by JM Stewart
When his breathing returned to normal, he lifted his head and brushed a lingering kiss across her mouth, so tender that tears welled up in her. There, in the deep blue pools of his eyes, a glimpse of the man she’d fallen in love with stared back at her. The soft vulnerability stunned her, seeping inside. She hadn’t seen this side of him in a very long time, and heaven help her, but her heart grabbed the tenderness and refused to let go.
He tightened his hold on her and turned, carrying her farther into the room. He laid her on the bed, the same bed they used to share every night, climbed in beside her, and drew her to him. He clutched her possessively against his side.
She’d be sure to get up early and leave the room before Allie caught them in bed together. If she knew her daughter, Allie would see them together as a positive sign that her parents were “done being mad at each other,” as she often put it. She couldn’t begin to explain her tangled emotions to herself, let alone Allie, and she had no desire to confuse their daughter more than she already was.
She’d face the consequences with Jackson when tomorrow came. But for this one night, he would still be hers, and she’d allow herself to believe in the hope this night presented.
Chapter Seven
Jackson woke the next morning alone in bed. He rolled over, eyeing the indent Becca’s head had left on the opposite pillow. The sight tugged at him. Although he knew she’d likely left the bed early, so as not to confuse Allie, he had still hoped to find her there this morning, lying beside him. To get to hold her again, after so many nights spent without her, had been like sleeping wrapped in the Garden of Eden.
All of which made him remember how they’d gotten there. He closed his eyes as the images and sensations slid before him. Her soft cry as she shattered around him. The warmth of her body wrapped around his and the way she clung to him all tormented his senses. He opened his eyes, glanced at his left shoulder. Teeth marks marred the skin where she’d bitten down right before her body shuddered against him.
He drew in a ragged breath. Desire swirled around him, beckoning him. He sat up, pulled on his pajama bottoms, and left the bed in search of Becca. He wouldn’t be able to touch her once he found her, but he needed to see her, to know what would play in her eyes when she saw him this morning.
He found her where he expected to find her at eight in the morning—in the kitchen. She sat at the table in the breakfast nook with Allie, her eyes alight as they giggled over something between them. Fred sat in Allie’s lap, gobbling pieces of bacon the two of them had fed him. When they weren’t forthcoming fast enough, he mewed for more.
Jackson leaned a shoulder against the doorframe to soak in the sight of them. He’d decided something during the night. His girls were home, where they ought to be. He wasn’t letting them go again. Some way, somehow, he’d convince Becca to give him a second chance.
She looked gorgeous this morning, her hair still mussed from sleep, falling in tangled disarray around her head. Despite that she now had one of her own, she’d hijacked his bathrobe again. Not that he minded. He liked her in it. Her long, slender legs peeked out from between the blue folds to taunt him, bringing up the memory of those sweet limbs wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer.
“Morning, ladies.” Finally deciding to announce his presence, he called out to them but remained in his spot. Becca’s reaction would tell him where he stood this morning.
Across the kitchen, she stiffened in her seat and turned her head in his direction. Her eyes filled with a touch of uncertainty and something softer, an echo of the night they’d shared. No matter what came out of her mouth, her expression told him she wasn’t as unaffected as she might pretend to be.
Allie’s head turned in his direction, her eyes lighting as she spotted him. “Mornin’, Daddy.”
He smiled in return and crossed the kitchen. When he stopped at her side, she threw one arm around his waist, pressed her ear to his belly, and hugged him tight.
He hugged her in return and kissed the top of her head. “You sleep good, sweet pea?”
She turned her face up to meet his and nodded, releasing him and turning to the kitten in her lap. “We’re feeding Fred breakfast.”
He ruffled her hair before turning and crossing to the coffeemaker.
“Y’all are going to spoil that cat.” He filled a mug with the rich, steaming brew, took a sip, then shuddered. Becca made terrible coffee. He’d drink it happily, though, if it meant she’d be making it every morning from now on.
Allie shrugged and held out another piece of bacon to her greedy little friend, who gobbled up the treat like he hadn’t eaten in a week. “We don’t have nothin’ else to feed him.”
“I forgot to buy more food when I went shopping yesterday. I only bought a couple of cans the other day, thinking I’d take him over to Lila’s. Chase said she’d love to take him.” Becca darted a sideways glance at him and held out a piece of food for the kitten. “I’m sorry I didn’t drop him off. It slipped my mind. I’ll take him over on my way to class this morning.”
“It’s all right.” He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “So far he isn’t bothering me much. Long as he stays out of my face, I should be all right.”
He’d been thinking on this. Normally cats made him sneeze until he couldn’t breathe, but this particular little fluff ball didn’t seem to be irritating him. How could he make Allie give the little guy up when even a blind fool could see she adored him?
Allie’s head snapped up, her widened eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. “So he can stay?”
He couldn’t help but smile. How could he resist her sweet face?
“He can stay.” He arched a brow and pointed a finger at her. “But you have to take care of him, now, y’hear?”
“I promise!” Her little head bobbed in eager acceptance. She leapt from her chair, dislodging the cat, and raced across the kitchen to throw her arms around his waist, squeezing him tight. “Thanks, Daddy!”
He let out a soft laugh. “All right. Go get dressed for school and make sure you have your homework.”
Allie ran from the room, her feet thumping down the hallway, and he turned to Becca. Her acute awareness of him showed in the stiff way she held herself. She sat staring at her coffee mug. Silence settled over the kitchen, and tension mounted between them.
Determination expanded in his chest. Change had to start with him.
He set his coffee cup on the counter and crossed the kitchen, stopping at her side. Unable to resist the need to touch her, to connect to her somehow, he brushed her hair back off her shoulder.
“For the record . . .” He let the silky strands sift between his fingers, recalling the feel of them brushing across his body while they slept. “. . . just because I can’t say those words doesn’t mean I don’t feel them. Work with me, Becca. Give me a chance to prove to you I mean them. A chance to prove to myself I can be the husband you deserve.”
Becca lifted her coffee mug to her mouth, the cup trembling in her shaking hands, but she didn’t otherwise say anything. He held his breath, waiting, his nerves on edge. Had he pushed her too far?
Finally, she looked over at him. “I’m scared, Jack. Last night doesn’t change anything. I still don’t know if I can trust you.”
His chest squeezed. Those weren’t the words he wanted to hear, but at least she was honest with him instead of shutting him out. Knowing he’d hurt her to the degree he had, though, stabbed at his chest. Opening up to her might very well go against the grain for him, but she needed honesty. He squatted down beside her and took one of her hands between both of his own.
Allie’s delighted singing drifted down the hallway. She was singing an off-key, made-up song, an apparent ode to her good fortune. “I get to keep my kit-ty. I get to keep my kit-ty.”
All of which meant that for the next couple of minutes, at least, he and Becca were relatively alone
. Which was good, because he had plenty he needed to say to her.
“So am I. Scared to death I’ll have to spend the rest of my life without you. When I signed those papers, I only wanted you to be happy. After last night, I can’t ignore the opportunity staring me in the face. To do things I should have done years ago. Even if you never forgive me, Beck, I have to try.” He stroked his thumbs across her knuckles, his heart in his throat. “Quite honestly, I woke up this morning wondering if you’d decided to hate me for not being able to resist you.”
“I don’t hate you.” She whispered the words, so soft he almost hadn’t heard her, but she didn’t move. Rather, she sat frozen in her seat, her coffee mug hovering just beyond her lips, and once again trembling in her fingers. “I married you because I loved you. I think I’ll always love you. Walking away from our marriage was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but you can’t say those words to me, and I can’t pretend it isn’t killing me. I can’t pretend it doesn’t make me doubt how you feel about me.”
A sense of melancholy grabbed his chest. Every regret he had rose over his head, ready to choke him. He’d made so damn many mistakes. He’d worked hard in attempt to give her and Allie the world he thought they deserved, but in trying, he’d only managed to push away the very things he held closest to him.
He wanted more than anything to drop to his knees. He’d gladly serve her the world on a silver platter, for all the good it would do. But what Becca needed was something he should have seen, should have given her a long time ago. All of himself. Not bits and parts.
Desperate to hold tight to the brilliance God had seen fit to grant him, he’d lost sight of what really mattered. Had lost sight of himself. No more.
“I have every intention of saying those words to you. First, I have to prove to you I mean them, and I have every intention of doing just that.” He rose to his feet, prepared to leave the kitchen, but the sight of her caught him, the soft flush in her cheeks. Unable to resist, he leaned his head beside her ear. “When I do say those words, I’m going to whisper them in your ear, over and over, while I hold you tight in my arms and make love to you. And you’re going to say them back.”
A tiny tremor ran through her, and he clenched his teeth in order to remain where he stood. He couldn’t press his luck. He had to take this at her pace.
So he kissed her cheek and forced himself to leave the kitchen. “I’ll take Allie to school this morning. My first meeting doesn’t start until ten. They can do without me until then. I can pick her up as well. I’ll be taking off early tonight.”
***
Later that afternoon, Becca stood in the center of the blue mats, watching her students pair off. As they began their sparring routines, their chants filled the room, but her mind wasn’t on her task. She turned to peer out the front doors, idly watching the sun set below the horizon. The school had called. Jackson hadn’t picked up Allie, and Becca had had to go get her.
All of which had her conversation with him that morning front and center in her mind. His words replayed in her head like a CD with a scratch. His quiet confession, the soft emotion etching his voice, echoed across the recesses of her thoughts, taunting her. “So am I. Scared to death I’ll have to spend the rest of my life without you.”
Hearing the pain in his voice, seeing the emotion written on his face, tugged at the part of her still in love with him, the part of her that still . . . hoped. Need had washed over her like a tidal wave, to turn and slip into his embrace, to wipe the pain from his eyes.
On top of everything, she couldn’t stop hearing his words. “First, I have to have prove to you I mean them, and I have every intention of doing just that.”
The determination in his voice made her ache all over again. Malia was right. When she spoke to her this afternoon, her sister-in-law had told her that if Becca had doubts, then she owed it to herself, Jackson, and even to Allie to find out if he really loved her. Owed it to all three of them to try and make their relationship work, instead of simply running from the problems. Becca could make excuses all she wanted, but run was exactly what she’d done.
Yet here they were. He’d clearly gotten caught in work again, and the knowledge left her torn.
The shrill ring of the telephone in the office pierced the quiet, rising over the top of the grunts coming from her students. Mandy answered the call, her voice soft and uplifted. A few moments later, she came out of the office. In her white uniform, her black belt tied neatly around her waist and her dark hair up in a ponytail, Mandy strode across the mats at Becca. The gravity written in her friend’s blue eyes had a lead weight dropping in her stomach.
“There’s a phone call for you.” Mandy stared solemnly at her, concern etched on her face and in her tone. “It’s Good Samaritan Hospital.”
Becca’s heart slammed against her rib cage in rising panic. The exact kind of phone call she’d always hoped never to receive. She gave a nod and strode for her office, trying not to run. The faces of her family flitted through her thoughts as she moved. Her mind whirled to Jackson first, then to Kyle, and fear slid up to wrap around her throat. If it was Kyle, it meant something had gone wrong at work, but wouldn’t Ceci have called her? The thought of which had her stomach tightening with horrible possibilities. Suppose they’d been going somewhere as a family?
God, please let my family be all right.
As she entered the office, Allie lifted her gaze and smiled, oblivious. She sat in the big chair behind the desk, playing with her Barbie dolls. “Hi, Mommy.”
Becca smiled in return, praying she didn’t look as terrified as she felt. At least Allie was here with her, safe and sound, but there were still too many possibilities.
Her hands shaking, she picked up the receiver from the desk where Mandy had laid it. “Hello?”
“Becca Kade?”
Nausea swirled in her stomach at the use of her married name. She’d taken her maiden name back the instant the divorce finalized. “Yes.”
“I’m calling from Good Samaritan Hospital, ma’am. Your husband, Jackson, was brought to the emergency room a few hours ago. I’m afraid there’s been an accident . . .”
***
Becca raced across the parking lot, her gaze set on the emergency room entrance some twenty feet beyond her. The white lettering on the redbrick building shined like a homing beacon. As she approached the entrance, she slowed to a walk. Stepping on the black mat, the doors opened automatically with a quiet, mechanical whoosh, and she stopped inside to get her bearings. Cold white walls, white-tiled floors, the sharp scent of disinfectant, all assaulted her senses. The place was busy. People filled the waiting room, almost all of the thick plastic chairs on either side of the doorway occupied. A baby fussed in her mother’s lap. A man spoke low into a cell phone. The hum of quiet voices drifted from somewhere in the distance.
A small, dark-haired woman seated behind the reception desk looked up from her computer and smiled. “Can I help you?”
Becca approached, knotting her hands together in front of her. “I received a phone call. They told me my husband was brought here.”
The woman nodded and set her hands on the keyboard. “Name, please?”
“Kade. Jackson Kade.”
The woman turned to a computer monitor, her fingers speeding over the keyboard. Becca drummed her own on her thighs. Nightmarish images bombarded her mind, setting her nerves on edge. The thought of him unconscious or worse left her cold. An ache she couldn’t soothe settled in her chest, no matter how much she tried to tell herself he was fine. If they’d called her, it meant he was alive at least. The question was, what kind of shape was he in?
The nurse turned to smile at her. “Room twenty-four, through those doors.”
Moving through a set of double doors the woman had indicated, Becca followed the numbered rooms around the corner and down a long, white hallway. The walk provided way too muc
h time for her stomach to tie itself into anxious knots and her mind to draw up every bad scenario possible. She knew from previous experiences as a child that these were temporary rooms. The emergency room doctors would decide what kind of treatment you needed before sending you to the next stage. That had to be a good sign. If he was still in one of these rooms—and not in surgery somewhere—it meant he was conscious at least. Didn’t it?
At the end of the hallway, she came to room twenty-four and paused to take a deep breath before pushing open the sliding glass door and stepping beyond the privacy curtain. Like the rest of the hospital, a sea of white greeted her. The small, rectangular room was filled with monitoring equipment. On a bed in the center lay Jackson, shirtless, eyes closed. A blood pressure cuff wrapped around his right bicep, though the machine lay silent. A middle-aged doctor in a white coat sat on his left side, stitching a cut over his eye.
She released the breath she wasn’t aware she was holding and stopped a few feet from the bed, assessing his injuries. He looked whole at least. A goose egg stood out on his forehead, above the cut. A white plaster cast encased his left arm, starting below his shoulder. Ugly red welts ran a path across his torso, from his left shoulder to the waistband of his pants at his right hip, obviously where the seat belt had restrained him.
As she stepped up to the bed, the need to touch him, to feel him real and solid and whole, became too great to ignore. She slipped her hand into his, resting at his hip.
“You look like hell, Jack.” She managed to squeeze the words out past the lump forming in her throat, but they came on a shaky whisper. Every muscle had begun to tremble. Aftershocks, some part of her mind told her. Relief flooded her chest. He was alive and sitting upright. Not in an operating room somewhere, but being able to touch him had flooded her with the fear she’d held back on the drive to the hospital.
