WHEN I THOUGHT about my life, I thought about the before and the after. My life before my transplant was filled with nothing but uncertainty. My thoughts, my dreams, they were all faraway hopes that seemed impossible to achieve. Endless doctors’ appointments and countless tests made for restless days. While my friends were off building their futures, I was left to wonder if I’d even have one.
Living that way wasn’t something I’d wish on anyone, not even my worst enemy.
Luckily for me, there was an after.
Only, it wasn’t how I had imagined it would be. I lived with guilt—a lot of it. Where my days before were restless, it was now my nights. The heart that beat within my chest wasn’t my own, but someone else’s who succumbed to a fate I had once feared. Laying in the pitch-black, hearing it beating and feeling it pound against my ribs as if it were locked away in a prison cell in which it didn’t belong, I was constantly reminded that my life was saved at the cost of another.
And that—that had been a difficult pill to swallow.
Zipping up my jacket, I waved goodbye to Addy and stepped out of the café , convincing myself to keep my eyes forward and my feet moving.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
The words were chanted silently over and over again, and although the temptation was all too real, I knew if I did, if I looked at her, I might not make it out of the door.
And I needed to leave.
She was clearly in no state to be dealing with any of this. Hell, I didn’t even know that I was in a state to be dealing with any of this.
After seeing her last night, watching her run away from me and straight out of the banquet hall, my mind couldn’t stop thinking about her. Even as I made my way home, a huge part of me, the part essentially keeping me alive, wanted to go after her. I wanted to find her and not only make sure she was okay, but I wanted to comfort her—to erase the pain that was so evident in her big brown eyes.
And that desire was still there.
So what were the chances she’d show up here today? This shop, of all places?
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I started my trek along the sidewalk, the brisk morning air refreshing against my heated skin. I blew out a sharp breath, my chest unusually tight as I contemplated what to do next.
I hadn’t even finished my cup of coffee, but seeing the look on her face, her fearful expression, what other choice did I have?
Standing there and watching her run away from me wasn’t something I wanted to witness for a second time.
“Hey!”
Three stores down, I heard her voice bursting through the Saturday morning hustle. The wind carried it faster to my ears, and my feet reacted before my brain had a chance to process the sound.
“Wait!”
The soles of her black flats slapped against the concrete as she swerved and dodged the bodies leisurely strolling along the block. Her gaze was cast downward, concentrated on her fingers as they worked swiftly, fastening the black buttons on her red peacoat.
Whatever air I’d managed to pull into my lungs completely dissipated as she came to an abrupt halt in front of me, winded and breathless.
She lifted her eyes to mine, and everything slowed … everything but my heart.
“I—I’m sorry.” Dark brown strands blew haphazardly across her face, and a warm blush tinged the apples of her cheeks as the tip of her tongue traced the seam of her lips. “You didn't have to leave.”
The soft lilt of her voice and the unsure gleam in her eyes did something to me. Unraveled me. Confused me. Dare I admit, frightened me.
Still tucked within the safe confines of my coat pockets, my hands balled into fists, a defense mechanism from the unusual feelings she stirred.
I squinted off to the side, searching for an appropriate reply. “Didn't I?”
The fear painting her face only moments ago in the coffee shop was gone, replaced with an expression I was tempted to define as guilt.
As if ashamed, she dropped her chin to her chest and rocked on the heels of her feet, her arms protectively hugging her waist. “Last night … I didn’t—”
“It’s okay. You don't need to explain. I get it. Really, I do. And if I’m being honest, I wasn't even expecting you to show up.”
“You weren’t?”
“No. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did. I’m just sorry the mere sight of me scared you off.”
“The sight of you? No. There is nothing wrong with … you’re actually quite …” She gave me a quick once-over, making me feel vulnerable and somewhat exposed under her blatant assessment, and shook her head, ridding whatever thought had formulated. “I’m sorry. Please know this isn’t about you. I promise.”
There was a lengthy moment filled with only the sound of our breathing, and in that expanse of time, I attempted to memorize her delicate features, afraid it might be my last opportunity to do so. Beneath the brightness of the morning sun, she was far more beautiful than I remembered. Thick brown lashes. Stunning expressive eyes. Pink full lips. My gaze traveled the fine curve of her jaw, down the slope of her neck where the hollow of her throat dipped on a nervous swallow.
“Can we …” Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and a twinge of lust flickered in my groin. “Can we start over?”
For several long beats, I studied her, not entirely convinced it was a wise decision, especially given the way my body was already reacting, but in spite of that feeling, I couldn’t deny the part of me that wanted this—wanted to get to know her.
Against better judgment, I offered her my hand. “Samuel Copeland.”
She rested her soft and dainty one in mine, and the unexpected warmth of her touch, along with a thousand other indescribable sensations, chased up my arm and across my chest.
“Cassidy Porter.”
“It's an honor to meet you, Cassidy.”
“Please, just Cassi, and the honor is all mine.”
“Well, Cassi ...” I glanced over her shoulder, my eyes settling on the shop as my throat thirsted for the cup of coffee I’d left behind. “Do you mind if I buy you a cup of coffee?”
She cracked a tiny smile, her lips lifting in the corners to reveal a set of dimples on her cheeks.
Fucking beautiful.
“I’d love that, but if it’s okay with you, I’ll buy. It is, after all, my fault you didn’t get to enjoy your first one.”
A small huff of laughter erupted from my mouth. “You won’t hear me arguing.” I reluctantly pulled my hand from hers and swung my arm out, allowing her to lead. “Shall we?”
By the time we made it back to the coffee shop, the booth I’d been sitting in was taken and every stool at the bar had been occupied, leaving us no choice but to sit at one of the small round tables by the large glass-front window.
After asking me what I preferred to drink, Cassi walked over to Addy, placing our order and speaking with a pretty blonde woman sitting at the counter. The woman smiled softly at her, rose to her feet, and pulled her into a hug before leaving. It was only a few moments later she was returning to me with two steaming mugs in her hands.
“So …” She eased onto the black metal chair and set my drink in front of me, staring at me shyly as her fingers outlined the rim of her cup. “Decaf, huh? I thought the only acceptable way to drink decaf is to dump it down the drain.”
Smiling, I took a sip of coffee, grateful to finally be able to relieve my parched throat. “I’ve heard throwing it at somebody works, too, produces the same exhilarating effect.” Her eyes widened, and I attempted to hold back a laugh, but it slipped out anyway. “I’m kidding. To be honest, I don’t have much of a choice. I can’t have caffeine.”
“You can’t have caffeine?” She looked at me as if I’d confessed an unforgivable sin. “You’re joking.”
“Nope. Turns out it can overstimulate your heart. Great for the walking dead. Not so great for heart transplant recipients.”
“Oh. I didn’t … I didn’t realize. Makes sense now why Addy stressed which cup was decaf. She asked me at least a half dozen times.”
I smirked, thankful Addy held me in her highest concern. Spending time with the woman meant she was well versed when it came to the foods and things I was required to avoid. “She’s pretty on top of things, that’s for sure.”
“So you come here often then?”
“I sort of live here.” A line creased her forehead as confusion swept over her brow, and I chuckled a little. “Not literally. I might as well, though, as often as I’m here.”
“You must know Addy fairly well, I assume?”
“You could say that. She’s kind of like the mother I never had growing up.”
Cassi’s lips pinched together, and sensing she didn’t know how to respond, I decided to elaborate. Guess we were diving right into the heavy stuff.
“My mother passed away when I was nine.”
“Nine. I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
“It was. Although I imagine it would’ve been much harder if I were older when it happened. I don’t really remember a lot about her, even less so over the years.”
“I can’t imagine what that’s like, being so young and losing someone so important to you.”
“I have these memories I try like hell to hold on to, but some are not as clear. It’s almost like attempting to hold on to a dream. As time passes, all the finer details start to become hazy, until all you’re left with are scattered images you can’t quite place. You just remember the way they made you feel. So that’s what I do. It’s how I deal and how I cope. I remember the emotions more than the moments.”
A pregnant pause preceded her next question before a sympathetic look appeared on her face. “How did she die?”
How did she die?
I flicked my gaze away from her, finding it difficult to be sharing such personal information with this woman—this stranger—but this was why we were here, wasn’t it? Why I was sitting before her trying to figure out how to express my gratitude?
It all led back to this.
“Peripartum cardiomyopathy. It’s, um … a rare type of heart failure that occurs during pregnancy or immediately after delivery. Most women diagnosed with the condition go on and make a full recovery, but my mother was the odd exception and didn’t fit into those statistics. Her heart continued to worsen, and for a while, several years even, she was able to manage it with medication alone, but it came to a point where her only option was a heart transplant.”
“Did they not put her on the list?”
I nodded. “She was on the list. Unfortunately, she passed before a donor became available.”
“How old was she?”
“Too young, really.” I looked away again, my eyes hidden between squinted lids. Talking about this proved much harder than I expected. “She was twenty-nine.”
The gentle catch in Cassi’s throat brought my gaze back to hers, and the sight of a lone tear cascading down her cheek made my heart clench. A face as beautiful as hers had no right to be marred by sadness, especially sadness for someone she didn’t even know.
“I’m so sorry, Sam.”
She reached up to swipe the tear away, and the urge to lean forward and catch it with the tip of my thumb had me recoiling in my seat. I didn’t know this woman, so why I continued to feel the need to comfort her as if it were my job to do so was beyond me.
“It’s okay.” My voice was low, my throat thick as I pushed the words from my mouth, completely blown away by this woman and her ability to feel. “It was a long time ago.”
An uncomfortable stillness swept in as the conversation ended exactly where the next one should’ve begun—a conversation I should’ve been initiating but had absolutely no idea how to start.
How did I express my condolences in a way that mattered? It wouldn’t change anything, would it? Wouldn’t suddenly unbreak her heart or make everything miraculously right.
He was gone, and I was sitting in his place, trying to find words to lessen her pain—words that now seemed entirely inadequate.
“And you?” Our symphony of silence shattered as Cassi’s voice grabbed me from it. “I mean, what happened that you needed his—”
Heart.
The unsaid thought lingered there for far too long, and as if on cue, said heart started to beat faster. Fear invaded her expression, and I wondered if it were possible to say everything without uttering a sound.
“Dilated cardiomyopathy. It’s a more common form of heart disease where the heart’s ability to pump blood is decreased because the heart’s main pumping chamber is enlarged and weakened. The condition prevented my heart from relaxing and filling with blood as it should, and over time, it affected the other chambers. It’s why I needed a transplant.”
Her next breath left her on a small sob, and before I had a chance to react—to apologize for her own loss—she rose from her seat.
“I'm sorry.” Another tear raced down her cheek, settling at the corner of her trembling lips, and this time, she didn’t wipe it from her skin. “I thought I could do this, but I can't. I’m so sorry.” Swirling on her heels—her watery gaze surveying her surroundings—she searched for the nearest escape.
She was taking off on me.
Again.
“Cassi, wait.” I scrambled to my feet, my hand soaring across the table to take hold of her arm and stop her, but I resisted. Touching her would only make her run faster, and I wanted her to stay.
Slowly, she swung her head around to look at me, and my lungs deflated on a sharp exhale.
“Please,” I begged, the level of desperation in my tone not even one I was used to hearing. “We don’t have to talk about this right now. I just—I don’t want you to go.”