Page 37 of Parallel

Nick smirks. “If Quinn wants a second opinion, she’s more than welcome to seek one out. But that’s her decision, or that of her family. And if I recall correctly, you’re not family.” He’s baiting Jeff, making a bad situation worse. I don’t understand why he’s doing it, but it’s working: Jeff’s temper is fraying. It’s there in his clenched fists, in the way he steps forward.

“Then she must have failed to mention that we’re getting married in four weeks,” Jeff replies.

Nick’s laugh is an angry bark. “I guess I keep forgetting because you’re never around.”

Jeff takes another step toward him and I’m on my feet. “Okay, I think this conversation has gone on long enough,” I say, gripping the hospital gown as I step between them. “Thank you for coming in, Dr. Reilly.”

Nick swallows, his whole body tense. He wants to refuse to leave, and for a moment, I really think he will. Finally, his jaw shifting in protest, he turns and walks from the room.

“You’re fucking protecting him now?” Jeff demands.

I explode. “I have a brain tumor, dammit!” I shout. “And all you’ve done since you found out is yell at my doctor and make a scene. For once, how about if we let something just be about me and not you?!”

He gapes at me, shocked into silence for what is probably the first time ever. And then he sinks into the chair next to my bed, burying his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice choked. “You’re right. I’m just…it’s a lot to take in.”

I want to stay mad at him, but I can’t. This is my fault. Each time I grow closer to Nick, I’m pushing him away. He senses it even if there’s nothing specific he can point to. If he really understood the situation, he’d be a lot angrier than he’s been and I’d deserve every ounce of it—because even now I’m wishing it was Nick here instead of him.

He drives me home once I’m discharged, attempting to malign Nick only once before I shut him down. He asks his mom to go keep mine company, and offers to stay home for the day, though I tell him it’s not necessary. The truth is I want him to go, and I wish he’d stayed gone in the first place.

I keep my final dress fitting appointment that afternoon as scheduled. The gown is a sleeveless Monique Lhuillier with a plunging neckline and a sheer, hand embroidered overlay, so gorgeous even Caroline approved when she saw it. “Your fiancé will die when he sees you walk down the aisle,” says the seamstress. But when I look in the mirror it’s not Jeff’s face I picture at the altar.

Which makes me wonder, for the first time, if I should be going through with this wedding at all.

When I’m done I meet Trevor and Caroline out for a drink. I guess I’ll have to tell them about the tumor eventually, but I’m going to put it off as long as I can. I don’t want to be treated like someone who is dying. I want our nights out to continue involving margaritas and wince-inducing tales of Trevor’s hook-ups, not chai latte at Starbucks and solemn conversations about my health.

By the time we arrive, the bar is loud and crowded, full of twenty-two-year-old Hill staffers in khakis, drunk off their asses and pushing each other off barstools. This, oddly enough, makes me smile. I’m still a part of things here. The land of the living hasn’t written me off just yet.

Trevor, naturally, is hyper-focused on the events that took place in our office. “You should have seen her doctor,” he tells Caroline breathlessly. “It was so hot. He flipped the fuck out—came in demanding to know where she was. And then he didn’t even wait for the medic team. By the time they got in the door with that stretcher thingy, he’d already picked her up and was carrying her out, like a bride over the threshold.”

Butterflies beat tiny wings inside my stomach, and I take a quick, sharp breath, waiting for them to settle. Nick carried me? I had no idea. But I shouldn’t be thrilled by it, regardless. “I’m glad you’ve found a way to romanticize my collapse. I’m sure Nick’s girlfriend would love it too.”

“Wait,” Caroline says, holding up her hand. “Isn’t Nick the name of the mystery guy you dreamed about in London? The one you’d never met?”

I groan, wishing I’d never mentioned it. “Yeah. I know it’s bizarre.”

“What mystery guy?” Trevor asks.

I slump in my chair while Caroline’s eyes light up. “Quinn started having dreams about this guy in London…a doctor named Nick…before she met him.”

Trevor gapes at us. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the dream thing sooner. It’s like a fucking Nicholas Sparks novel happening before my eyes! I’m going to look him up online.”

I point a finger at him. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you sooner…because telling you anything like this is going to wind up with the three of us scaling his apartment complex drunk, and I’m too old for that shit.”

“Do you know what apartment complex he’s in?” asks Trevor, completely ignoring the important part of what I just said. “Because honestly, with just the bare minimum of upper body strength, you can…”

“Trevor, I love you, but we’re not stalking him, and we’re definitely not trying to climb up another balcony. You nearly fell to your death last time.”

Trevor ignores me, holding out his phone. “I found him.”

Caroline leans over his shoulder. “Oh my God, Quinn. He was a swimmer? You know that’s my kryptonite.”

Trevor looks her over. “Precious, anything with a package is your kryptonite. And believe me, this guy has a package. I could tell just by the way he carried himself.”

I roll my eyes. “You could not just tell.”

“I’ve seen a lot of dicks, honey, so yes, I can, but I’ll prove it. Let me find a photo of him in a Speedo.”