His Wish, My Dying Heart

I let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "You deserve whatever you get, Justin." My voice was laced with a venom I rarely allowed myself to show.

He raised an eyebrow, a mocking glint in his eyes. "Still defending him? Does he still see you as his shield, or are you just a convenient distraction while he cozies up to Kacey?" He paused, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "They' re quite close, you know. He' s spent every night at her bedside since her 'emergency.' "

My heart clenched, but I refused to let him see my pain. I said nothing, just pushed his hand away, turning to leave.

But then, the world spun. A sudden, dizzying wave of nausea washed over me, and my legs gave out. Everything went black.

Broderick leaned back on the plush sofa in his study, his eyes closed, a hand pressed to his forehead. Exhaustion was a heavy cloak draped over him.

The hospital calls had been relentless. No heart donor. Kacey was fading fast. He' d pulled every string, called every contact, but nothing. The frustration, the desperation, was a burning inferno in his gut. He tore at his tie, loosening it, trying to breathe past the suffocating anxiety.

His phone buzzed. It was Kacey' s doctor. "She' s awake, Mr. Sheppard. For now."

He shot up from the sofa, grabbing his jacket. He had to go to her.

As he stepped out of the house, a sleek black sedan blocked his path. He frowned, pushing open his car door. He walked towards the unfamiliar vehicle, a cold dread building in his chest. He knew that car. And he knew who was inside.

Justin Neal.

Broderick' s lips curled into a sneer. "What do you want, Neal?"

Justin gestured to the passenger seat. "Just dropping off your… wife. She collapsed on the street."

Broderick' s gaze flickered to the passenger seat. Celina was slumped there, seemingly unconscious. His eyes hardened, but he quickly averted his gaze. "Take her home, Neal. She' s not my concern."

Celina' s eyes fluttered open, a single tear tracing a path down her pale cheek. She saw him, heard him. And then, her eyes closed again.

"Don' t you regret this, Broderick?" Justin' s voice was soft, insinuating.

"What business is it of yours, Neal?" Broderick' s voice was a low growl. "She' s nothing to me." He turned, stalking back to his own car, slamming the door shut.

Justin watched him go, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He pulled away, the black sedan gliding smoothly down the driveway as Broderick' s car disappeared around the bend.

Celina slowly opened her eyes, unbuckling her seatbelt. She had to get out.

"You' re sick, Celina." Justin' s voice was gentle, but his hand on her arm was firm. "Let me take you away from here. Away from him."

She shook her head, pulling her arm free. She got out of the car, her legs stiff, and walked towards the house. She had to do this. For him.

Justin rolled down his window. "He' s gone to the hospital, Celina. To Kacey." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Want to go see for yourself?"

She didn' t turn around. "It has nothing to do with me," she said, her voice flat, her back ramrod straight as she walked into the house, leaving him behind.

Justin watched her go, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. He felt a strange unease, a premonition of something terrible about to happen.

At the hospital, Kacey was weeping, her voice weak. "The doctors say my heart is failing, Broderick. It' s so much worse than before." She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Remember three years ago? When I caught that terrible flu, trying to find you after… after you broke up with Celina? It turned into myocarditis. They said I would always be fragile."

Broderick closed his eyes, a wave of guilt washing over him. He remembered. After Celina had left him, he' d been reckless, driven by a self-destructive despair. Kacey had been there, trying to pull him back from the brink, and she' d fallen ill because of it. He owed her.

"You won' t die, Kacey," he said, his voice firm, filled with a promise he intended to keep. "I won' t let you."

She squeezed his hand, tears still flowing. "But finding a heart donor… it' s impossible, Broderick. I' m scared."

That night, I was lost in a fitful sleep. Then, a soft click. The sound of my bedroom door opening.

A heavy weight pressed down on the bed next to me. The scent of alcohol, not unpleasant, filled the air. He was drunk.

The moonlight, slivering through the curtains, illuminated his face. Broderick.