61. BLAKE
BLAKE
How could I have known that the clue that would solve everything was right here at this dinner table?
“Maybe it’s time we put this behind us,” Tessa suggested, her voice soft but determined. She twirled her fork in the fettuccine Alfredo—her favorite comfort food that she’d barely touched—while I watched her from across the candlelit table, cataloging every micro-expression that crossed her face.
Our first dinner party as a couple should have been perfect.
Maria had outdone herself with the table setting.
Crystal glasses caught the warm glow of candles while elegant floral centerpieces added splashes of color, but something about the formal arrangement, the careful positioning of every fork and knife, reminded me more of a wake than a celebration.
Tessa’s wake, specifically, if I couldn’t figure this out.
“I told you when I first started that I would never give up until I got an answer,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle, even as my hands clenched beneath the tablecloth. “End of conversation.”
Scarlett suddenly found her wineglass fascinating. She took a long sip, her usual sharp wit momentarily dulled by the tension crackling across the table.
“I don’t like what this is doing to you.” Tessa’s eyes pierced straight through me.
“Ditto.” The word came out harder than I intended.
Her fork hit the plate with a clash that made everyone jump. “Blake?—”
“Tessa.” I leaned forward, memorizing how the candlelight cast highlights in her hair. “You’ve been staying with me. I see what this is doing to you. By dinner, you’re so exhausted that you can barely lift your head from the couch.”
“I’m running a business; of course I’m exhausted.” Her chin lifted in that stubborn tilt I’d come to both love and dread.
“That’s not what this is, and we both know it.”
“You knew fatigue was one of the major symptoms,” she countered.
“There’s something fundamentally different about seeing the word fatigue on a patient’s medical chart and watching that person struggle to make it through each day.” I had to pause, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. “Seeing you on that couch each night …” Breaks my heart.
“You’re not letting Blake give up on this,” Ryker suddenly announced, his tone pure courtroom authority. My best friend might be Tessa’s older brother, but right now, he was in full lawyer mode, treating the dinner table like his latest case.
Although Axel was right; Ryker was, in fact, sporting a slight black eye. One Tessa aggressively ignored. And one that Scarlett, sensing something between me and Ryker, smirked at.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot we’re back in the seventeenth century, when my older brother was allowed to dictate my life choices,” Tessa snapped, fire dancing in her eyes.
Even through my worry, I couldn’t help but smirk.
This was my Tessa—five feet three inches of pure determination.
She might be dealing with a mysterious illness, but she compensated for every moment of vulnerability with twice as much spirit.
Any hint that someone saw her as fragile, and she’d launch what Scarlett called her “verbal flare gun,” reminding everyone that beneath the nausea, muscle weakness, and constellation of other symptoms was a force of nature who wouldn’t be controlled. Or pitied.
The moment I showed any sympathy, she’d redirect the conversation to cancer patients or terminally ill children. This, she’d insist, was just an inconvenience. It would not define her.
“Now, seeing as how I planned this dinner party, with Maria’s help, of course, I would greatly appreciate it if we changed the subject.” Her tone left no room for argument.
Scarlett smirked and winked at me, as if to say, See? Terrifying Chihuahua.
“How’s work?” Tessa asked her best friend.
“Work’s great,” Scarlett offered, though something flickered behind her usual confidence. “I’m putting my hat in the ring for a promotion.”
“Good.” Tessa brightened, attempting another bite of pasta. “You deserve it. You’ve worked your ass off for that company. When do you apply?”
“Soon.” Scarlett’s usual swagger dimmed. “There are some … complications going on at work right now though.”
“What kind of complications?”
Scarlett’s trademark smirk vanished. She suddenly became focused on straightening her already-perfect silverware. “You know how corporate America can be.”
Scarlett didn’t meet Tessa’s worried eyes. Eyes that glided to me with a silent question. Like I’d know why her best friend was suddenly acting elusive and upset?
I shrugged.
Tessa evaluated her friend, and evidently, she decided not to push Scarlett to explain why this confident woman was suddenly avoiding eye contact.
The conversation drifted to safer waters after that, but I barely registered the words.
I was too busy watching the way Tessa pushed her favorite dish around her plate, taking microscopic bites.
The wineglass she kept lifting to her lips without the level ever changing.
The slight hunch of her shoulders that told me she was hiding another stomachache.
When her gaze met mine across the table, I mouthed, You okay?
She nodded with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and something inside me cracked. The love of my life was drowning right in front of me, and I was just standing on deck, watching her slip beneath the waves.
Later, while I was gathering after-dinner drinks, Tessa found me in the kitchen, my palms pressed against the counter as I tried to steady myself.
“Hey …” Her hand was warm against my back.
I forced a smile, hating that she was wasting energy worrying about me when she should be resting.
“Are you having fun?” I managed.
Look at her beautiful smile.
“I love this. Having friends over for dinner … I’ve never gotten to do stuff like this before. It’s …” She ran a hand through her hair, and that’s when I saw it. “Nice.”
I caught her hand, extending her arm to examine it in the kitchen’s overhead light. The flesh near her elbow was angry and inflamed, a scattering of hives spreading across her skin.
“How long has this been here?”
Her furrowed brows told me she was taken aback by the sharp tone in my voice. “It kind of comes and goes in different spots. This time, it’s been there a few hours, I think?”
This time …
A slight sniffle caught my attention—something I might have missed with anyone else, but these days, I was attuned to Tessa’s every emotion.
“Have you been crying?”
“No.” She frowned. “Why do you have such a weird tone? It’s creepy.”
I dropped her arm as my mind raced. “So, you have nasal congestion.”
“I’m not sick if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just allergies.”
“Yesterday, your skin looked flushed in the morning.”
“It did?”
My eyes darted from left to right. “Flushing. Hives. Nasal congestion consistent with histamine response. Skin. Gastrointestinal. Lungs.”
The pieces were finally, finally clicking into place.
“Blake? Where are you going?”
But I was already jogging to my home office, my heart pounding with possibility.
“I heard a lecture last year,” I called over my shoulder.
Footsteps followed. Tessa, then Ryker and Scarlett, drawn by the commotion. They crowded the doorway, muttering expressions of disbelief at the wall of medical data I’d compiled.
“What in the ever-loving hell?” Ryker whistled. “And I thought my murder boards were intense. This is like if WebMD had a baby with CSI .”
“Her symptoms,” I said, yanking papers from one wall and pinning them to another section with trembling fingers. “At first glance, they seem unrelated, but they’re not.”
“If I didn’t know you, I’d think Ted Bundy and a stalker had a baby,” Ryker observed, trailing a finger over a Post-it that read, HEART! Pulse!
“Please tell me this lands in the top five weirdest things he’s done,” Scarlett asked Tessa.
“Like any chronic illness, it’s put stress on your heart for over a year. No wonder you’ve been having issues.”
The pieces were falling faster now, a medical jigsaw finally taking shape.
“I’ve worked with seasoned homicide detectives,” Ryker said. “They’ve never had a case board like this.”
“But the heart isn’t the primary problem. That’s why the cardiologist hasn’t found any typical cardiac anomalies.”
“Should we be worried about him?” Scarlett stage-whispered to Tessa.
“When he gets like this, you just need to let him finish his thoughts,” Tessa answered.
“This is it.” I turned to face them, my pulse racing. “This has to be it. I saw a conference presentation on this last year. It’s notoriously difficult to diagnose unless you know exactly what you’re looking for.”
“What is it?” Tessa’s voice was barely a whisper.
I met her eyes, seeing all our possible futures reflected there. “One last blood test. Come on.”
She hesitated for just a moment, then reached for my outstretched hand. As our fingers intertwined, I made a silent promise that this time, I wouldn’t let her down.
Behind us, I heard Scarlett whisper to Ryker, “Ten bucks says your sister’s dating either a genius or a serial killer.”
“Twenty says it’s both,” Ryker muttered back, but I barely heard them.
I was already pulling Tessa toward the door, toward answers, toward hope.
Please, I thought, let this be it.