Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Oh, so it’s my fault you were showing symptoms? Is that what you’re saying?”
Mom was leaning over the bed with her hands on her hips now. And I knew if I didn’t step in soon, she’d probably throw my father into heart attack symptoms once again.
“So the paramedics thought it was a heart attack, but the doctor doesn’t think that’s what it was?” I asked, interjecting.
Holding her scowl, Mom straightened up, stared at my father for another breath, then turned to look at me. “They’re waiting on some test results, but it could still be serious even if it wasn’t technically a heart attack,” she replied.
I breathed deep. Stay calm, I told myself. If you freak, she’ll freak, then freak out on him, and that can’t possibly be good for his heart, attacked or not.
“Okay.” I nodded, reaching up and gathering my hair over one shoulder. I twisted the strands into a bundle so my hands stayed busy and my mother couldn’t see how badly they were shaking. “Well, we just need to stay positive and wait. That’s all we can do,” I told them both.
Mom nodded once, agreeing with me, then reached for my father’s hand and squeezed it on the bed. “That’s all we can do,” she repeated, softly smiling at him.
Keeping his hand, she reached back and pulled the chair closer to his side, sat it in, passed the smile she was wearing my way, then lost it when her eyes slid over my shoulder and focused behind me.
She stood out of her chair, lifting my father’s hand off the bed and gripping on to it with both of hers. I spun around then and saw who my mother was reacting to. The muscles in my legs tightened and my knees locked.
My God …
It was Jamie, only older by a handful of years, I was guessing. And instead of board shorts, the man wore a white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. Instead of overgrown wave-tousled hair and a permanent five o’clock shadow, he was clean-cut, close-shaven, and more GQ than model gone rogue.
He was Jamie G-rated. Smoke-free lungs, I was sure, and most likely had no idea how to pick a lock.
I preferred my boys dirtied up and restraining order persistent. This man probably took no for an answer. Jamie took it as a challenge.
Still, wow, the genes in this family were unreal. The McCade parents should’ve kept producing. They couldn’t go wrong.
Dr. McCade stepped forward and glanced up from the paper in his hand. “All right, so …” He paused, noticed me in the room, and lifted his brows in question.
I studied his face.
He had the same high cheekbones as Jamie. Same thin nose and ocean blue eyes. Same lean-muscled physique and summer-touched skin. Beautiful.
I guessed he worked out of this hospital? Durham was only twenty-five minutes away. That wasn’t too long of a commute.
Damn. I wished Jamie’s commute was only twenty-five minutes from here. I was dying to talk to him. And I would, as soon as I knew for sure what was going on. I didn’t want to worry him if this was nothing. I needed answers first.
“This is our daughter, Tori,” Mom shared, reading the question in Dr. McCade’s eyes. “She just got here.”
“Hi,” I said, hands still twisting my hair into a tight coil.
He offered a friendly smile and a genuine, “It’s nice to meet you, Tori. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I smiled back, giving that to him while internally hiding my amusement.
Full sentences. Polite. Total G-rated Jamie.
“Did you get the results back?” Mom asked. Her voice was small and stressed.
Dr. McCade nodded, looking toward the bed. “To the EKG, yes, and I’m confident in stating I do not believe this was a heart attack, Mr. Rivera.”
“Oh, thank God!” Mom cried, bending down and pressing repeated kisses to my father’s hand.
I let out an anxious breath.
“However,” he went on, voice somber and drawing my head back around. “From the results here and the preliminary blood work, I do believe you are showing signs of heart disease.”
The air in the room went colder. My stomach knotted up and my hands tightened around my hair. I heard the change in my mother’s cries, her weeps of joy becoming distressful and doom-filled.
“What does that mean?” I asked. “What is that?”
“It’s when plaque builds up in the arteries that supply blood flow to the heart,” he answered, bringing his arms down in front of him and gripping on to his left forearm, his left hand holding the test results. “This is usually something that happens over time, and the symptoms, such as the chest pain, that feeling we thought was indigestion, those are all signs of it. It’s something that can be life-threatening if it isn’t treated. It can lead to more serious conditions, such as a heart attack, but …” He paused and directed his attention to my parents. Mainly my mother, I was guessing. “There are treatments we can do. Medications. Lifestyle changes, taking some of that weight off, Mr. Rivera, like I suggested …”