In Finn's Heart (Fighting Connollys #3) Read online

  In Finn's Heart

  By Roxie Rivera

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  Roxie's Backlist

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Feet cold and feeling nervous, I shifted uncomfortably on the exam table and frowned as the thin paper shield under me crinkled loudly. I gathered the too big gown a bit closer to my naked chest and wondered why they hadn't offered me a heated blanket or even a sheet. I shivered uncontrollably, my skin prickling with goosebumps caused by anxiety and the chill.

  At the pediatric cardiology practice I had been with since birth, the staff always had lots of warm blankets and sheets on hand. Here, in this adult practice, they had shoved me into an exam room and ordered me to strip. The office was freezing cold, the air conditioner on high because of the triple digit temperatures searing Houston.

  I swung my legs quickly back and forth and tried to slow my racing, nervous heartbeat. Licking my lips, I glanced at the posters and art. Unlike the cheerful heart posters at the old practice, this one had some really depressing public service ads on the walls. There were no happy little heart cartoons to make me smile. No, I was forced to read about the signs of a heart attack and clogged arteries.

  I shook my head and reached for my phone. Swiping the screen, I tapped in my passcode and checked my text messages to find one from my best friend and roommate Coby. Only she knew I was visiting my new heart doctor today. I hadn't wanted to worry anyone else, not until I knew for sure.

  Well?

  Still waiting.

  What?!

  Yeah. But I have some creepy heart attack posters keeping me company.

  Awesome. Hey! Want to grab an early dinner tonight before I head to Faze?

  Coby's alter ego, DJ Cobalt, was one of the most popular DJs and electronic musicians in the world. Russian tycoon Yuri Novakovsky had recognized her talent early on and had signed her as the house DJ for his string of unbelievably successful and highly exclusive night clubs. She now hopped from one international hotspot to the next, spinning some of the sickest tracks ever for wild crowds who lined up hours before the doors opened just to hear her.

  Sorry. I've got plans.

  Oooohh. That sounds interesting. His name is…?

  It's a double date.

  A knock on the door interrupted our chat.

  Gotta run. Doc's here.

  K. Lemme know how it goes!

  Will do.

  Setting aside my phone, I watched Dr. Rae stroll into the room in her bright blue scrubs and shockingly orange clogs. She smiled at me and extended her hand. "Hello, Hadley. It's good to see you again. What's it been? Six years?"

  "Eight," I corrected gently, my fingers tightening their grasp on the scratchy gown fabric. I had been fifteen when she had assisted in my last open heart surgery. She had left the pediatric practice I had been seeing since birth to move to this newer adult-oriented practice right after that. Since it was finally time for me to make the transition to a "grown-up" team, I had chosen Dr. Rae because she was familiar and nice.

  "Gosh," she said with a shake of her head, her dark hair swishing side to side in her ponytail, and sat down on her rolling stool. "Time has really gotten away from me! Are you still writing and drawing those graphic novels?"

  I nodded. "I'm wrapping up one series this year and planning a spinoff."

  "That's fantastic! I read the feature on your arts center in the paper earlier this year. I think it's really wonderful that you've opened up a new avenue for special needs kids and adults. It looks like a really great place. You're keeping busy?"

  "We've got a full schedule and a waitlist. I'm probably going to add some new instructors for the fall so we can get more classes open."

  She smiled at me. "I can see how much you love your work there by the look in your eyes. Looks like you've found your passion." Leaning back, Dr. Rae clasped her hands together. "So, kiddo, what's the problem?"

  Not minding the way she called me kiddo at all, I pinched the thick blue trim of the gown between my fingers and fiddled with it. "I spent most of April, May and June traveling abroad."

  "Backpacking?"

  "Yeah," I said with a smile. "It was really fun, but I noticed that I was having a harder and harder time catching my breath when I was on long walks or trying to climb. Like, for reals, I thought I was going to pass out cold when I hiked Tiger Hill."

  "Oh, Darjeeling! Such a beautiful place," she remarked wistfully. Then, more seriously, she asked, "The shortness of breath is painless?"

  "Yes."

  "And it only happens after physical exertion?"

  "So far," I confirmed. "It reminds me of the way I was as a kid, before Doctor P put me on the digoxin and before we did the valve replacement. I feel like I'm getting tired more easily. You know, twenty minutes of Zumba and I'm looking for a chair and a water bottle."

  "Hmm," she said, tapping her fingers on her thighs. "Any other symptoms I need to know about?"

  "I sometimes feel like my heart is skipping a beat or two."

  Her brows knitted together with concern. "This is new?"

  "Very," I said and absentmindedly rubbed my chest. "I've never had any issues with arrhythmias, but I think I'm having one now."

  "And it happens when? While you're exercising or while you're sitting still?"

  "Mostly while I'm exercising, but the other night I had this weird episode in bed," I explained, my palms sweating as I remembered the frantic pounding in my chest and the throbbing in my head. "I rolled onto my back and coughed. It stopped."

  "I see." She unlooped the stethoscope hanging around her neck and stood. "Let's take a listen, okay?"

  I swallowed nervously and sat up straighter. This was as familiar to me as breathing. Since birth, I had been poked, prodded, studied, sliced open, rearranged and sewn back together. The prospect of going under the knife again bothered me more this time than it had at five days old, six months old, nine years old or fifteen years old. That last surgery was supposed to be the final surgery—ever.

  This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be free. I was supposed to go out and live my life. I had gotten a taste of that freedom while traveling alone across India and Asia. It was the first time in my life my mother hadn't been on my case about my heart or my father hadn't been hovering in the background, ready to swoop in when I got breathless. Now, I sat here, taking deep breaths and trying to hold as still as possible while Dr. Rae moved the cold metal disc around my chest, and fought the urge to punch the wall in frustration.

  Dr. Rae took a step back and draped her stethoscope along the back of her neck again. She held my gaze for a moment. "I'm going to be straight with you, Hadley. I don't like what I'm hearing. I'm going to have one of the techs come in to do an echo and a strip."

  I sighed heavily. "Great."

  "Hey," she said gently and grasped my hand. "This isn't a rush to the operating room sort of thing, okay? If there's something wrong with that valve we replaced when you were in high school, we have a couple of options that we can pursue before another big surgery."

  "Okay."

  She squeezed my hand in an encouraging way. "We'll fix you up, kiddo. Everything will be all right."

 
God, I hoped she was right. I watched her leave and waited for the tech to return. He came in a few minutes later towing a portable ultrasound machine. A nurse hot on his heels pushed an EKG machine. I slid onto my back on the flat exam table and welcomed the sheet the nurse placed on top of me. The male tech stepped outside long enough for the nurse to apply the sticky leads all over my torso and chest.

  When he returned, the nurse was already running a twenty second strip off the machine, capturing every beat of my heart on the graph paper. I had seen enough EKGs of my heart to know that wonky little blip wasn't normal for me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck Cakes!

  Staring at the ceiling, I let my eyes adjust to the dimmed lighting as the nurse flicked switches to make it easier for the tech to see his screen. He shifted aside the open flaps of my gown just enough to bare my sternum. I hated the feeling of the warm gel plopping onto my skin. The pressure of the ultrasound wand gliding over my sternum and along the top of my breast made my teeth grind together.

  Hiding my fear and anxiety, I made pleasant conversation with the nurse and tech in between screen captures of my heart. Every now and then I glanced at the grainy screen to watch the rhythmic pulsing of my heart. The chambers squeezed and pushed blood through the valves and arteries. I had seen this view so many times, sometimes five or six times in a year, that it was like seeing an old friend.

  As a baby, my parents had brought me in for echocardiograms every four weeks. I still had the heart sketches my Dad had drawn to help explain to toddler me what was wrong with my ticker. I had been born with Tetralogy of Fallot, a complex set of defects that had required two huge surgeries before I was even a year old to repair holes between the walls of my heart. The thick, ultra-muscular right ventricle had needed to be carved and shaved.

  There had been some complicating factors along the way. The artery feeding my lungs wasn't big enough so I had undergone a number of catheterization and stent procedures in elementary school. My pulmonary valve had always been a gnarly little thing that refused to work properly, but my rock star surgeon had left it in place until I was nine. Medications had eased some of the symptoms I had experienced because of my craptastic valve, but at nine, the decision was made to go in and replace it with a new conduit. But by high school I was struggling again. It wasn't unusual. Growing kids have different needs so a change to a "big girl" valve had been expected. That was supposed to be the last one for a good, long while.

  I watched the valve flapping open and closed on the screen. It didn't settle into place the way it was intended. I could see the swoosh of blood regurgitating from the valve. I clenched my teeth together and shuttered my eyelids. God, not again. Please, not again.

  The last open heart surgery hadn't been as easy as the others. I had caught a nasty case of the flu from some jerk who had visited his son in the CVICU despite his hacking cough. I had nearly died from the complications, including a collapsed lung and a fever so high I had had seizures. The thought of going through that again made me want to run away and hide forever.

  But I couldn't do that. I wanted to live. I wanted to survive.

  So I had to face the cold, hard reality staring me right in the face. My poor broken heart needed some help.

  By the time I had cleaned off the sticky gel on my chest and slipped back into my clothes, Dr. Rae still hadn't returned. I walked around the exam room, studying the lame-o posters. My fingers itched to make them better. Once that mischievous streak struck me there was no denying it.

  I pulled the package of markers I carried everywhere out of my purse and approached the only poster that wasn't in a frame. The boring, text-heavy poster featuring heart attacks signs begged for something funny to make it interesting. I sketched a happy, bright red heart dancing at the top of the poster. Next to each bulleted sign of an impending heart attack, I drew the sweet little heart experiencing those symptoms, clutching his chest, sweating bullets and even struggling under the weight of a tutu-wearing elephant dancing on his chest.

  The door swung open behind me as I was doodling the last details of the heart on a stretcher. I steeled myself for chastisement but Dr. Rae actually laughed.

  "Oh, I've always loathed that poster!" She came to stand next to me. "I like this version much better." She gestured to the corner. "You have to sign it for us."

  Happy to oblige, I scrawled my signature along the bottom. "If it's a problem, just have them bill me for replacement posters. I shouldn't have doodled on this one without asking."

  Dr. Rae shrugged. "You're nervous. You needed an outlet."

  I slipped the markers back into my purse and leaned back against the exam table. She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. Finally finding my courage, I asked, "Well?"

  She exhaled slowly. "The valve isn't closing completely. You've got some right side dilation that I don't like. There's evidence of an arrhythmia."

  I gulped hard and tried not to burst into tears as my stomach wobbled. "So what do we do next?"

  "I want you to come in for some testing on Tuesday, if that works for your schedule."

  "It does." Working from home gave me a lot of flexibility, and I didn't teach any art classes on Tuesday either. "And after that?"

  "Best case scenario? One of our cath specialists will be able to go in and fix the valve in a minimally invasive way. The arrhythmia is a bit more complicated. With your heart history, medications aren't a starting point. The testing will give us more information, and I'll make recommendations from there. Worst case scenario? You're back in the operating room before Christmas to replace that valve and have a pacemaker installed."

  My sternum actually ached at the mere mention of another surgery. Rubbing the scars hidden by shirt and feeling the knotty hardness of the metal wire holding my breastbone together, I shook my head. "I won't do another surgery in the winter. Never again," I swore. "I’m not risking another flu infection while recovering."

  Dr. Rae nodded in understanding. "Let's see how the testing goes first."

  "All right."

  "Listen," she said with a careful tone, "I know this is something you probably discuss with your primary care physician or your OB/GYN, but are you sexually active?"

  "Not at the moment," I answered honestly. Not ever, I silently amended.

  "But you had the progesterone implant inserted last fall, right?" She must have seen that in my chart because she touched her upper arm.

  "Yes, Dr. Vargas recommended it because she said the progesterone was safest for my medical situation and least likely to cause blood clots. I didn't trust myself to remember to take the pill every day."

  "Understandable," she said. "Well, if your romantic situation changes, be careful. Condoms and the implant, okay?"

  "Yes." At twenty-three, protecting myself so that I didn't get pregnant seemed like the most normal thing in the world, but with every passing year, I started to wonder about my future and the things I might want someday. "Dr. Rae?"

  "Yes?"

  "Do you think…? I mean…?"

  Her expression softened. Somehow she knew what I wanted to ask. "I honestly don't know, Hadley. Let's cross this bridge first, all right?"

  I understood that was her gentle way of telling me to start coming to terms with the hand life had dealt me. Not that I had much to complain about, really, I thought as I scheduled my testing appointment and rode the elevator to the lobby of the building. Life could have been a hell of a lot worse.

  Sure, I had this broken heart that was causing me some grief, but I had a big, crazy family that adored me and friends who loved me. I had been born into a wealthy, privileged family which meant I had always had access to the best medical care and schools. My career as a graphic novelist had kicked off before I had even been out of high school, and now I had an arts center that gave me a purpose and a source of constant happiness.

  Sliding behind the wheel of the obscenely expensive luxury convertible my father had given me as a college graduation gift, I closed the door, revved up
the engine and the air conditioner and shut my eyes for a long moment. I ignored the panicking voice in my head that urged me to call my father. I longed to hear his voice telling me everything was going to be okay. "Mi'ja," he would say, and the whole world would be right again.

  But I didn't want to worry him, not with all the work stress he was under at the moment. My mother had her hands full with my niece's upcoming quinceañera. I didn't want to spoil Ally's special day with worries about my heart. She was such a sweet kid, and she was so excited about her birthday and the wild bash my brother Carlos and his wife Vonny had planned for her. If even a whisper of a problem with my heart met the family's ears, everyone would go into full-on coddle mode. I refused to take any attention away from Ally.

  Planning to make Coby swear silence about my doctor's visit today, I dropped my cell phone into the cup holder and tossed my purse onto the passenger seat. I shuffled through the playlists on the touchscreen mounted flush with the dashboard and found something upbeat and fun. I was just starting to back out of my space when the tones of a ringing phone interrupted my music.

  Glancing at the number displayed on the screen, I didn't recognize it. The Houston area code piqued my interest. I tapped the green button. "Hello?"

  "Hi, Hadley."

  A thrill of excitement shot right through me at the sound of that deep, slightly raspy voice. I had only heard him speak a few times, but that voice—Oh, God, that voice—it was one I would never forget.

  "Uh, I'm not sure if you remember me or not, but it's Finn Connolly." He sounded almost nervous. Considering how capable and brave he had proven himself, I was surprised by that.

  "Oh, I remember you all right. There aren't many girls who would forget a man who saved them from a sniper by diving through a window."

  The memory of that terrible night Mattie, one of my students, and Abby, his older sister, had been targeted by some crazy cartel sniper was still fresh in mind. Five weeks had passed, but I still woke up in a cold sweat when the nightmares came. Even now, I could feel Finn's brawny arms wrapped around me as he swept me up and barreled through the shot-out window. He had curled his body around mind, cradling me and protecting me from the glass shards as we slid across the shiny floor.