Chapter Twenty-Two

DURANGO WALTERS

Instead of acting like a grown adult, I'm channeling my inner Gage with my phone against my ear and foot-tapping impatiently on the floor. Max's voice offers a moderate sense of calm against the background noise of a bustling waiting room at my doctor's office.

"Just be patient," he says. "I'm sure they'll call you back soon."

I've been sitting here for thirty minutes already, not even a hint of movement from the nurse's station. This is the joy of my crappy HMO, I suppose. Endless waiting, stale magazines, and the faint scent of hand sanitizer thick in the air as if this were a rubbing alcohol factory. I try to focus on Max's tone, on the reassurance he offers, but my anxiety is a lion's roar away from coming unhinged. What I'd rather be doing instead is lounging with him on the couch, hot chocolate in both our hands, while the fireplace crackles in the distance. This is Christmas, after all.

"Yep, but I'm still waiting," I confirm, glancing at my watch for the twelfth time since I sat down. "Is Gage behaving without me?" My voice betrays some of the nervousness that's been gnawing at me since I found that hospital bill.

Max's tender voice puts my worries about Gage at ease. "Yeah, he's doing great, as he always does."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that." I try to sound casual, but my mind is racing.

"He's a good kid, just like his daddy," Max responds with enthusiasm and warmth that makes my heart ache.

I can tell his mood has shifted since our earlier conversation because there's a heaviness in his tone. A hint of something unspoken, reminding me of the secret I've been carrying the last couple of months. Well, that one I haven't been able to share with him yet—the fact that I just had a heart transplant, a gift from the very man he's grieving.

The coincidence of the dates and the hospital—it all seems too surreal to be true. The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning that day, leaving me breathless and reeling. Every beat of my heart, once a reminder of my mortality, now feels as if it's a sacred reverberation of Max's late husband. It's both terrifying and thrilling, simultaneously. And I'm desperate to share it with him, but the right moment never seems to arrive. As of yet, that is.

"Mr. Walters?"

A nurse in mint green scrubs calls my name, and I quickly end the call with Max. "Hey, doll, I gotta go—call you when I'm on the way back." I snap my phone shut as my heart beats, driven by a sudden compulsion.

I rise from the chair, relief splattered across my face. "Finally," I sigh. "What's the holdup?"

She grimaces. "Sorry, Mr. Walters," she iterates. "Dr. Casey was late getting to the office because of a patient emergency."

Flailing my wrist, I flash a plastered smile on my face. "Oh, I understand that," I groan. "I was just about to blame my HMO again." I try to make light of the situation, but the underlying tension remains.

"If you'll have a seat up here," she instructs, pointing to the exam table. "Dr. Casey will be with you in just a moment."

I nod. "Sure thing, Sarah," I oblige. "Thanks," I conclude, hopping up only to find myself waiting once more.

A few minutes later, I hear a double knock on the door. Dr. James Casey emerges from the shadowy hallway, closing the door behind him.

"Looks like you're in tip-top shape, my friend," he says, looking over my chart. "I'd say you're back in the swing of things."

Smiling hasn't come easily today, however I try anyway. "Good enough for getting—" I ask, stalling with air quotes. "Frisky?" My heart skips a beat. This is honestly the question I've been dying to ask, yet the words still feel awkward on my tongue.

Dr. Casey chuckles, ostensibly a common question I'm gathering. "Your heart's ready for some cardio, Mr. Walters," he grins. "And I'm not talking about jogging on a treadmill."

His causal response takes me by surprise because I wasn't expecting such a straightforward answer. I cup my face with my hands while disbelief accosts me like the harsh afternoon sunshine.

"So you're telling me I could have two months ago? When I almost lost control and went for it, but told myself to go slow?"

The doctor offers a blank expression. "Yeah?"

"Oh, I guess you didn't know," I say, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks. "I haven't told anyone yet. Not even him," I admit, the admission bringing a wave of insecurity.

His head wavers from shoulder to shoulder. "I suppose you didn't, my friend," he replies, settling onto the ubiquitous black stool that seems to be in every doctor's office.

Biting my lip, I try my best to plan each word tactfully. "It's a good thing you're sitting down," I remark, trying to inject a considerable amount of humor into the situation. "I'll try to give you the nutshell version," I add, curing an itch behind my ear. "So, I met this wonderful guy a few months ago. He lived in Denver at the time, and his husband was a cardiologist who died in June—" my words falter, feeling the horror of my punchline creeping up like a flu. "The night of my transplant."

Dr. Casey's eyes widen. "Great Scott!" He gasps. "Is—it?"

Silence fills the room. His face is a mask of shock, while his gaze eclipses to a finer degree with a cacophony of astonishment and wonder. Meanwhile, I feel a rush of vertigo, the reality of my situation hitting me with full force. The man whose heart thrives within me, the man who gave me a second chance at life, is the husband of the man I'm falling for. Retelling this aloud for the first time causes me to question whether this is some twist of fate, so absurd that it almost feels like a cruel joke.

"So, we're heading over to Vancouver tomorrow morning to celebrate a brief holiday for the two of us before we celebrate with our kids." I try sounding casual, though my voice trembles.

"And this guy has no idea yet?" Dr. Casey asks, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

I shake my head. All the while, my heart remains heavy with the burden of such a deep secret. "I haven't had a minute to tell him without some type of interruption," I plead. "It's literally been since before Thanksgiving when I tried telling him the first time."

"Wow—" he gasps again. "Just wow," another beat, shaking his head. "In the twenty years I've been a doctor, that has to be the first time I've heard of this happening outside of fiction," he concludes, amusingly.

"Yeah," I bite my lip another time. "So when I asked if I'm strong enough for sex," I pause, swallowing hard. "I'm really asking if I'm strong enough to break the news to him, finally."

As I descend from the exam table and slip into my jacket, I'm filled with anticipation for tomorrow, sending a shiver down my spine. "I have no idea how he's going to take it."

Dr. Casey rises with a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Well, pal," he says. "May the odds ever be in your favor—and Merry Christmas as well."

I nod, following his lead out of the exam room. "Thanks. See you in February then?" I ask, trying to sound upbeat despite the turmoil brewing inside.

As I leave the office, shuffling back into the crisp winter air, my secret presses down on me like a physical burden. I must tell him sooner than later. Each breath feels heavy, every step a struggle against the gravity of truth that simmers beneath my skin. Yet, a flicker of hope ignites within me like the fragile flames that burn brighter with every thought of Maxwell Williams. The prospect of finally unburdening myself, sharing this extraordinary connection we knowingly share, fills me with more nerves than a hornet in a coke can.

It's a leap of faith for sure. A gamble that could either strengthen our bond or shatter it completely. Yet, as I ascend behind the wheel of my Honda, I place my right hand over my heart. Brogan's heart. There's one thing for certain, however. This secret can't stay hidden any longer. I need to let it come out. Even if it risks setting my world ablaze.