1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Cole

T he only lights still lit on the floor of the huge office building my company occupied were those in my own office space and the ones leading to the exit, the ones that stayed on all night—as usual. I’d outlasted even the night janitors, and the only people left in the building were probably a couple of security guards. I closed my laptop, tucked it into its bag, and stood, my joints protesting after a long stationary day in front of my desk. Despite the long day, I still had work I wanted to get done that evening. With one hand, I rubbed the spot on my solar plexus that had been aching all day, and with the other, I grabbed the notepad I’d used that day and stuffed it into my bag as well, before locking my office and heading toward the elevator. When I stepped inside, I punched the button to have the elevator take me down to the parking garage, where my little silver sedan waited for me.

Once I’d gotten to the garage—my car one of the last ones there—I sank into the leather seats and cranked the heater. For a few seconds after the heat kicked in, I sat there, my head against the seat, and took a few deep, even breaths to center myself and let the day’s work wash away. Four counts in, hold, four counts out. Hopefully the tightness in my chest would go away and I’d be able to breathe easily again soon. When I was ready to go home, I plugged my phone in and pulled out of the garage.

Practically the moment I pulled out and into the street, my phone rang. I glanced at the display—Mom. With a reluctant smile, I tapped the screen to answer. I liked my mom, I really did, but I wasn’t entirely in the mood to be chastised by her, and that was certainly what she was about to do.

“Hey Mom.”

“Cole Martin, don’t you dare ‘hey Mom’ me. I haven’t heard from you in almost a week and here it is, nearly Christmas.” I opened my mouth to speak, but she barreled on. “Have you decided what you’re doing for the holiday yet?”

“Mom, I—” I tried again.

“I don’t want to hear that you have to work.”

I sighed and shook my head, even though it was futile. It wasn’t like she could see me, after all. “You know I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Cole.”

I bit my tongue to keep from arguing any further. As the director of marketing at Nexus Brandworks, I really didn’t have a choice. Work had to be done, it was my job to make sure it got done, and if it didn’t, I’d lose my shot at getting a promotion to vice president in the new year. “It’s really important that I keep up the momentum, Mom. If I want to make VP anytime soon, I can’t drop the ball. Roger’s retirement is just around the corner and they still haven’t named his replacement yet. I don’t want to lose my opportunity just because it happened to fall at Christmastime.”

“Cole…” Mom’s tone was a warning.

“I’ll definitely be there Christmas day, for sure. I can’t make any promises beyond that, but I’ll do what I can.” Luckily, my commute was short, and I was turning into the parking lot for my apartment building, so I had an excuse to get off the phone. “Gotta go, Mom. I’ll call you soon.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Mom.” I parked and wearily made my way upstairs to my apartment, on the sixth floor of the building, my legs feeling as if they were made of lead as I trudged up the stairs. I tried to avoid using the elevator at home, and had convinced myself it was adequate for my daily exercise, but it felt like a losing battle that night. Once again, I rubbed at the tightness in my chest as I opened my apartment door.

Inside, I set my laptop up in front of the couch and grabbed a protein bar to snack on while I reviewed a few designs that had been submitted to me for approval earlier that day. I worked as long as I possibly could before my eyelids grew heavy and I started to nod off. Finally, as it was nearing one in the morning, I closed my laptop for the night, realizing belatedly that I’d only eaten a protein bar for dinner and promising myself I’d get something heartier for breakfast. I made my way into my bedroom and stripped down before collapsing into bed wearing only my boxers.

My alarm went off at six the next morning, as usual. With a groan, I slapped at my phone on the nightstand until the blaring stopped and quickly got ready for work. After a quick shower, I threw on a clean pair of boxers, along with fresh slacks and a pressed button-down shirt. I topped off my outfit with a dark sport coat, shoved my laptop back in its bag, and headed to work.

It was just over a week until Christmas, and I found myself thinking of what to buy my parents as I drove to the office. I stopped by my favorite chain coffee shop to get a chai latte—I was trying to cut back on coffee—for breakfast. Remembering my promise to myself about eating a better breakfast, I also ordered a slice of pumpkin loaf and a raspberry scone. Carbs and caffeine—what better breakfast was there? My chest was still tight and I found it hard to take a deep breath, so once I made it to work, settling into my desk before anyone else had made it onto our floor, I sent a quick email to my brother, a family doctor who still lived in the small town we’d grown up in.

Less than ten minutes after I’d sent the email, my brother texted me.

Andy: Cole, if your chest hurts and you can’t breathe, you should go to the ER, not email your brother at obscene hours.

I chuckled and shook my head. He’d always been an alarmist. It was, I guessed, part of his nature as a doctor.

Cole: It’s not that serious. It’s probably just anxiety or something. Can’t you just write me a prescription for something?

Andy: There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t even know where to start.

Cole: You’re no help. Fine, have it your way. I’ll drink my chai and have my scone and get my work done with my chest hurting.

Andy: I’m serious. Chest pains are nothing to joke around with. If you don’t go to the ER, I’m going to come drag you there myself.

There was absolutely zero chance of me taking myself to the emergency room for what I was certain was nothing, so I put my phone down and got to work. Ten minutes after that , Mom called.

“Your brother says you’re headed to the emergency room,” she said by way of greeting.

“Hi Mom. He’s wrong. I’m fine. It’s just a little anxiety over this promotion, that’s all.”

“Cole Augustus Martin!”

“Yikes. No need to use my middle name.” I was still the only one in the office, and I would be for likely another hour, but I still felt my face heating with embarrassment as if someone had heard her calling me out.

“He’s serious. He told me you could be having a heart attack.”

I sighed. “I’m not having a heart attack. Listen, tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll go after I get some work done tomorrow, if I’m still feeling bad.”

“No. I’ll drive up from Silver Creek and drag you there myself if I have to. You’re going to the hospital. Now. ”

God, when had my mom gotten so bossy? My chest throbbed and the tension ratcheted up in my neck and shoulders. “Fine, I’ll go now. But I’m taking my laptop with me.”

“Good. I’ll be there in two hours.”

“Mom, I—” But before I could protest further, the call ended.

With a growl, I stood and grabbed my things, firing off a quick text to my boss to let him know that I needed to take care of some things and would be working remotely for the morning. A few minutes later, I was back in my car and heading toward the nearest hospital.

They saw me quickly—apparently chest pain really was nothing to joke about—and within an hour, the sexy emergency doctor was delivering my diagnosis, Andy on video call as he did.

“Well, Mr. Martin—”

“Cole, please.”

He nodded. “Cole, it looks like you’re not dealing with myocardial infarction—no heart attack.”

I let out a relieved breath, a grin spreading over my face slowly. “I knew it!”

From my phone, Andy cleared his throat. “Do you have a diagnosis then?”

“Everything looks clear. Chest X-ray, EKG, blood work—all negative for anything out of the ordinary.” Before I could gloat, the doctor continued. “Everything except the endoscopy.”

I frowned. “You found something on my endoscopy?”

He gave me a gentle smile. “Nothing life-threatening. It looks like you have an overabundance of acid in your stomach and it’s traveling into your esophagus. Heartburn, a symptom of reflux. Caused by a variety of things, but in this case, I’d wager that stress is exacerbating it.”

“What’s the best course of action, then?” Andy asked.

“I’m going to prescribe a proton pump inhibitor to help control the acid production. But I’d recommend seeing your primary care provider sooner than later. Since it’s the holidays, I’ll give you a two-month supply and we’ll release you.”

“Any other suggestions, doctor?” Andy asked, tempting me to throw the phone across the room.

“I’d recommend cutting back on foods that trigger it, but also cutting way back on stress, which likely contributed to this serious episode you’re having. Stress can make reflux worse, and reflux can, in some cases, lead to esophageal cancer.”

I swallowed hard at the thought of that. “Sure thing, doc.”

He left then to go get my prescription and discharge papers ready, Andy still on the call.

“What’s your plan?”

I sighed deeply. “Nothing. I’m going to take the pills and get back to work. I don’t have time to take a break.”

I didn’t, either. I had way too much work to do. I hung up with Andy and opened my laptop back up to get back to work. The second I did, my boss video called me.

“Hi Tim. What’s going on?”

“Cole, I need you to—wait. Where are you?”

“County General,” I said sheepishly.

“You’re in the hospital ?”

“Well… I mean, only for a few more minutes, I think. They’re about to discharge me.”

“Why in heaven’s name are you working if you’re in the hospital?”

I tried to explain that I was fine, just a little heartburn, and that I’d be back on my feet in no time, literally, that I was coming back to the office as soon as I was discharged, but my boss was having none of it.

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to see your face back in the office until after the holidays.”

“Tim, come on.”

“You have the vacation days. Use them. We’re not in the business of running people into their graves.”

“Can I work remotely, at least?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Only if you promise to work no more than eight hours in a day.”

I considered it. I could probably make that work. I just wouldn’t take breaks or stop for lunch. Everything would be fine. “Deal,” I said finally.