The doctor finally arrives and basically re-explains everything Asher told me earlier in more medical detail. I watch Talon as he listens, noticing the way his jaw is clenching.

"We're going to start you on a few medications to give you some relief. If all goes well, we can discharge you the day after tomorrow. I'm referring you to a doctor in your area that you'll need to see immediately to start a treatment plan."

"Great," Talon says sarcastically, turning away from us.

I follow the doctor out into the hallway as he leaves the room.

"Is there any chance his hearing will return in that ear?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

The doctor frowns. "I'm afraid not. It will probably get progressively worse. That's usually the case with MD. He may want to consider a hearing aid. Some patients have results with those."

My heart sinks. Talon will never wear a hearing aid; he's way too proud. "He's a musician. He has to be able to hear."

"I understand, Mrs. Valentine. Unfortunately, there's not much that can be done in this scenario. I'm very sorry."

I nod slowly, letting the truth sink in. My husband's life is going to change drastically. In the short five months I've known him, we've had so many ups and downs, but this blow is unimaginable. Asher is right—we are going to need to be strong to get through this together, and while I know in my heart I am committed to him no matter what, I don't know if I've had enough time to prove to Talon that I'm his wife in every sense. In sickness and in health, through good and bad. This isn't about commitment to an experiment with the hope that it works; this is about commitment for a lifetime.

Later, Asher and Storm come to visit and tell us their parents will be arriving tomorrow. I'm not sure if having his parents here will make him better or worse, to be honest. Right now, it seems like all of us are doing nothing but aggravating him.

"It looks like the meds are kicking in and making him tired," Storm says. "We should go back to the hotel."

"You guys go. I'm going to stay here a little longer."

"Make sure you get some sleep, too," Asher says. "We'll come by tomorrow before we leave."

Storm leans closer to me. "Evie said to call her if you need to talk."

I give him a grateful smile. "Thank you. I'll give her a call tomorrow."

After they leave, I clean up Talon's room and get him a fresh soda and glass of water, along with a new facecloth, which he seems to like over his eyes. He hasn't gotten sick since the nurse gave him his medication, so hopefully he'll be able to get some rest now.

"You should go," he says when I return to the edge of the bed. "You must be tired."

I am, but I don't want to leave him. I can't stand the thought of him getting sick in the middle of the night and lying here alone.

I stroke his cheek and lean down to softly kiss his lips. "I don't want to leave you. I could stay with you…if you want me to. I don't think the nurse will make me leave."

He perks up a tiny bit, his lips curving into a weak version of his usual smile. "Really? You'd do that? Squish in this bed with me?"

"Of course I will."

His dark eyes lock on to mine for a few moments, like he's struggling with letting me stay or pushing me away. "Stay," he finally says.

I quickly take off my shoes and turn off the light as he scoots over, piling the extra pillows against the bar on his side of the bed. He holds his arm out to me as I climb in and curl up at his side, and he pulls me in close. I hug him back tightly, my head resting against his shoulder, my leg over his, and I feel him exhale a deep, exhausted breath.

"I'm scared," he whispers in the dark, cracking my heart in two.

"You're going to be fine," I say with as much confidence as I can muster up.

"Your voice sounds far away; I don't like it."

I rub my hand gently across his chest, trying to soothe him. "Everything will be okay. We'll get through this together, I promise." I've always loved his vulnerable, bedtime side—but not like this. Hearing fear come from this powerful, confident man is so wrong. It doesn't belong here, in him.

I vow to do anything—everything—I can to make this better for him.

Chapter 35

Talon

Whoosh

Whoosh

Whoosh

I used to love the sound of ocean waves, until they took up residence in my ear.

The whooshing and random dog-whistle that's piercing my brain started about two months ago. I ignored it, thinking I was sitting too close to the amp or maybe got water in my ear while showering.

I stupidly chalked up the sudden fatigue I felt to working out too hard and having so much sex. Orgasms make me sleepy—it seemed a legit reason. I was fine with that.

"I want to be alone for a little while." I lean back against the pillows propped up against our headboard, glad to at least be back in my own bed. "Turn the ceiling fan off, please. It's making me dizzy."

I screw my eyes shut, trying to stop my brain that's spinning round and round with the fan. Round and round we goooo…

"Sorry. I didn't think of that…" She practically runs to the wall switch to turn it off. "Can I get you anything? Maybe something to eat?"

I shake my head, not opening my eyes. I don't want to see her. I don't want to not hear half of what she's saying. I especially don't want to see the sadness I've caused in the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.

"No. Just go."

I wait a few seconds before opening my eyes to see if she's gone, and she is.

I know I'm being an asshole. I don't want to be, and I'm trying not to be, but I need some space right now to process the fuckening that has been unleashed upon my life in just a few days.

My parents, ever the creative ones, rented a deluxe RV to drive Asia and me home. A great idea, in theory. It had a big bed I could lie in for the entire trip, and Asia could sleep with me. My mom thought that was perfect. And in some ways, it was. I still wanted my wife near me, but not every second of the fifty hours it took us to get home. There was no way for me to hide the ugliness that was crawling out of me.

Hitting a traffic jam halfway through the trip, and the stop-and-go the huge RV did for two hours ramped up the vertigo, and I threw up the entire time. Trapped in a small space, where my wife and parents were forced to listen to me retch. And the smell? Let's not go there. My father lit up some Nag Champa incense and started rambling about road trips back in the seventies.

Everything spun—the ceiling, the windows, the cars passing by. The down felt up and the up felt down. My father had to walk me to the small bathroom and hold me up in the shower while I clung to the wall, convinced the RV was tipping over on its side.

Years ago, I used to drop acid, and this is way worse than any psychedelic trip I've ever been on.

It's funny how we'll do things like that for fun. Get drunk, get high, get all fucked up and call it a great fucking time. I used to pay thousands of dollars to get that fucked up. But when it's happening to you, and it's out of your control? Totally different story. This is not cool or fun. This is hell.

This morning, my parents and Asia drove me to see the ENT to discuss my case. Yup. Now I'm a case that needs to be chaperoned by three people. The thought of climbing up into my monster truck makes my stomach lurch. Driving seems like something I may never do again.

Now I'm back home with a confirmed diagnosis of a disease I can't pronounce or spell, some meds, and a pamphlet outlining lifestyle changes to help optimize my experience.

Fuck. This. All.

The urge to go down to my gym and then hit the studio is strong and hard to ignore. It's what I've done every day for years. But right now, attempting to go down the stairs without falling on my face seems like a feat I can't accomplish. And trying to write or practice with this insane noise in my head seems equally impossible.

It should subside, the doctor said. Give the medication time to work.

I should be getting ready to go on stage right now, to play songs I spent months composing, in front of thousands of people. My fans. Instead, that douche Finn will be standing in my space, alongside my brothers and cousins, soaking up my success.

With each passing hour, I can feel anger and depression seeping into every crevice of my soul.

My life is over.

* * *

Asia comes into the room looking adorable as always, wearing a flowing white shirt that makes her look like she has little wings and a thin gold headband around her head holding her hair back, which makes her eyes look even bigger and brighter. She plops a tray down on the bed with two bowls of soup and toast.

"I thought we'd have a bed picnic!" she announces, sitting on the other side of the tray.

"I'm not spending the rest of my life in this fucking bed."

She ignores my foul mood, a skill she’s quickly mastering, and smiles. "I know that, silly. The doctor said the meds should make the vertigo and nausea subside in a few days. There's nothing wrong with taking a few days to rest."

"I really don't want to eat. If I eat, I'll just throw it back up."

"It's only veggies and rice soup; it's mild. I made it for you. I think if you just eat slowly and don't look up and down at the bowl as you eat, you'll be okay. Or I could feed you. I don't mind."

I push the bowl away. "Are you serious? This is fucking ridiculous."

Her smile falters for a second before she forces it back, and guilt sweeps over me again. She actually made me homemade soup and here I am pushing it away.

"I'm only trying to help, Tal."

"I know. I'm sorry."

I watch her as she eats, the way the spoon slides into her mouth is tantalizing me and fuels my growing frustration. When did we last have sex? I don't even know. Possibly over a week ago, and that makes me nervous, especially knowing her ex was contacting her. I'm still mad about that, even though I was being more of an asshole than I should have been. But now I'm worried if I'm not making her happy, someone else might. And I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted someone else at this point.