment, I wondered if he’d taste the same way.
It was a thought I had to actively push aside to stay focused.
“Here I was, feeling sorry for myself after throwing up at my meeting.”
His whole demeanor changed in an instant, doctor mode snapping into place like a shield. “You threw up?”
I waved my hand dismissively. “Had a full-on pity party. You should have seen me, sobbing on the bathroom floor of that fancy place. Really added a certain je ne sais quoi to their marble tiles.”
“Today?” His voice sharpened to a scalpel’s edge. “You vomited today?”
“No one likes a Debbie Downer,” I continued. “And that wasn’t even the first time. I mean, damn, when I think about this past year …” My voice trailed off, realizing the joy I’d let this steal.
That was the worst casualty in all of this, wasn’t it?
Blake stepped closer, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Definitely not helping my heart rate situation.
“Tell me exactly what happened when you got sick today.”
But I was riding my wave of perspective, determined not to let it crash.
“I haven’t just felt sick this past year; I let myself feel depressed over this.”
“People don’t let themselves feel depressed, Tessa.
” His voice softened, and something in it made me look up at him.
Bad idea. He was giving me that look—the one that made me feel like I was the only person in his world.
“That’s not how depression works; it’s not a choice.
You’re going through something terrible, and it would take a toll on anyone.
Even someone as strong and cheery as you. ”
My cheeks warmed at his words. He saw me as strong? And cheery? I had been cheery my whole life, hadn’t I? The proverbial happy person who always saw the silver lining. Until my health started slipping away and I’d let my happiness and cheer slip away right along with it.
Until now. Now, I felt her return—the old me, the happy me, throwing up or not.
“To think of all the times I’d cried myself to sleep.” I shook my head at my past self. “All those wasted nights I should have been counting my lucky stars I wasn’t dying.”
Blake’s entire body went rigid, like someone had replaced his spine with steel. “You’ve cried yourself to sleep?”
“So many times that I lost count,” I said absently.
“But the point is, this whole time, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself; I’ve been taking all the other moments of my life for granted.
I’m still here. And, sure, my body doesn’t feel like the epitome of health, but think of all the people hooked up to ventilators who’d wish to be in my shoes.
Or people fighting terminal illnesses, or facing atrocities around the world, or not here anymore.
They’d all wish they could be in my shoes, Blake. ”
“Stop doing that.” He reached for me, then seemed to think better of it, his hand falling back to his side while the ghost of that almost touch lingered between us like static electricity. “Stop telling yourself that your suffering needs to be justified by someone else’s pain.”
“This is the universe shaking my shoulders and making me see how much I still have, not just what I’ve lost.” The words tumbled out faster, higher, riding that desperate wave of forced optimism. “I needed something to snap me out of my funk, and this was it!”
His face tightened, and I could read the worry there plain as day. He thought my feelings were temporary, but he didn’t want to burst my bubble. If I was happy, even artificially so, he wanted to preserve it like a rare butterfly under glass.
“I’m not done with this, Tessa.” The quiet determination in his voice cut through his office.
“I know.”
“I want to run more tests.”
“Figured as much.”
“Talk to me about vomiting today.” His doctor voice was back, all business.
“In what way? You want to know what color it was?”
He fixed me with a look that could have melted steel. “There is nothing funny about this.”
“Disagree. I shall find the humor in this from now on.”
“Tessa.”
“It was brown,” I relented.
Dear Diary. You know how I’ve had a massive crush on Blake Morrison since basically forever? Today, I talked about the color of my vomit with him. #RelationshipGoals
“You had no breakfast.”
“Bingo.” I forced myself to focus on anything but how his forearms looked with his sleeves rolled up.
He sighed, running a hand behind his neck, and for a moment, I let myself notice how the movement made his shirt pull tight across his biceps. He caught me looking, and I quickly averted my eyes, suddenly fascinated by his collection of medical journals.
“Okay, look.” His voice had that tone that meant he was about to say something I wouldn’t like. “There’s one variable we haven’t ruled out yet.”
“Only one?” I arched an eyebrow.
“I’d like to hire a professional environmental inspection company,” he said.
“What, pray tell, does a professional environmental inspection company do? By the way, they could seriously use a marketing person to help them shorten that name.”
“Perform a visual inspection of the property, looking for any signs of water damage or mold growth.”
“We already did that.”
Blake leaned forward, and the intensity in his eyes made my esophagus spasm. “And now a trained professional will. They’ll have tools that measure moisture with meters and infrared cameras. They’ll also collect samples and send them off to a lab.”
Labs. It had been my experience that anything with the word lab in it wasn’t cheap. Or quick.
“How long would that take?” I tried to ignore how close my body was to his. Close enough that I could feel its heat.
“When I did it a couple of years ago, I got my results back within ten days.” His fingers drummed against his bicep. “Could be longer, could be sooner. Depends on how backlogged the labs are.”
“And after that?”
“After that, we’ll know if your environment is causing your health problems.” The drumming intensified.
I narrowed my eyes. “But? Because I definitely heard a big but in your voice, Blake.”
He winced. “They can’t squeeze us in for a couple of more weeks.”
“Which puts us at three and a half weeks until we find out if this is causing me problems?”
“Correct.” The word came out clipped, like it physically pained him. Like watching me suffer was somehow harder on him than the actual suffering was on me.