The Life That Mattered (Life #1)(63)

A barely detectable smile graced Ronin’s face. “I’ll have a dozen kids with you, Evelyn.”

“What’s wrong?” I set my tea onto the coffee table and moved to the sofa, scooting Franz and his pile of books over just far enough to allow me to sit by Ronin. “You’re in pain. I can tell. Why? What’s hurting you? Is it your heart? Are you having trouble breathing? Do you feel dizzy or lightheaded?”

We had a defibrillator just feet from the sofa on the kitchen counter. I knew how to use it. Ronin had a heart monitor. Yet, I wasn’t truly prepared to administer CPR or shock my husband in front of our two kids. My parents were at the hospital with Lila, planning on coming to our house close to the time of Ronin’s parents’ arrival.

Just a couple of hours. He had to keep his heart beating a couple more hours—forever really—but at the very least, a couple more hours.

“I’m just…” he shook his head, but it didn’t erase the tension on his forehead or release the tiny creases next to his eyes “…fine. It’s nothing.”

Twisting my body to the side, I grabbed his face. “Don’t lie to me,” I whispered so Franz didn’t focus in on us. “I know when you’re in pain, so don’t tell me it’s nothing. Tell me where and how bad.”

“I ache all over. But my leg especially. Can you take Anya?”

“Of course.” I scooped up her limp body and carried her to the bedroom, managing to lay her down without waking her. A true feat.

“Franz, your grandmas and grandpas will be here soon. I think you should go to your room and color pictures for them.” I kissed the top of his head.

He loved to color and draw. Ronin felt certain he got Julien’s artistic talent.

“Okay!” He slammed his book shut and ran to his bedroom, leaving a scattering of books on the sofa and floor for me to pick up.

Ronin rubbed his right leg, grimacing a bit.

“Roe … I’m scared.” I drew in a brave breath as I sat next to him without touching him. It took lots of slow, deep breaths to keep from breaking down. Franz didn’t need to see me crying. I had no way to explain it.

“Why are you scared?”

My gaze remained on his hand slowly rubbing his leg. “Because I’ve researched all the possible things Dr. Waters said might have caused your heart to stop beating, and none of them had body aches and leg pain as symptoms. They’re missing something, and I’m so scared that they won’t figure it out until it’s too late.”

“I don’t think they’re missing anything.”

Jerking my head to make eye contact with him, I squinted. “Why would you say that? Unless you know what it is but you’re just not telling anyone. And if that is the case, I’m going to be so damn pissed off at you for letting me go through all of this unknown, thinking the worst, angry at doctors, and praying to a God I don’t believe in about a problem I can’t define.”

After rubbing his lips together for several seconds, he shifted his blank stare to the window, blinking a few times at the new round of snow swirling in the air. “It’s hard to explain.”

I grunted a laugh, shaking my head while running my fingers through my hair. “Well, you need to try to explain it to me because I can’t keep myself from completely unraveling without any explanation.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you remember when I told you that I had something happen to me when I was younger? It affected my speech for a while, and kids made fun of me?”

It was shortly after we met. The day after the Va-ness-uh karaoke incident. Years later, I still remembered how insane and insecure I felt that night. Not a finer moment of mine. With a slight cringe, I nodded.

“What happened to me was quite significant.”

How did I not ask him more about it at the time? Oh, right … I was drowning in my own embarrassment and insecurity.

“What happened?”

“My uncle was remodeling his house. We stopped by to visit him. The adults talked, except mom. She stayed busy keeping an eye on Julien. I decided to snoop around a bit. I honestly don’t remember much after that, but apparently, I came across some exposed wires that were live. I was electrocuted.”

“Yes.” I took his hand and turned it over to rub my thumb along the scar on his hand. “But you got better.”

“I did. Eventually.” He curled his hand into a fist, flexing it several times. “That day … my heart stopped beating.”

“Roe …” I whispered as a chill slithered along my spine. “Why are you just now telling me this?”

He relaxed his hand, face expressionless. Eyes vacant.

“My uncle performed CPR until the paramedics arrived. They were gravely worried that I would have severe brain damage because it took so long to get my heart beating on its own again—it took the paramedics a long time to get there. As a result of the accident, I had speech issues for many months.”

“But you got better.” That was my line, and I would repeat it a million times if that made it a fact.

“Sort of …” He wouldn’t look at me. Something outside or years away from that moment held his attention.

“You don’t think so?” I cocked my head to the side. “You think your heart issues stem from that accident? Do you think it’s possible it damaged your heart or its electrical system somehow?”