“I take it Jared got arrested?” I ask, needing an entry point into the conversation. Even though she told me she didn’t want to talk about it, I don’t know how else to break this awkward silence between us.

“Yeah,” she says.

“What happened?”

She shrugs. “Hard to tell. I never got a straight answer.”

The look she gives me is a plea to get on with it, to say whatever it is that I’m going to say.

If she only knew how I felt.

I shift in my seat and ignore the crack radiating down my sternum, splitting my chest into two. It’s only a matter of time until my heart spills out and I bleed all over the floor. But it’s inevitable. I know that now.

A wave of emotion starts in my core and erupts like a volcano through my body. I feel the sadness everywhere from my heart to my brain, down to the very fibers of my being.

“I had a call this morning,” I say, testing the waters.

I don’t know how much to tell her. But as I see the anxiety switch to concern, I know that I can’t share my diagnosis with her. Not today. Not after Kirk. It’s too much.

“What about?” she asks.

For a split second, I panic at the idea of walking away from her. It’s the last thing I want to do. I want to be here and help her through the situation at work and this shit with Jared and whatever else life gives her along the way. But if I do that, life will be prepping to deal her the realization that I’m ultimately another problem she’ll have to contend with.

At some point—maybe forty years from now but still eventually—I will likely need a caregiver. And although I know that’s a part of life to some extent, my situation might look vastly different from the normal person’s. It would be unfair to saddle her with that when it’s what she’s trying to avoid.

And, if I’m being honest, it’s what I’m trying to avoid as well.

I take in Palmer’s pretty face. She’s so beautiful, so kind, so wonderful. The idea of asking her to take this journey with me fills me with so much embarrassment that I can hardly breathe.

Envisioning her taking care of me—helping me walk, eat, get dressed in the morning—it’s more than I can bear. Shame sits so heavily on my shoulders that I know I can’t possibly go through with this.

How can I be a teammate if I can’t contribute? How can I live when she’s wiping my ass and I’m ashamed of my existence? How can I look her in the eye and feel like a man?