Eyes Turned Skyward Page 8

  “Tell me.”

  Morgan took my hand.

  “Your symptoms are progressing, which, of course, is something we didn’t want. Your EKG is showing arrhythmias—irregular rhythms in your heartbeat. With your hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, the present obstruction, and your family history of sudden cardiac death, well, we need to start a different treatment regimen. How have you been feeling?”

  “I tire easily now,” I admitted as he scribbled into my chart. “And sometimes it’s hard for me to catch my breath, especially when my heart starts to pound, but passing out is new.”

  “How long were you unconscious?”

  “I reckon ten minutes or so?”

  “I’d like to start you on some medication to help regulate your heartbeat in addition to what you’re already on. We’re going to need to schedule a new round of testing and probably a heart MRI so we can get a good look at what’s changing and where you sit surgically.”

  My stomach rolled. “Pacemaker?”

  “That’s definitely a good option, if that’s what you want. It would control your heartbeat, but there’s also the internal defibrillator that shocks your heart if it fails.”

  He went into the details of each, which I already knew, but my mind shut down, choosing instead to concentrate on the bird perched on the windowsill. He could fly away whenever he wanted—why would he stay here? I would fly away. I would soar above everything, choose what I really wanted for my future without thought for my heart’s ability to handle it. But that wasn’t my life.

  I was held prisoner by my own body.

  “Paisley?”

  “Yes?” I blinked twice.

  His lips pursed. “Do you need a minute? I know this is a lot to take in.”

  “No, I’m here. Sorry.”

  He nodded. “I know your parents want the pacemaker, but I’m only interested in what you want.”

  Mama was going to cry. Then she’d scream at me for being childish, but I knew it was fear getting the best of her. The pacemaker was the more reasonable choice, but I couldn’t silence the nagging, unexplainable instinct that it was the wrong choice, that it wasn’t going to save me.

  “Have you given it any more thought since your last appointment?”

  “My parents think—”

  “I want to know what you want. You’re almost twenty-one years old, and as much as they’d like to control every aspect of your medical care, they don’t. They can’t.”

  I licked my lips, dry from the hospital air, and finally gave voice to what I’d never been able to say aloud. “I don’t want to keep coming back. I want this to be over with.” Either way.

  The bird flew from the windowsill.

  “You’re going to have to come back. This is something you’ll monitor your whole life, Paisley, regardless of the treatment we choose here. Even something as drastic as a transplant would need to be checked on.”

  You sound like a petulant little baby. “Of course, I’m sorry. I do understand. What gives me the best chance at a normal life?” The life where I could take off my heart monitor, and drink coffee, and run after my kids.

  “That would be the surgery we discussed, septal myectomy, where I would remove enough of the thickened area of the heart to eliminate the obstruction. But, given the abnormal rhythms you’re experiencing, there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t develop a branch bundle block or need an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator. There are no certainties here.”

  I didn’t want a bunch of foreign wires in my body, tethering me to a half life. Oh, Peyton, what would you have chosen?

  “How long do I have to make the choice?”

  He set my chart down on the rolling table. “These episodes are only going to increase the worse the obstruction gets, and SCD is a very real possibility. We’ll try the medication first, but if that fails, we’re going to need a decision in the next few months. Six at tops.”

  One hundred ninety-two days. There were still so many little boxes I had yet to check off the list. I needed every one of those days to live, really live, not just exist. “I need more time.”

  “And I’m trying to give it to you. Medication first, but the choice is coming at you fast.”

  “I’ll think about it. I understand what you’re saying. I know I have to make a choice, and I’m thinking about it, but I’m not ready to decide. Not yet.”

  “Okay. Well, let’s see how the medication goes. Moderate exercise, watch your sodium intake, and be aware of how you’re feeling.”

  “Swimming? I’m taking lessons.”

  “Perfect. Don’t go for laps or anything, keep it—”

  “Moderate.”

  He smiled. “You got it. Okay, I want to see you again in a month.” The nurse smiled as she wheeled the cart out of the room, but before he shut the door, he popped his head back in. “The pacemaker isn’t the wrong decision, Paisley. If that’s what you want, we’ll do it. It’s only the wrong choice if it isn’t yours.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” Something occurred to me. “Oh, one more thing?” He raised his eyebrows, and I flushed hot, but had to ask. “Um…about…sex?”

  He didn’t blink, God bless him. “As long as you can climb a flight of stairs and you’re not winded—you’re good to go.”

  Morgan walked into the kitchen as I examined the label on my new meds. Less energy, quivering, loss of appetite, nausea, and vomiting. Yay, couldn’t wait to see if any of those side effects called my name. First dose was down. I reckoned we’d see soon.

  “Choose the darn pacemaker, Paisley.”

  “No,” I replied calmly, taking a sip of the tart orange juice. The more I said it, the easier it became.

  “Why not?” She raised her voice. “If it means you live, then why the hell not?”

  I took another long drink and gave her my full attention. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  “Don’t you dare condescend me. I’ve been with you since day one, sat through every late-night internet search, and joined every it’s-not-fair cryfest.” She folded her arms across her chest, but they didn’t cage the tension emanating from her.

  “I don’t want the wires or the limits, not when there’s another option. It just feels wrong.” I enunciated each word but kept my voice soft. She was about to blow, I saw it coming, but I didn’t need to add to it, despite hot, painful anger that coursed through my veins, begging to be let loose on the crap hand I’d been dealt.

  “Well, it’s a hell of a lot better than cracking open your chest for heart surgery! For the love of God, were you not listening? You could die!” Her voice rose with every word until she was screaming. She slammed her hands down on the counter, shaking the napkin holder.

  “Wake up, Morgan, I am dying. My heart is going to fail just like hers did!”

  “Then suck it up and make the safe choice! None of us want to lose you because you feel like living with a pacemaker isn’t good enough for you!”

  That stung but still didn’t quell the fire raging through me. Mama, Daddy, Will, Morgan… Why couldn’t I make them all understand?

  “God, I miss being normal! I can’t run, or go dancing like a twenty-year-old should, or do a million other things I want to do, have dreamed of doing. I have parents who look at me like I’m going to drop dead on the floor at any minute, which is a distinct possibility, and a boyfriend who barely makes love to me. He won’t give me an orgasm because he’s terrified, no matter how many times I tell him it’s okay! To be honest, I have to beg him to touch me, and if he does, which is maybe once a month, his eyes aren’t locked on mine, no, they’re on this darn watch!” I lifted my wrist. “I’ve got everyone telling me to get a pacemaker at twenty, to not only accept all of this as my life, but to be grateful, because my sister didn’t get it. Grateful!”

  Her shoulders drooped like the fight fell right out of her, but I couldn’t stop the words flying out of my mouth.

  “I don’t know what I want yet, but I know that there’s a fine line betwe
en being a respectful daughter and trying to make up for them losing Peyton. Maybe I want to take the chance that I could have a normal life. Maybe it’s my chance to follow my instincts when they’re screaming that a pacemaker isn’t what my body needs. Maybe I deserve to think about every maybe before they slice me open and sentence me to a life I didn’t choose because I was too weak and respectful to say no. And maybe, just maybe I need you on my side!” My voice broke, like even it couldn’t handle the sheer longing within me.

  She hugged me tight, her tears soaking into my shirt. “Oh, Paisley.”

  I took gulping breaths. “Be on my side, because no one else is.”

  Chapter Ten

  Paisley

  11. Get inked.

  It was now or never.

  Will was preoccupied with studying. I couldn’t blame him—he wanted to be top of the class, and there was someone giving him a run for his money. He pulled out his flashcard 5&9s to study, and I pulled out my car keys and left him to it.

  Jagger would understand, right? He had five of the things. He would help me. Besides, he’d been in and out, prepping the renovation yesterday, and I hadn’t managed a single moment alone with him. I missed my friend.

  Oh, how you love to validate your reasoning.

  Lucy was huge, yellow, and impossible to miss. I parked in front of his mailbox and picked my way across the newly aerated grass. Huh. The flowerbeds were freshly weeded, too.

  Nerves tied my stomach into knots. Maybe I should have texted first? But I was here now, so I knocked, and Masters opened the door five heartbeats later. “Is Jagger around?”

  “Hey, Paisley. Come on in.” Odd how I liked someone I’d never seen smile, but I did.

  The door opened directly to the living room, which was immaculately clean for a guys’ house. Well, except for the giant bags along the dining room wall. They stood vertically like luggage, but had a weird, trapezoid-like shape to them. Hockey sticks leaned on them, so I figured the rest of that kind of gear had to be lurking in there.

  “Paisley?” Jagger’s voice triggered butterflies.

  “Hockey?” I pointed toward the bags without meeting his eyes. Why had I done this? What was Will going to think when I showed him what I’d done?

  “Yeah. Josh and I used to play in college.” My eyebrows shot up. “Why so shocked?”

  “Hockey just isn’t a sport you hear a lot about around here. Were you any good?”

  “Yeah. I mean, Josh was better. Is better. But most college guys don’t go on to the NHL or anything.”

  “You still play?”

  He moved in front of me, so I had to look up at him or stare at the logo on his shirt. I looked up and immediately regretted it. His eyes drew me in, made me forget things I had no business forgetting. “Pickup in Montgomery when we get the chance. Paisley, you’re not here to talk hockey. I’m glad to see you, but what’s going on?”

  I swallowed. “If I wanted to do something considered a little crazy, would you help me?”

  He crossed his arms in front of him, his ink peeking out of his shirtsleeves. “Define crazy.”

  “I want a tattoo.”

  His eyes flew wide. “Seriously?”

  “I just said it, didn’t I?” Okay, so the tremors in my voice gave me away. I wasn’t pulling off fearless very well.

  “Is this on your list?”

  Was he laughing at me? “As a matter of fact, it is, which is really none of your business. My only question is if you want to come with me.”

  “You need someone to hold your hand.” His smirk just about pushed me over the edge. I wanted to trace my tongue along the curve of his lips. Oh, I was going to hell again for thinking about that.

  “I want…you,” I whispered, the admission slipping free before common sense and decency could stop it. “I mean, I want you there. I figure you have experience and won’t be all judgy.”

  “What does your boyfriend think?”

  “He doesn’t know.” I raised my chin. Be fierce.

  “And where are you planning on going?”

  I shrugged. “I figured I’d go into Dothan and see if I could find a place.”

  “Jesus Christ, Paisley. You’re talking about getting a needle repeatedly jabbed into your skin for some permanent artwork, and you think you’ll just find a place? Is that all you think you’re worth? Some random shop with their light on? This isn’t getting your ears pierced. This is forever.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to pick some cliché rose out of a portfolio. I know what I want, and I’m going, whether or not you come with me.” Please don’t make me go alone.

  His jaw flexed, and then he sighed. “I’ll take you, just wait.” He tapped a few times on his cell phone and set it to his ear. “Hey, Matt. You around? Nawh, man, it’s good. I’m loving it. I’m actually bringing someone to see you if you’ve got an opening. Cool? Yeah. Be there soon.” Another tap and the phone was back to his pocket.

  “You have a tattoo artist on call?”

  He shrugged with a grin. “You don’t. Hence why you’re here, right?”

  “You ready, Paisley?” Matt asked, sliding into his chair behind where I reclined on my side, my shirt tucked into my bra. I nodded, unable to say much. This was definitely not what I expected. Everything was sparkling clean. It was all so…sanitary.

  “Aren’t you going to hold my hand?” I looked where Jagger hovered next to me. I felt his gaze on my bare stomach as surely as if his fingers were on my skin.

  His grin was contagious. “Do you need a little support?”

  I nodded my head, my lower lip caught between my teeth. He took my hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Ok, I’m ready,” I said.

  Matt held a mirror to my side so I could see where he’d stenciled my soon-to-be tattoo. “Is this exactly what you want?”

  “Though she be but little, she is fierce. Yes, that’s perfect.”

  The gun started, and I jumped. “Let’s not do that, okay?” he gently said.

  I nodded and squeezed Jagger’s hand so tight I was pretty sure I’d bust a couple bones. He took it in stride. “Look at me, not at him.”

  I turned my head away as the gun touched my skin. It wasn’t too bad, just an annoying scratch. I could handle this. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  He brushed a loose strand of hair out of my eyes. “No problem. You a Shakespeare fan?” he asked, motioning to my tattoo with a nod of his head.

  My mouth popped open. “You know this is Shakespeare?”

  “Jeez, think a little higher of me. I’ve read A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  “And you remember this exact line?”

  One side of his mouth rose in a smirk, and my belly clenched. Did he have to look like that? “Sure I do. Act three, scene two, Helena talking to Hermia. Would you like the context?”

  “Wow.”

  He laughed, the sound turning my muscles to liquid. “Don’t be too impressed. I have a photographic memory.”

  The needle’s itch started to burn. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”

  His expression fell. “You have no clue.”

  I tried to concentrate on the blue of his eyes instead of the pain that quickly grew to thought consuming. “So this photographic memory, did it help you in school?”

  “My degree is in physics, so it didn’t hurt.”

  “You have a degree in physics and you’re remodeling my storage room?” I hoped that didn’t sound as condescending out loud as it did in my head. “I mean, not that your work isn’t meaningful…”

  “I like motion. It’s easy to understand, easy to predict once you know the rules.” He leaned back, keeping his hand in mine.

  I wanted to move away from the persistent burn in my side but knew better. “How much more?”

  Jagger took a good look at my tattoo. “About a quarter of the way.”

  I sucked in my breath. I could do this. It wasn’t too bad, but it sure as fire wasn’t pleasant.

 
He smiled softly. “Need a distraction?”

  I sank my teeth into my lower lip. “Questions?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “You’re letting me go first? Really?” Man, that gun was beginning to hurt.

  “Well, I’m not the one getting tattooed, so I’ll have mercy on you.” He ran the stud in his tongue along his teeth, and I stared, transfixed. “Paisley?”

  “Oh, question. Right. I know you’re all anti-relationship right now, but don’t you miss having a girlfriend?” Oh my God! That was not supposed to come out of my mouth.

  He played with the tongue stud again for a moment. I was fast learning that it meant he was thinking. “I’ve never been a relationship guy. I’ve learned that the people you let in the closest have the power to hurt you the most, which doesn’t really push me toward relationships.”

  I instantly hated whoever had hurt him. “That’s a really cynical way to look at love.”

  “That’s a painful place to get a tattoo. Pretty bold choice for a newbie.” He abruptly changed the subject.

  I understood loud and clear. “How much more?”

  Matt sprayed something cool and soothing onto my skin and wiped it off before he set the gun to my skin again. “No, kids, we’re not there yet,” he joked.

  “You sat through five of these?” I asked Jagger. Pain laced my voice into an almost whine. “I’m such a wimp.”

  “You’re doing fine.” I loved the feel of my hand in his. There was no awkward placement of fingers or clammy grip. It felt natural.

  “Have mercy on me and let me ask another question?”

  Jagger half laughed. “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me about one of your tattoos. Your first?”

  Something dark flickered across his face. “How about my last?”

  I nodded, willing to take whatever he would give.

  He let go of my hand and lifted his shirt, revealing the black scrollwork that cut across his lower abs. My mouth watered at the idea of tracing it with my tongue. Bad! I shut that thought down immediately.