Second Dive (Kings of the Water #3) - Jasmin Miller Page 0,78

box shortly after we moved to San Diego, when I tried to say goodbye to my former life. A farewell to the life before my prognosis and a welcome to the start of my second chance at life when I received my donor heart.

Holding it now, why does it feel more like a Pandora’s box than anything else?

Am I really ready to look at these things?

Do I really want to, knowing what’s inside?

Deep breath. One, two, three.

Before I can chicken out, I open the lid, and exhale loudly.

My eyes are glued to more photos. Some with my family, some with Eadie, but most of them with Noah.

Kissing, laughing, being silly together.

Dates, dates, and more dates. Proms. Birthdays. Holidays.

We did almost everything together.

My hands dig all the way to the bottom, to the picture I know is waiting for me there.

You have to tell him the truth. The whole truth. He deserves to know.

He does.

Gosh, I know he does.

But my heart.

It hurts, and it’s going to hurt even more than it already does.

Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.

I can’t right now when I feel this tender.

A noise behind me makes me whip my head around, a sharp pain shooting through the bottom of my neck at the quick movement. And then my throat closes at Noah standing there.

No. No. No.

Dread fills my body, tightening around my organs with such ferocity that I almost buckle over.

“What . . . what are you doing here?” My breath whooshes out with my words, both unsteady.

He pushes his hands into his pockets, a wary expression on his face as he takes in the chaos around me. “Sorry for coming after you, but you told me where the extra key is, and I was worried and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I nod, my throat too dry to get out a single word right now.

Shit. I didn’t think he’d notice and come after me.

My hand is shaking so hard, I almost drop the picture in my hand.

The picture.

Panic has me clutch it to my chest, as I try to rack my brain for what to say.

But it doesn’t feel like enough time to think of anything. To find the right words that will allow me to tell him this piece of the story.

My legs are wobbly, and my stomach churns. Maybe I can get him out of here somehow? Away from all of this stuff I don't want him to see.

“What’s going on, Chloe?”

“I . . . I.” My cheeks puff out when I release a nervous breath. “Do you still want kids?”

Why the hell did that just come out of my mouth? What on earth is wrong with me?

He studies me for a moment, the confusion clear on his face. Maybe he’s also wondering if I short-circuited a fuse, because I’m certainly entertaining that option.

But then he nods, and a faint smile appears on his face. Followed by a shimmer of hope. “Yeah, of course. Nothing has changed for me.”

I close my eyes for a moment and dip my head once. “Of course.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“You too, right?” There’s an edge to his voice now. Not anger, but something else. Maybe uncertainty?

“Well, yes, but also no.” I meet his gaze again.

There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Chloe.

Absolutely nothing.

You didn’t do anything wrong.

Not a single thing.

He brushes a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you want to have kids or not?”

Just say it. “I’d love to have kids more than anything, but I won’t have any. Not with everything going on. I just can’t.”

There. It’s out now.

At my answer, he stumbles back a step, almost banging into the closet door. With wide eyes, he looks at me. His gaze is so intense, it feels like he’s trying to pull the thoughts out of my brain by sheer will.

“I . . . I don’t think I follow.” He’s still shaking his head in denial.

Out of pure reflex, I take a step closer, reaching for him, the need to comfort him overriding any other brain function.

Noah’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. The one where my hand is holding the photo.

“Chloe. What the hell is this?”

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. “An ultrasound.”

“Yours?”

I nod.

“You’re . . . you’re pregnant?” That hopeful glint is back in his eyes.

I don’t even feel like I’m really present right now. My muscles feel weak, and I’m wondering if it would be better to sit down before I collapse.

All I manage is a shake of my head.

His eyebrows pinch

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