TWENTY-FOUR GRAYSON

T WENTY -F OUR

G RAYSON

"I need your help," Grayson said to Pearce when he arrived at the basketball court. They'd started playing again, one on one, as soon as the doctor had given Grayson the okay. To this day, he hadn't gone back to the game he loved, afraid someone would bump him in the chest and mess up his heart. Pearce, he trusted. The others, not so much.

Pearce dribbled the ball between his legs and made some move that made Grayson roll his eyes. "Things good with Reid?"

"Never better." Grayson finished tying his shoes and then held his hands out, asking for the ball. Pearce passed it, and then they walked toward the hoop. Grayson took his turn dribbling. "She's definitely not the problem."

"Problem? What problem?"

Grayson shot. Pearce rebounded and kicked the ball back to Grayson. He took another five shots and then stopped. "Lately, I've felt this ache in my chest. I've been to the doc. He says I'm fine. Therapist thinks it might be cellular memory."

"Cell phone what?"

Grayson rolled his eyes again. "Cellular memory. It's where the donated organ remembers its former host."

Pearce stared.

And stared.

"Are you saying your heart remembers its former life?"

Grayson shrugged. "I don't know. It's hard to know because there isn't any scientific fact to back up organs retaining memories. But think about it. If you were to get a brain transplant, you wouldn't be you, but the person whose brain you'd gotten."

"Which is one of the reasons people can't get a brain transplant," Pearce said. "Aside from the whole nervous system needing to be reconnected."

"Right, but think about it." Grayson placed a closed fist over his heart. "This heart belonged to someone. It loved someone. It brought joy and sorrow; it felt and ached for people, hobbies, and who knows what else. How do I know I'm doing it justice by existing?"

"That's deep," Pearce said. "I don't think you need to do a deep dive into what this heart did before it became yours. Whoever it belonged to, they're gone. They've left this realm and left you the gift of life."

Gift of life. He'd seen those words in Rafe Karlsson's obituary.

Grayson nodded. "What if what I'm feeling is loss? What if this ache is the heart longing for the people it left behind?" He shot the ball and missed, and neither of them moved to chase it down.

Pearce studied Grayson, and then slowly shook his head. "Do you love Reid?"

"More than anything."

"Where do you feel that love?" Pearce asked.

Grayson appraised his friend and placed his hand over his heart. "Here. Without a doubt. But that doesn't mean I don't feel for someone else."

"But who?"

He shook his head and walked over to where the ball sat motionless on the court. He dribbled, shot, and retrieved his own rebound. "That's just it, I don't know. I can write to my donor's family through UNOS, but they don't have to choose to meet me, which leaves me right where I am now. Or I can follow a hunch."

"Hunches are never good," Pearce said. Grayson passed him the ball. He shot and made it. "They can get you into trouble."

"If I ignore my hunch, then what?"

Pearce shot again and then sighed. "What's the hunch?"

Grayson passed the ball back to his friend. "I think my heart came from a man in Boston who died saving someone from getting hit by a car."

Pearce froze midshot. The ball faltered and never made it to the basket. Normally, Grayson would razz his friend, but not today. The ball bounced away from them. "Say what? How?"

"When my therapist told me about cellular memory, I started looking things up online—"

"What kind of things?" Pearce interrupted.

"Deaths," Grayson said. "I started thinking about the people who died close to the day of my surgery. I looked up obituaries in the area, mostly because I didn't know how far a heart could travel for a transplant. The people who died, though, had cancer, overdosed, or didn't seem like a viable candidate for donation. Then I searched farther out and came across an article about Warren and Lorraine Bolton. They lost their son-in-law in that accident I mentioned. I wouldn't have gone any further except I know the Boltons."

"How?"

"I dated their daughter Nadia in high school, up until we left for college."

Any color Pearce had in his cheeks left with Grayson's statement. "That's a stretch, Grayson."

He shook his head. "I read his obituary. He was an organ donor. None of the others I'd read up until then said anything of the sort."

"Not everyone will make their decision public."

"That's what I thought, but then I searched different keywords and found numerous obituaries from years past and even weeks ago, all using the same line: ‘gift of life.' It's everywhere," he told his friend. "UNOS, commercials, everywhere I turn, I see or hear it. You've even said it today."

This time it was Pearce who went and retrieved the basketball. He didn't dribble it or try to shoot. He carried it under his arm and walked toward Grayson.

"Did you tell any of this to Reid?"

Grayson shook his head slowly. "I will, but not yet."

"What are you waiting for?"

"I want to know if I'm right."

"About what, exactly?"

"About my heart. If I'm right, then when I see Nadia, my ache should go away."

"Did you ask UNOS?"

Grayson shook his head. "It'll take too long. She could say no."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Go see her."

Pearce shook his head. "Your hunch is stupid."

"Is it, though?" Grayson asked. "What if my heart misses her?"

"Then what? Do you leave Reid for what's her name?"

"Nadia."

"My question was rhetorical, Grayson."

"I'm in love with Reid. That won't change."

"You don't know that. Especially if you have history with this woman." Pearce threw his hands up in the air. "I swear, you're like one of those second-chance romance movies my mom is always watching, where a long-lost love returns home and magically falls in love with their first love because the person they have waiting for them back home is some ‘put work first' type and doesn't care about the holidays."

"Take a breath," Grayson tried to joke.

"Face reality," Pearce fired back. "You're playing with fire. Someone is going to get hurt. No, strike that. Multiple people are going to get hurt."

"What if I need this to heal?"

"What if it damages you more?"

Grayson shook his head. He walked toward the bleachers and sat down. Pearce followed. "Look," Pearce said. "I get that you're confused, that you played a game of basketball and then woke up with a new heart. I can't even imagine what your body and mind went through, and continues to go through, but this isn't the way to do things. There's too much at risk. Your friend lost her husband. You can't just show up on her doorstep and expect her to be okay with this. Besides, do you even know where she lives?"

"In Boston. I paid a fee and got their, I mean her, address."

"Jesus, Grayson."

"I know," he said. "I'm in deep, though, and if I don't find out, I'll sit here and wonder, and I'm scared I'll ruin everything with Reid."

"She has a right to know what's going on. Hiding this from her isn't healthy for your relationship."

"Reid knows how I feel. She encouraged me to reach out through UNOS. But I don't want to wait," he said. "I don't want the rejection letter to come in, saying they don't want to meet me."

"So you what, just show up and say, ‘Hey, long time no see, but I believe I have your dead husband's heart in my chest; wanna feel?'"

Grayson gave Pearce a sideways glance.

"Well?"

Grayson sighed. "I thought I'd go there and just see if there's a connection."

"There will be, because you dated."

He shook his head. "We haven't spoken since we said goodbye. I wasn't sad when she left. We just had fun in high school. That's it. I never loved her. Not like I love Reid." Grayson pushed loose gravel around with his foot. "I know this sounds ridiculous."

"Understatement," Pearce muttered.

"But if I don't go and this ache doesn't go away, I'll always wonder."

"And if you do go and the ache goes away?"

Grayson shrugged. "I don't know."

"I think you're making a huge mistake."

"I know," he said. "Will you go with me?"

Pearce choked. "To babysit?"

Grayson eyed him and shook his head. "No, for support."

It took him a moment, but Pearce finally nodded.