Butterfly Dreams Read Online Free Page A

Dr. Callahan said a few minutes later, and I snapped out of my way-too-deep thoughts.
    “So everything’s okay?” I asked, buttoning up my shirt.
    Dr. Callahan nodded, looking at the computer screen. “Your numbers are exactly where they need to be. How have you been feeling? Any discomfort? Light-headedness? Dizziness? Nausea?” she asked, listing off symptoms the way you rattle off a fast-food order.
    Would you like a side with that cheeseburger? Fries? Onion rings? Mozzarella sticks?
    “Nope. I’ve been feeling pretty great. And I was sort of wondering when I could get back to some level of physical activity,” I asked hesitantly.
    Everyone had a vice. Some people had drugs. Some people had booze.
    I had sports.
    I played forward on my high school’s soccer team. I went all state with the cross-country team. In college I took up jujitsu and skiing and since becoming a working stiff, I found a crazy love for the 5K.
    And if I were feeling particularly wild, I’d go hang gliding.
    My buddies Aaron and Bryan, whom I’d known since our freshman year of college, loved to give me shit about my running shorts and He-man calf muscles.
    Dr. Callahan slipped her wire-frame glasses off her face and folded her hands in her lap. “I know you’ve always been active, Beckett, but part of the lifestyle change you have to adopt will involve a significant decrease in physical exertion. You’re an athlete but you simply can’t go back to how you were before. It won’t be possible.”
    I deflated. I already knew what to expect but it still sucked to hear. “So no more 5Ks or park league soccer, huh?” I said with a halfhearted smile.
    Dr. Callahan’s rigid expression softened and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Beckett. You will be able to eventually resume some level of physical activity as it’s important for your health, but you are still recovering.” She looked at her computer screen again. “I’ll want to see you again in eight weeks to check your ICD. We’ll schedule an X-ray at that appointment and a stress test. If you continue to take it easy until then, getting plenty of rest, following your diet, then we can discuss increasing your activity levels then. Okay?”
    I sighed, trying not to feel defeated.
    You’re alive! That’s what matters!
I repeated over and over again.
    I plastered a smile on my face and pretended I wasn’t sick and tired of being sick and tired.
    “Okay,” I agreed, hopping down from the table.
    “In the meantime, if you feel any pain or chronic light-headedness and nausea, you need to call the implant center immediately. If the ICD activates, you’ll know it and it’s important that we be notified. We’d need to test your heart rhythms to see if there are any issues that have to be addressed,” Dr. Callahan informed me. I had already been told this stuff a million times. I could recite it in my sleep. It had become a daily checklist.
    Light-headedness? Nope. Nausea? Nope. Chest pain? Nope.
    “Absolutely,” I told her, walking through the door she held open.
    “I’ll see you in eight weeks, Beckett,” Dr. Callahan said, finally smiling. I smiled back, standing up as straight as possible.
    I’m alive, damn it! Because I’m not ready to kick it just yet! I’ve got shit to do and places to see!
    My running inner dialogue did the trick and I felt better as I walked to my car.

Chapter 2
    Corin
    “This is going to be great! This is going to be just what you need,” I murmured to myself, under my breath.
    These pep talks had become as routine as everything else in my life.
    I watched as people started going inside the church and continued to stand there with my hands shoved deep into my pockets, talking to myself like a lunatic.
    “Smile, Corin.” I grinned at no one in particular, practicing being nonthreatening and likable.
    I preferred to wait until everyone else was inside before making my entrance. The first group meeting was always difficult for me. I felt like an