Chapter 23
Connor
It’s one of those in-and-out nights. Where sleep finds me, pulls me under, and spits me out again. When I’m asleep, it’s a light, dreamless slumber. When I’m awake, I lie in the dark and think of Lennon.
The strangest thing happened when I was on the sofa with him.
He was sitting close to me, the closest we’ve been to each other for any length of time, and for a while there, toward the end of the movie, my heart felt really uncomfortable.
It felt like it did when I came out of surgery, swollen and too big for my chest. Every beat was distinctive.
So obvious that I felt them not only in my chest, but in my lips and hands too.
My heart rate was elevated, beating too hard and too fast.
Each beat delivered a clear lull and a solid contraction.
Chambers filled with blood.
Muscle squeezed it out.
I felt lightheaded, and for a second, absolute terror slammed into me.
Before I could speak and tell Lennon I needed help, something changed. Bone matter expanded and my chest cavity widened. It was intense, but it didn’t hurt.
I turned to Lennon when it happened. He was looking straight ahead at the TV.
His handsome face was in profile. Light glinted off his forehead and nose.
Shadows played under his eyes and darkened his stubble.
He looked happy and sad. Comfortable and uncomfortable.
But mostly, mostly, he looked close enough that if I reached out or leaned in, I could have touched him.
I didn’t blink.
I didn’t take my eyes off him. I couldn’t help thinking that if he were the last thing I ever saw, at least he was the most beautiful too.
As I studied his face, something major happened.
I don’t know what it’s called, or what caused it, but I know it happened—my heart fell into place.
Perfectly. Notably. I felt the difference immediately.
It was obvious. Something shifted. Something moved.
Something gave, and a foreign object found its way home.
I was aware of the change for the rest of the night.
Even now, as I lie here, I’m aware of it.
The clear, extraneous beat I’ve come to accept as normal—new normal—is gone.
The struggle is over. I don’t feel a noticeable beat in my chest anymore, though my pulse is fine.
I should know, I’ve checked it at least twenty times since I came to bed.
My blood pressure is good. My breathing is steady.
I don’t know what’s happened or why. All I know is that for the first time in years, my heart is beating easily.