“You’re scaring the shit out of me,” I said, frowning.

The doctor tapped something out on his tablet, ignoring my comment. “I ask because it’s usually caught during puberty.”

“What is?” I asked, frustrated.

He looked up from his notes. “HCM. It’s a condition associated with the abnormal thickening of a portion or the entire heart muscle. I want to do a few more tests.” He looked at me. “Meaning Zeke will be here a bit longer. We’ll also need to do a few more tests in an outpatient setting as well. He had an impressive episode while you were gone, and we did have to conduct a procedure to return his heart to normal sinus rhythm.”

“What procedure?” I asked.

“They shocked the shit out of me,” Zeke said, adjusting in his bed. “Twice.”

“What?” I said, the image leaving me shaken.

“It hurt like a bitch,” Zeke said.

“I should’ve been there, Zeke,” I choked out. “I should’ve been there with you.”

“To watch that? No.” He shook his head. “Nobody needs to see that. Especially not…” he trailed off, glancing at me to see if I’d noticed.

“Especially not me? The widow? Stop acting like I can’t handle this.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I…” He sighed.

“So now what?” I asked.

“Some people who have HCM have no signs or symptoms, with no affect to their lives. Others have severe symptoms and complications. You may have shortness of breath, serious arrhythmias or an inability to exercise. It’s rare, but some with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy can have sudden cardiac arrest during very vigorous physical activity.”

“How did I…” Zeke trailed off for a moment then snapped back. “How did this happen? Did I eat a bad shrimp or is it from the smoke or…?”

Dr. Steers patted Zeke gently on the shoulder. “Your blood pressure and thyroid are normal, and you’re not diabetic, so it’s likely inherited.”

“Well that’s just fucking great,” he said, relaxing back. “The only thing my parents gave me was heart disease.”

“So he’ll be okay?” I asked.

“The disease is still in early stages. There is quite a lot we can do for complication prevention and treatment.”

“I’m a wildfire fighter out of Estes Park,” Zeke said.

Dr. Steers offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t recommend you continue in that line of work. Even competitive sports put you at high risk for cardiac arrest.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Zeke said.

“Low intensity sports should be fine as long as you listen to your body,” the doctor said, tapping out more notes.

Dr. Steers smiled and gestured goodbye, moving on to the next patient.

I squeezed Zeke’s hand, and he stared at his knees, processing what the doctor had said.

Trex poked his head in then came inside the room.

“Hey, man,” Zeke said, surprised.