“Let me get this straight.” He leans back in his chair, taking his hand with him, and he runs it over his head before dropping his arm back to the table. “You’ve denied yourself one of the greatest gifts of life because you think yours is still ending?” he asks, almost incredulously.
So, I lay it out there for him, the black and white. “With ovarian cancer, there is a seventy percent recurrence rate.”
“So?” He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. He keeps his voice low, but there is an edge underneath his words. He’s always been a very boisterous person and I can feel that he wants to argue with me, but I can’t, not with him. He’s frustrated, I get it, but I can’t tell if it’s with me or because he’s finally grasping why I am the way I am.
“What do you mean, ‘so’?” That one statistic should explain everything to him. There is a really high probability that it will come back, and then what? In fact, I feel like for the last seven years I’ve been a sitting duck, just waiting for it to return, and I never want to hurt people the way I saw people grieve during and after those funerals.
“Exactly what I said—so? If it does, it does, and we’ll cross that bridge then,” he says, as if what I just told him means nothing and we’re talking about something as simple as the common cold.
“But that’s just it—I never want you or anyone else to have to go through it. You didn’t see them, Jack. It was awful. Death is awful, and not to the ones leaving, but to those who are left behind.”
My chest tightens at the thought of this and a sob escapes me. The tears come out more, faster, and I raise my hand to cover part of my face. For the first time in a long time, I allow the fear to take over. Not only do I now worry about what would happen to him should I die, I have to face the reality that he would move on with his life without me, and that hurts, too.
Reaching for my elbow, he pulls me so I end up standing, and he slides me over onto his lap. I lay my head on his shoulder, and he holds me as I cry and drain my poor bruised heart.
“Meg, I’m not afraid of what might or might not happen,” he says, speaking so calmly. “You could die in six days, six years, or sixty years, and no matter how short or long our time together, I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Certainly not over an uncertainty, over the possibility of losing you. We all lose loved ones eventually. You know this.”
His hand moves up and down my back; it’s warm, affectionate, and I want to stay curled up here with him for forever.
“Well, I am afraid. It’s why I have the promise.” My hand slides up his chest to the highest button he’s done on his shirt. Just above it a few hairs make themselves known at the split to his collar, and I run my fingers over them to the dip at the base of his throat. I love his skin, the way it feels, the way it smells, the way it tastes, and I can’t tear my eyes away from this one spot.
“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but that’s a promise you’re just going to have to break.” He pulls me away from him, and I want to protest until his hands cradle my head and the deep brown color of his eyes bores a hole into my soul, taking my breath away. “It’s too late, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m in love with you. You know this, and you are stuck with me.”
His fingers dip into my hair at the base of my head, and he prevents me from turning away. He wants me—no, needs me to look at him as he tells me this, but what he doesn’t understand is I never had any doubts about him. The doubts have always been about me and what I can give him, what I could possibly take away.
“I do know this, and that’s why I’m trying to tell you all these things. I want you to live your best life, one that’s so amazing and fulfilling, the kind dreams are made of.” What I leave off but he hears between the lines anyway is that I believe him living his best life won’t happen with me.
“But, Meg . . .” His thumbs swipe across my cheeks to erase the tears that just won’t stop. “What you don’t realize is I’m already living my best life. It’s already amazing, and you by far surpass any dream I’ve ever had. You are beyond a dream come true to me.”
My chin quivers at the sincerity of his words. I believe him, I do, and that’s why these words so effortlessly slide through my lips. “I love you.”
Slowly, his eyes crinkle in the corners, and then his mouth turns up into the most magnificent smile, dimples and all. His reaction to my words has my pulse picking up speed, and I can’t help but smile along with him.
Crushing me to him, he hugs me, and it’s the best hug I’ve ever had in my entire life. It’s one that says, I’ve got you, and together we’ve got us.
Sliding my eyes shut, I take in the moment and brand it to memory: the slight roughness of his cheek against mine, the clean body wash that’s a permanent part of his unique scent, and the strength of his hold that, with no uncertainty, tells me I am his and he is mine. I always want to remember this incredible man, this perfect man, my best friend.
Loosening his arms, he eventually releases me, and I lean back, instantly missing the heat of his body.
“How about this,” he says. “How about you start from the beginning and just tell me all of it. I’ve done my best to respect the boundaries you’ve put up in regards to this part of you, but I want to know. I need to know. The good, the bad, the ugly—all of it, all of you.” His eyes implore me.
Can I do that? Can I share these last few parts of myself that I’ve never shared with anyone? Just then, Zeus’s head finds his way onto my leg; I look down to see his big sweet eyes, and that’s when I know I can. I don’t need to worry about upsetting these two or be worried they will somehow think less of me. They love me for me, and despite all my fears, that isn’t one of them.
“Okay, Jack. I’ll tell you all of it.”
He graces me with another smile, and it takes my breath away. When he looks at me like this, there’s no way I can deny him anything, and I don’t want to. So, I move back to my seat, and as we sit and nibble on the food he prepared for us, I pour out my story, leaving no detail unmentioned. Is it freeing? No, as I don’t think I’ll ever be free of that time in my life, but it is nice to share with him the burdens of my heart.
After some time and many more shed tears, he asks, “Do you want to get out of here?”
“But what about the rest of this food?” I stare down at the remaining no-bake chocolate oatmeal cookies. “I love that you made it and I want to eat it all.”
“Already taken care of. I just have to text Taylor—she’s going to come clean it up then drop the rest in a cooler on your porch.” He pulls his phone out and fires off a message to her.
“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”
“I tried.” He grins at me.
Standing, he takes my hand, and together we move to leave the gazebo with Zeus following. We walk down the steps, and he turns once he reaches the bottom, coming eye to eye with me.
“I can’t leave here without kissing you first. It’s been too long, and quite frankly, since you walked in, I can’t stop thinking about it.” His eyes drag down my face to my lips.
Butterflies flutter against my ribcage, neither one of us moving. The only sounds are those of Zeus as he walks around the garden exploring and my heart, which has started working overtime.
“Why do I feel like this is a first kiss when it’s not?” I ask softly. One of his hands wraps around my lower back to pull me against him while the other moves up to cup my face.
“I don’t know. Maybe because deep down you know this time it has a clear meaning. It’s not fleeting.” He tilts his head. “Or maybe because you know it’s no longer forbidden by your self-inflicted standards. You’ve succumbed to my charms, and it’s now allowed.” There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Or it’s because you know this kiss will finally seal the deal.” His gaze drops to my mouth as his thumb rubs across my bottom lip, pulling it down just a bit. “There’s no turning back now.”
No, there sure isn’t, not that I could even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I
close the distance between him and me and proudly break my fifth promise. I’m proud because what I realized tonight—and, well, if I’m honest with myself, what I’ve been realizing for months—is that my life and the things that happen to it are not a burden to him. To him I am a reward, a cherished gift fate bestowed upon him, and he is a gift to me as well. He is the best thing, and together we are worth it.
Rising up on my toes, I drape my arms over his shoulders and fall even more in love with him. His lips are demanding that I grasp what this means, but the way he moves is gentle and echoes the word cherished. I didn’t know so much could be said by just a kiss, but when one heart is speaking to another, things are expressed in a different way, a way that’s binding, everlasting. We get lost in the moment and in each other.
Taking a breath, he presses his forehead against mine. His eyes are still shut, and I revel in the closeness of him, even though I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get close enough.
“Love you,” he whispers on an exhalation, and I draw his words in as if they are life to me.
“I love you more,” I whisper back, and he chuckles, rolling his head back and forth against mine.
“I don’t think so. Not even close.” Pulling back, he grins at me, and then I light up from the inside with anticipation as he says, “I’m ready to take you home.”
No-Bake Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies
MOONLIGHT SEEPS IN through Meg’s bedroom window, lighting it up enough that we don’t need to turn the lights on but still keeping it dark enough that we feel hidden from the world. We’re under her covers, completely naked and sated, and it’s these moments I love the most. It’s silent other than our breathing and the slow syncing of our hearts, and we feel so damn close to each other that nothing, not even the ghosts of her cancer, can separate us.
I learned a lot about Meg tonight. She shared way more than I thought she would, and for that I feel honored and grateful. I already knew she was an amazing woman, but by voicing her fears, which were really just her selflessness, she moved herself to a whole other level. It’s not that I didn’t already have her on a pedestal, but now the base is wider and made with titanium. It’s sheer strength, just like her.
I also learned a lot about myself, too. I know I was in flight mode a few weeks ago. Leaving was an impulse decision because I couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected by her. I am a people-pleaser, the fun guy, and when I thought I wasn’t enough for her just as I am, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to change her mind, but instead of trying to, I bailed. What I should have done is stayed and listened.
I failed on communication, the most important part of any relationship, and I know that now. I was so wrapped up in not getting what I wanted from her that I was blind to being able to acknowledge my part of the problem. I wasn’t listening to her. Although in a roundabout way she was trying to tell me why we could only be friends, I just wasn’t hearing past the hurt. I was more worried about me and what I was feeling than actually understanding her motives for why she was the way she was. I knew she cared for me, but I was too hung up on her words and didn’t look close enough at her actions.
She was all in; her body told me that in the hours and hours we spent together tangled between my sheets. I knew it deep down, but I didn’t listen to her touch; I listened to her words.
So, what will I work on to make us be better than before is patience. I will listen with my heart and not my ears. I will remember that Meg hates confrontation and worries about upsetting me so she’ll say whatever she needs to say to keep the peace. I know even though we’ve moved to this new place for us now, I still need to continue to slow down and not barrel ahead. I can’t have her withdrawing, not ever again.
As I slide my hand up her thigh and over her hip, she lets out a contented sigh. We’re both on our sides and her eyes are closed with exhaustion, but I am wide awake.
“I think we should buy one of those houses,” I tell her, breaking the spell.
“Mmmhmm,” she mumbles against my chest as she lies halfway on top of me, her leg thrown over mine.
“I’m serious.” I squeeze her side to wake her up a little more. She stretches out, sliding her foot down and over my calf, the result being something else of mine waking up from its satisfied postcoital state.
“What do you mean buy one of those houses?” she asks sleepily, her curiosity piqued.
“You know, big, Southern, old, historic, in the Battery, with a gorgeous garden. You did say you were on the fence with your place, and well, those homes are larger. I’m a big guy. Trust me, over time, you’ll want the space from me.”
She tilts her head back on my shoulder and looks at me. Her lips are swollen, inviting, and dammit if that doesn’t add to the arousal I already feel.
“You’re not even going to be here half the time. I mean I know you’ll only play for a few more years, but we don’t need a huge house right now.”
“Actually . . .” I’m nervous to tell her this, and I don’t know why. “I’m not going to be playing anymore.”
“What? What do you mean?” She sits up, the sheet and the blanket slipping down to her waist. My eyes drink her in because—well, how could they not? Complete perfection.
“I retired.”
Her jaw drops as she takes in what I’ve just said to her. “Why? And why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I brush her hair over her shoulder; I just want to be touching her. “Because . . . because it was time. Because once I got back, I realized I didn’t love it as much anymore. Because you’re here.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, and even through the darkness, they hold and search for the truth.
“Jack, I don’t understand. All of this”—she waves toward my knee—“the last couple of months . . . it was all to get you back to playing caliber. You’re going to give that up?”
Taking her hand, I thread my fingers through hers. “See, I don’t feel like I’m giving anything up. The way it was in the gym, how young the new guys are coming in, and last week, Billy took a few of us out on his new boat—”
She turns her head away from me and looks out the window. “Yeah, I saw. I was here miserable and pining for you, and you were off having a grand old time.”
I grasp her chin so she’s forced to look back at me. “That’s not how it was at all. They dragged me out of my condo after calling me a sad sack of shit then dumped me on the boat where I couldn’t leave. Yes, the boat and the day were nice, but I was with Billy and Missy, Bryan and Lexi, and Reid and Camille. Tell me, how much fun do you think I had that day?”
“You love being with your friends.” Her tone is sympathetic like she’s worried, but she still doesn’t get it, even after tonight.
“I do, but I love you more. I was miserable, and no matter how hard they tried, my heart was here, not there.”
“But are you sure you are ready? Football is your life. Tampa—that’s your home.”
“Home has never been a place. You know I’ve lived in a lot of different cities. Home to me are the people. It was my parents, then my teammates, and now you. You are my home. It doesn’t matter if you live in Charleston or Anchorage—wherever you are is where I want to be.”
“But . . .”
“Look at your phone.” I point to the bag she carried this evening; it’s over on the nightstand.
Skeptically, she reaches over, grabs it, pulls it out, and sees the social media notification from earlier. She gasps as she opens the tagged post and it lights up the room. There, front and center, is a picture of her from the moment she first walked into the garden. I knew she was everything to me before then, but right then—that’s when I knew for sure.
“I can’t believe you took this picture of me.” She glances at me then back to the phone.
“I had to. Did you read the caption?”
There under the photo it says: The first and the last. My only.
It already has over forty-seven thousand likes and over eight
hundred comments. She double-taps it, hugs it to her chest, and then leans over, lightly placing her lips on mine for the sweetest kiss. It’s not passionate, but it does hold so much promise and so much feeling. I can’t help but tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her closer.
She lets me, of course, but then jerks backward as she asks, “What will you do now?”
“Well, you were right,” I tell her, running my fingers down her arm.
“What do you mean?” she asks as goose bumps chase me.
“Just because I’m not playing football, that doesn’t mean I can’t still have it be a part of my life in another way. Three days ago, the day I decided I was coming here for you and not taking no for an answer, I got a call from Brick.”
“The head coach at The Citadel?” Her forehead wrinkles with confusion.
“Yep. He said he knew it was a long shot, but considering my age and the injury, if I was ready to retire then they were interested in speaking to me about being their new offensive coordinator.”
She tosses her phone to the side, her hand flies to my arm, and she squeezes it with shock and excitement. “No. Way.”
“Yes way. I met with them this morning and accepted the job.”
She gasps again then scrambles onto my lap, straddling me, still naked, but now pinning me down.
“You were that sure of me? Of us?” she asks, the enthusiasm still present but now accompanied by caution, too.
I sit up to be closer to her and take her face in my hands. “Without one doubt in my mind.”
“Jack . . .” She exhales my name, and between her legs, she can feel what that sound does to me, what she does to me. “How did I get so lucky?” she whispers.
“Funny, I’ve been asking myself that same thing for months now.”
Her chin trembles and her eyes shine, but I can’t have her crying again, so in one swift move, I have her flipped over on her back and I settle between her legs. She squeals at the quick motion, but that turns into a moan as her back arches against me and my mouth finds that tender spot just under her ear.
Lessons in Lemonade Page 25
