by JM Stewart
Eyes still closed, a lazy smile eased across his mouth. “You should see my car.”
Becca rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders let up a bit. She might have throttled him for his need to make a joke, now of all times, but his sense of humor meant he really was okay. It went a long way toward easing her fears, but the tight knot in her stomach refused to unwind completely. “Does your car look anything like you?”
His eyes darted in her direction, though he didn’t move his head. “Worse, I’m afraid.”
She furrowed her brow and shook her head. “What on earth happened?”
“Red runner. Coming through the light on One-Eightieth. Never saw him. T-boned me. Totaled my damn car.” He frowned, then winced.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the image formed in her mind of his black Mercedes, its fenders crumpled, the left side pushed in. She tried picturing him somewhere in the middle of the mess her mind conjured and her chest constricted. He could have died. The thought reverberated in her head, and the shaking returned, starting in her limbs and spreading like wildfire through the rest of her. Tears flooded her eyes. There were times over the last year when he’d made her so angry she didn’t know if she ever wanted to see him again.
Dead was something else entirely. Dead scared the hell out of her.
As if he knew the thoughts running rampant through her mind, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’m all right, darlin’.”
Becca swiped at her eyes with her free hand. She could come apart later. What he needed now was for her to be strong. He’d taken care of her last weekend, when she needed him. It was her turn to take care of him.
She turned to the doctor, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair. “When can I take him home?”
She wanted to get him home and get him comfortable. Maybe if he was somewhere where she’d know he was safe, she’d finally stop shaking. Staring at him, eyeing the ugly welts standing out on his chest, all she could think about was how close she’d come to losing him.
The doctor snipped the end of the last stitch and smiled at her.
“Just need to discharge him.” He turned a polite smile on Jackson. “Those cracked ribs will heal by themselves, but you’re going to be pretty sore for a while. The stitches will need to come out in seven to ten days. The arm will take six to eight weeks.” The man scribbled something onto a pad of paper and handed the page to Jackson. “This is for the pain. They may make you a little sleepy.”
Chapter Eight
Jackson darted a glance at Becca, seated behind the wheel of her car. They’d left the hospital an hour ago. Being rush hour, traffic from the hospital had already begun to back up, which meant a drive that should have only been twenty minutes had taken twice as long. After a trip to the pharmacy, they were finally headed home. Becca sat stiffly in her seat, concentrating on the road ahead, chewing her bottom lip. Since leaving the pharmacy ten minutes ago, she’d remained silent, but a frown etched her forehead. He knew that look. She’d gone into worry mode. Every time the car went over a bump she confirmed the thought by darting a panicked glance at him and muttering, “Sorry.”
Behind them, a car horn blared. Every time he winced, Becca insisted on overcompensating by tapping the brakes. She was currently doing ten miles under the speed limit, holding up a line of cars that went so far back, Jackson couldn’t see the end.
They hit a small pothole this time. He and Becca winced at the same time, and she tapped the brakes again. A car behind them blared its horn, then sped around them.
He wanted to take her hand but wasn’t sure she’d let him. “You can do the speed limit, darlin’. I won’t break, you know.”
She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
As it was, it took them over a half an hour to get home. No sooner had she pulled into the driveway in front of the house and shut off the engine then she exited the car and ran around to his side. Ran. Not walked, but ran. Like her life, or perhaps his, depended on it. By the time he’d mustered the energy to move, she had his door open and was holding out her hand to him. “Let me help you.”
He eyed her outstretched hand but didn’t take it. He understood her actions no doubt came from fear. It was written all over her. She was tense and the worried edge she’d had in her eyes when she walked into his hospital room had yet to abate. Not to mention he knew darn well she was a caretaker at heart.
But having to rely on her for silly things like getting out of the damn car made him feel too much like an invalid. He wasn’t used to it. He could hear his father’s stern lecture now. “Suck it up, boy, and act like a man.” The last thing he needed was Becca thinking any less of him. No matter how irrational the fear was.
Determined to do it himself, he swung his legs out of the car. “I appreciate the gesture, sweetheart, but it’s easier alone.”
That, at least, was true. He wasn’t certain it would make his ribs hurt any less were she to take his hand and pull. Heaving himself from the car hurt like a son-of-a-bullfrog. Hell, who was he kidding, it hurt to breathe. But he managed. Hoisting himself to his feet, pain sliced through his rib cage, and he sucked in a hissing breath. As expected, Becca surged forward, wrapping an arm around his waist as if to somehow hold him up.
He sighed. How could he resist the tender gesture, or the fact that she plastered herself to his side? Only this morning she might not have done it.
He stroked his hand over her back. “I really can walk.”
Despite his reassurance, she didn’t budge. Her eyes remained wide and edgy and filled with fear.
The sight of her worry wrapped around his heart. A few years ago, he might have pulled her close and kissed the frown from her soft lips. Now, he settled for offering her a smile. Not for the first time today, and he had a feeling he’d be saying the words often over the next few days, he repeated what he’d told her in the hospital. “I’m all right.”
True to her stubborn nature, though, her chin ratcheted up a notch, and fire lit in her eyes. “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”
Despite the sternness of her statement, she released him, following on his heels as he made his way up to the front porch. Every step jostled his ribs so that by the time he stepped up onto the damn porch, he was as winded as if he’d run five miles on a treadmill.
“Go lie down. I’ll get you some water and you can take one of those painkillers.” Becca darted past him into the house, disappearing down the hall and into the kitchen.
He didn’t have to be told twice. Several minutes later, he’d finally gotten himself up the stairs. He was attempting to get himself out of his shirt, trying unsuccessfully to get the slippery buttons to move through the holes, when Becca came bursting into the room. She carried a pill bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Determination creased her forehead.
She halted in the doorway and frowned at him. “What are you doing, Jack? You should be in bed.”
The button slipped from his fingers again, and he sighed, giving up, and turned to her. “I’m trying to get out of this shirt. They cut the sleeve to get to my arm, and I’d like to get out of the damn thing before I climb into bed. Allie doesn’t need to see the brunt of the accident. She’ll be frightened as it is. But I can’t seem to manage the buttons one-handed.”
“Let me help.” She rushed to his side, depositing the glass of water and pill bottle on the nightstand. Her fingers trembled over the buttons as she undid each one. As she slid the shirt from his shoulders and carefully maneuvered it around his cast, she kept her gaze downcast, then dropped the garment to the floor and pointed at the bed. “Now, get in.”
Any other time, the feel of her hands on his skin might have aroused him. At the moment, he was too sore to be anything but appreciative of the help.
As soon as he climbed beneath the quilt, she rushed forward again, stuffing pillows
behind his back. More than a little flustered, he wanted to wave her off, but he knew better and kept quiet. When she set her mind to something, he could argue all he wanted. She won every time. So he settled back onto the soft pillows. The action sent pain slicing through his rib cage again, and he let out a quiet groan. The action earned him another worried frown.
“Do you hurt much?” She bit down on her bottom lip, concern etched in the lines of her face he feared would be there until his ribs healed. She twisted the top off the pill bottle, dumped one into her palm, and held the tablet out to him.
He plucked the pill from her hand. “Hurts to breathe, actually.”
No sooner had he popped the tablet into his mouth than she pressed the water glass into his hand. He smiled his thanks and quickly swallowed the medicine, but she remained where she stood, frowning.
“Do you need anything else?”
You. He wanted more than anything to pull her into bed with him and hold her. He’d always heard people say when faced with death, their life flashed before their eyes. He’d found the old adage true to a certain degree, but the gratitude had come after he’d climbed from his crumpled car. As he stood staring at the wreckage, waiting for the police to come, “what if” scenarios had bombarded his mind. What if Allie had been with him? Or worse, what if they’d been heading somewhere as a family and she’d been in the back seat? She’d have been crushed.
He’d never been happier to see anyone than when Becca showed up in the ER, healthy and alive. Even happier when she’d told him Mandy had Allie and their daughter was safe and sound. Maybe if he could hold her, they’d both stop shaking.
He gave her a soft smile. “Stay for a while?”
She studied him for a long moment, uncertainty in her eyes. Finally, her mouth curled into an apologetic frown and she shook her head. “Can’t. I have to go pick up Allie from Mandy’s. Then I have a class to teach.”
Disappointment and regret expanded in his chest. Should he have expected anything else? Hadn’t she told him only this morning she wasn’t sure if she could trust him? He’d been full of hope then. Full of determination. The accident had shaken him. He was entirely too aware how close he’d come to never seeing her again and the distance between them had his nerves on edge. He needed her, needed to hold her and to be held. That he couldn’t just made his chest ache, and not because of his cracked ribs. All his regret had collapsed on top of him, a giant pile of rubble he couldn’t climb out of.
“It’s all right.” Unable to hide his disappointment, he closed his eyes. “I’m tired anyway.”
“Maybe when I get back?”
The soft, hesitant sound of her voice had him opening his eyes. She stood before him with her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles turned white. A soft pink flush suffused her cheeks. His breath halted and for a moment, he could only stare at her. Apparently, he wasn’t alone in that feeling. The accident had clearly shaken her, too, but to see it so clear on her face left him stunned.
Jumping at the chance to spend time with her, he gave her a soft smile and nodded. “When you get back, then.”
“Will you be okay here by yourself?” She frowned, apprehension once again creeping into her eyes.
An expression he recognized well. That look meant she’d begun to fuss, and he was torn. That the care came from Becca made the fact that he was being fussed over almost irresistible. He wanted to welcome it with both arms. Being fussed over by anyone, however, made him uncomfortable, and always had.
He sighed. He had to be honest, not in large part because he’d promised her he would be. “I appreciate you wanting to take care of me, darlin’, but it makes me uncomfortable.” He lowered his voice, vulnerability rising up to wrap around him like a suffocating shroud. “You’re the only person who’s ever fussed over me. Frankly, sweetheart, it makes me feel like an invalid. Useless. I’m not quite sure how to handle it, because my parents would never have allowed it.”
“You’re not useless, Jack. You’re hurt. There’s a difference.” She studied him, her brow puckered, confusion in her eyes. “Didn’t your mother ever baby you when you were little? Most men love it. You should see Evan when he’s sick. He’s almost worse than one of the kids.”
“No. My father left my care to my mother. He always said caring for the children was woman’s work. My mother had better things to do. I had maids and nannies for those things.” The admission had acid rising up the back of his throat. Telling her about his childhood didn’t come easily. This was the hard stuff. The ugly stuff. On a logical level, he knew she’d never think worse of him for it, but his heart expected it anyway, and his whole body tensed in preparation of her reaction. Which did nothing but make his ribs ache.
To make matters worse, she cocked her head to the side, studying him like he’d grown two more arms right in front of her. “Never? Surely somebody fussed over you.”
He turned to peer out the window, at the night beyond, to avoid her intense scrutiny. He knew damn well sharing his childhood with her ought to be as natural as the setting sun, but doing so felt flat-out wrong. He’d never admitted any of this to anyone. He didn’t think this particular wound would ever heal but mostly, the details were ugly. In his family, you kept the ugly bits to yourself. You did not, under any circumstances, acknowledge them, let alone voice them out loud.
He hated bringing ugly to Becca. It felt too much like he’d tarnished her world somehow. Her family wasn’t perfect. They were all a bit too nosy for their own good, but they loved each other with a strength that had always made him grateful that they’d accepted him into their midst. He’d always longed for the family he’d never had. To be loved and accepted as he was. Telling her about his childhood was like adding darkness to her world.
She needed to see this side of him, though, had said so on more than one occasion. If he wanted her back, he’d have to learn to talk to her.
So he made himself answer anyway. “No. Nobody who wasn’t paid to do so.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s not easy talking about my childhood. My family was different. I’ll fully admit, right now, I feel like a damn invalid, and I’m sitting here wondering if you’ll somehow think less of me for it.”
Silence stretched out between them, long unbearable seconds that felt like hours. An extended moment in time when he wondered what she thought but couldn’t decide if he actually wanted to hear her say it. Just when he thought for sure he’d go mad in the silence, she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, hesitated, then took his hand, her fingers warm and solid in his.
“I don’t think less of you. I’m terrified, if you want the God’s honest truth. You could have died today.”
She went silent for a moment. When he peeked over at her, tears hovered in her lashes, and her throat worked furiously, as if she were attempting not to cry. But she blinked and looked up at him again.
“Honestly? You talking about your childhood just makes me angry. For you. I’ve always hated your mother. Forgive me, but she’s a condescending bitch, and it makes my heart hurt to know you grew up that way, that your own mother never told you she loved you. Every child should grow up knowing they’re loved, that they’re important simply because they’re alive. My father left us when I was little. I don’t even remember him. But Mom always made up for it in spades. We always knew we were loved beyond reason.”
He could only stare at her. “How on earth did I ever get lucky enough to meet you?”
She smiled, a tenderness in her eyes that left his heart glad to be alive. She’d spent so many months building walls against him. He hadn’t expected her to care at all that he’d been hurt. He’d expected her to act the way his parents might, to give him the once-over, make sure he was still alive, and leave. Yet there she was, wanting to dote on him. She didn’t build a wall all over again. Rather, she appeared to be searching for a reason to stay, and the simplicity of the comfort her soft exp
ression gave him stunned him to his toes.
Something moved between them in that moment, subtle, more like a quiet shift in the breeze, but there all the same. The removal of a wall. Another step in a positive direction for their relationship.
“Must have been fate. Do you need anything before I go?” Her voice lowered, becoming a shy murmur between them. “I can make you something to eat if you’re hungry.”
“Go.” Warmth bloomed inside of him. For the first time in a long time, his chest filled with hope. He offered her a gentle smile and waved her off. It contented him, eased the panic in his gut, to know he’d get to spend time with her eventually. “I’ll do fine until you get back. I’d like to take a nap, anyway. My head is killing me.”
Seemingly satisfied, she nodded, squeezed his fingers, then rose and left the room. Thirty seconds or so later the front door clicked shut and stillness crept over the house. For the first time since she’d left him thirteen months ago, he didn’t feel so alone in the silence.
***
She couldn’t stall any longer.
Becca glanced around the kitchen. The dishwasher provided a quiet hum behind her, and the counters all but sparkled. Dinner had ended an hour ago, and she’d finished cleaning up. She was stalling, which was ironic, because she didn’t want to. What she wanted was to ignore the kitchen altogether and run upstairs into the bedroom. Jackson and Allie were watching a movie, waiting for her to join them. She ached to spend time with him. Wanted it so much every nerve ending seemed to come alive, vibrating with the desire. She hadn’t felt that way since their honeymoon.
The feeling scared her to death. His accident had gotten to her, and she’d allowed herself to hope.
