by B. K. Rivers
“It’s good to see you too,” I say. “You look so good.”
He shrugs and his bandmates all join us with grins the size of Texas plastered on their faces. Jordan introduces me to everyone and then Drake, the bassist, slaps Jordan on the shoulder and says, “So this is the girl who has you whipped?” Jordan jokingly punches him in the stomach, and then drapes his arm over my shoulders.
“I’ve missed you,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.” We say goodbye to the band and slip out the back of the venue to my rental car. “Can you believe it’s been over six months since we saw each other? How have you been?”
“I’ve been good, been keeping busy. I’m taking some college classes that have me pretty occupied.”
“Are you still seeing…Nick?”
“Vic? Yes, well, I think so.”
Jordan’s arm rests on the back of my headrest, which sends shocks of warmth around me.
“Wait, so you don’t know if you’re still dating?”
Chewing on my lower lip, I turn my left signal on and pull into an all-night diner. The lights are dim and there are only two cars parked in the parking lot. It’s decorated in fifties-style decor, black-and-white tiled floor, shiny red leather booths, and Formica tables. Even an old jukebox plays songs from that era. We choose a booth near the back and settle across from each other. The waitress shows up chewing on bubble gum, wearing a red and white pinstriped blouse and a white skirt. Her dusty-brown hair is cut in a cute bob that represents the fifties.
“What can I getcha?” she asks as she whips out a green order sheet.
Jordan glances at me and then smiles deeply at the waitress, whose name tag reads ‘Dinah.’
“Dinah,” Jordan says with charisma, “I’d like a chocolate malt and a bacon cheeseburger.”
She jots down his order and turns to me, her brown eyes looking not quite at me, more like through me.
“I’ll have a Diet Coke and the French dip sandwich, please.”
“Sure thing. Anything else?” Dinah asks, and turns to leave before we can ask for more. Jordan’s wearing a smug little smile and staring at me, which makes me feel like I have food on my face, even though I know for a fact I haven’t eaten anything in hours.
“What?” I ask, finally giving in to my self-consciousness.
“I think you’ve gotten prettier,” he says. “How is that possible?”
Blood floods to my cheeks in embarrassment. “You’re wrong,” I say, averting my eyes. It’s him who has become better looking.
“I’m not, and you never answered my question about Nick,” he says.
“Vic.”
“Sure.”
“We had a fight,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I told him about your letter and the tickets to your show.”
“Well, he’s an ass hat,” Jordan says with a cocky smile. “You don’t belong to him and he doesn’t make decisions for you.”
“Be nice. We fought about some other stuff too, not just you.”
“So while you were dating someone else you were thinking of me?”
Blood rushes to my cheeks as I nod and chew on my bottom lip. I couldn’t help but think of him. As much as I love being with Vic, Jordan was always ever present. There were subtle things that would make me think of him—music, the spare bedroom in Gran’s house, tattoos on the arms of men I would see while in public places. I tried not to think of him, and there were moments when he was out of my mind, and truthfully I was thankful.
Vic has been a blessing to my life. He has been so patient and kind and has been there for me when I needed him.
“How about when you kissed him? Did you think of me then?”
“No!” I never did that, did I? I’m sure I didn’t, but how come I suddenly feel uncomfortable. Where is this conversation going? Our food is delivered and we eat mostly in silence, though more than once do I feel Jordan’s eyes on me. He pays for our meal and on our way out of the diner, Jordan grabs my hand and a bolt of heat runs up my arm. At my car, Jordan pulls me into him and locks his eyes on mine. He raises a hand and slowly tucks my hair behind my ear. A thousand butterflies have taken up residence in my chest where my heart used to be and I don’t know if I can keep breathing. Only a couple of weeks ago Vic and I were going strong and heavy. How in such a short time can everything change?
Jordan steps close enough I can feel the heat radiating from his body. This isn’t like the last time he had me pressed against my car. This time something is different, there’s a desire pulsing off of us, an energy that can only be described as magnetic.
His gaze rolls over my face, searching me, settling on my lips, and as if by pure need, I lick them slowly.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Jordan says as I nod in agreement. Last time he kissed me it was forceful, passionate, and left me breathless; this time, holy crap. When our lips meet, a fierce jolt of electricity jumps across my skin, and even though the kiss is patient it’s filled with promises and hope. It’s as though we are breathing for one another, trusting in things we cannot see.
We break apart, breathless, when I feel a slight buzzing coming from my purse.
“Either you’re really excited, or your phone is vibrating on my junk,” Jordan whispers at my ear. I release a heavy breath and reach for my phone in my purse, which coincidently is resting between Jordan and me, right where he mentioned.
My fingers fumble on the edges of my phone and as I put the phone to my ear, I notice the way my hand trembles. What am I doing here with Jordan?
“Hello?” My voice sounds hollow and nervous. Jordan pulls away and studies my face as I blankly listen to the man on the phone. The voice on the other end begins to sound like he’s speaking under water—there is no distinction between words and the sounds are muffled. The phone slips from my hand and it’s not until I feel the stinging at my knees do I realized I’ve collapsed to the pavement.
“Jemma!” Jordan shouts as he kneels next to me. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“The phone, he’s still on the…” I can’t finish the sentence, let alone my thoughts. Jordan grabs the phone and finishes the conversation. My brain isn’t processing the information I just heard, let alone what Jordan is saying to the man on my phone. By the time he ends the call, blood has begun to drip from my knees, and wet, hot tears glide down my cheeks. Somehow my brain hasn’t caught up to my emotions, and even as Jordan tries to speak to me, I can’t hear anything but a violent ringing in my ears.
“I’m going to get you home, tonight,” Jordan says as his arms glide under mine so he can lift me to my feet. “Can you walk?” The ringing in my ears trumps all other noises. “Jemma, snap out of it. She’s going to be okay.”
Somehow I end up in the rental car and then back at my hotel room where Jordan gathers my things and packs them into my small suitcase.
“My manager has arranged a private plane to take you home. Let’s go.” I nod in agreement, but as we approach the elevator my legs buckle and I drop to the floor again. “Jemma,” Jordan shouts. “You have to get up, you’ve got to get home. Give me your phone.”
The walls of the elevator feel as though they are compressing me into a square box. It’s hot and smells like sour bath towels and chlorine. The box grows smaller and smaller and the heat keeps rising. I just can’t process what’s going on.
Seconds, maybe hours later, I don’t know, time holds no meaning, we arrive at the airport. Jordan somehow manages to go through the security line with me and walk with me to the plane. Maybe this is all some kind of messed up dream and my life hasn’t just come crashing down around me. Maybe it’s an awful prank. Maybe it’s me who’s lying in a hospital bed and dying.
“Jemma,” Jordan says from out of nowhere. “He wants to talk to you.”
“He?” I feel like I’ve taken a bath in vodka; everything burns and my tongue feels like it’s been zapped with a Taser. My eyes can’t focus on anything and all rational thought has flown out the window.
“Man, she’s in shock or something. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” I hear Jordan and the words he says, but they mean nothing. They are white noise, something to fill the background with. “Yeah, the plane lands at two thirty a.m. at Gate B. I think you’ll need to be there to get her off the plane.”
He’s quiet for a minute while the person on the other end of the call speaks. I close my eyes and catch the last of the conversation before I plunge into a deep sleep.
“I have another show tomorrow, dude. I can’t just fly to Warner with her.”
The darkness falls upon me as the plane takes off and what was left of my heart crumbles to bits, leaving me with nothing but an aching hole in my chest.
Chapter 42
I see a small child, her hands pressed against a frosty windowpane as her frantic eyes search the wide expanse of a driveway. She keeps repeating to herself, “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me. Daddy, please come back.” Tears stream down her face, and as the cool gray day gives way to a smoky gray night, not once does she move from the now handprint-stained window. She falls asleep with her head propped on the windowsill and a large-busted woman with graying hair picks her up and holds her tight to her chest. The little girl nuzzles close, whimpers as she’s carried up a set of stairs, and when she’s safely tucked into the large bed, she opens her eyes briefly and stares at the older woman.
“My mom left me.” She hiccups as fresh tears tumble down her chubby cheeks. “And now Daddy has too.”
“Oh, honey,” the woman coos softly. “Sometimes parents do silly things. Your momma didn’t want to leave you, she loved you very much.”
The woman’s soft hands brush the little girl’s cheeks and tuck her tear-stuck hair behind her ears. “You’re my little angel, darling, and I won’t ever leave you,” she whispers as she sits at the edge of the bed until the girl falls to sleep.
A rough bounce jolts me in my seat, waking me from my dream. Fresh tears roll down my cheeks from the memory of the day my father left me with Gran. It’s been sixteen years and it still cuts like a knife. Even as a four-year-old, Gran always said I was more aware of things going on around me than I should have been. And now, as I sit here on this plane, I realize I’m alone. Jordan left me, just like everyone else. What kind of guy sends you off on an airplane to fly alone to rush to the hospital to your grandmother who is lying unconscious and may not wake up? Why would he do that?
A voice blares through the cabin’s speakers saying we’ve landed in Warner and it’s two thirty-seven a.m. I vaguely remember Jordan packing up my suitcase for me and us driving to the airport and him speaking to someone on the phone, telling them to pick me up. Who would he have called?
A tall blonde woman dressed in a navy pencil skirt and a pale pink blouse meets me at my chair and reaches for my suitcase stored in the overhead compartment.
“I’m really sorry about your grandmother,” she says as she passes my suitcase to me. “I hope she gets better.”
“Thanks,” I say hoarsely. The woman’s bright red lips form a tight smile, which reveals her crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She walks me to the front of the plane and tells me to watch my step as I climb down. Standing not far from the stairs is a tall figure, dressed in gray sweatpants and a black shirt. My stomach jumps and then falls to my knees and without hesitation I drop my luggage and run to his open arms. He smells so good, musky and spicy all at once, and his arms hold me so tightly that I can’t hold back my tears.
“I’m so sorry, Jemma,” Vic says as he walks us back to my suitcase. “I’ve called the hospital and they are expecting you.”
“Thank you.” I hope he knows I’m not just thanking him for calling the hospital, but for coming to meet me. For being here when I need him most. For everything he has come to mean to me. Those two little words hold an apology I hope he feels. I was wrong to go meet Jordan; my future isn’t tied to him. Not anymore. I hope there is still a possible future here with Vic.
The truck is warm and smells like him, home and safety, but the ride to the hospital feels stuffy and full of unsaid words that hover between us like a thick fog. By the time we reach the hospital it’s after three a.m., and despite having slept most of the flight from Denver to Warner, I’m exhausted. Vic drops me off at the entrance to go park his truck, saying he'll meet me inside. A stout man probably in his seventies works the small security desk and offers up Gran’s room number. His gray eyes blink a few too many times as he realizes she’s in the cancer ward.
Vic finally emerges through the automatic doors and he brings with him a sense of calm. The familiar warmth of his hand on my lower back makes me pause, but he urges me through the hallway toward Gran. We pass the maternity ward and a pang of sadness washes over me, but I push away any real emotion from my past. I have to get to Gran before it’s too late.
The door to Gran’s room is slightly ajar and the lights are very dim. The smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of the machines keeping her alive send my heart to my knees. A respirator is taped onto her chalky cheeks and her chest rises and falls to the beat of the machine pumping oxygen into her lungs. This helpless woman is not my grandmother. She’s been so strong my whole life, always lifting me up and being there when I needed her. This lifeless shell can’t be her.
Vic’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder and he squeezes gently. “Why don’t you sit with her,” he suggests as he pulls up the blue leather recliner. “I’ll go find some coffee.”
Nodding in agreement, I sit beside her and wrap my hand around hers. The temperature in the room is warm, if not stifling, yet her hands are so cold. Fear mixes with anger as I search her wrist for an almost nonexistent pulse.
“Oh, Gran, why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me you were not getting better?” Leaning my head on the side of her bed, I’m flooded with memories of my life with Gran. My childhood was filled with her love and guidance, and though I was never spoiled, I was given the things I needed to become who I am today. In all ways that matter, Gran was my mother.
What am I going to do when my mother is no longer with me? What will I do with her house? The ranch? What will I do with myself?
A chirp from my phone alerts me to a text. I pull my phone from my purse and see a message from Jordan.
Is everything okay?
Is everything okay? Is he joking? I want to take his message, peel it from the screen, and throw it across the room. Why did he have to be so selfish and fly me to his concert? He should have known Gran was sicker than she led us all to believe. He should have known this would happen. It’s his fault I wasn’t by her side when she collapsed.
Gathering what strength and resolve I have left, I send him a message back.
No!
I hope he understands the restraint in my choice of words. What I want to do is tell him to go to hell. I don’t want anything to do with him, not after what’s happened. Especially after he kissed me like that. Heat blossoms on my cheeks as I recall his hungry lips and his body pressed against mine. Thank God my purse served as a barrier between us. I don’t know if I could have stopped him from going further if I would have felt his desire for me. What am I talking about? His need for me was in the way his tongue took control of mine.
But it’s too late for that. And too late for Jordan. He shouldn’t have asked me to go to Denver.
I shouldn’t have agreed to go.
“Coffee?” Vic asks, holding out a paper cup for me.
“Thank you.” The cup is warm in my hands, making the temperature in the room even worse. “It’s too hot in here, Gran wouldn’t like it.”
Vic glances around the room and locates a thermostat. “I turned it down a couple degrees, hopefully that helps.” He pulls a chair up next to me and studies Gran’s prone form. “Have you spoken to a doctor yet?”
My eyes don’t leave Gran as I shake my head. “I’m sure they’ll send one in soon.” Vic’s head bobs in agreement and we sit quietly waiting for someone to u
pdate us on her condition.
Sometime near dawn, someone clears their throat behind us. Both Vic and I apparently fell asleep. We turn to see a man dressed in hospital blue scrubs and a pair of round glasses. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, and with the way his lips are drawn tight, I can only guess at his news.
“Miss?” he asks casually as he reaches his hand to me.
“Jemma Bowers.” His grip is firm and his hand is noticeably dry. He’s not nervous to speak to me. I hope.
“Miss Bowers, I’m Doctor Nash, your grandmother’s oncologist here at the hospital. I’m afraid the news is not good.”
Vic’s arms wrap around me, embracing me in warmth. His strength is the only thing holding me up.
“But the medication?”
“Was experimental, at best. Cancer is an unpredictable mistress. She’s currently in a coma on life support. We’re keeping her alive. Her scans came back last night and the cancer made her body look like a Christmas tree. It’s spread everywhere. At this point, I would recommend talking to any additional family members and making plans for the inevitable.”
“There is no other family,” I say through the salty tears dripping down my cheeks. Vic’s warm arms squeeze me tighter and he pulls me even closer. “Will she wake up?”
Doctor Nash presses his fingers to his lips. “I’m sorry, but she’s essentially gone, Miss Bowers. Your grandmother has a do not resuscitate order on her chart. We’ve been keeping her alive for you. At his request.” His head bobs in Vic’s direction.
My heart stills in my chest and I don’t know how he knew what I needed, but somehow he did. Turning to him, I can see Gran’s condition is taking a toll on him as well. His eyes are rimmed in red and glossed over as though he’s on the verge of crying. Vulnerable is not a word I would ever use to describe Vic, but sitting here with me now, I can see how much he’s putting out there for me.
“So what do we do now?” I ask, still watching this beautiful man sitting beside me.
