Gimme Some Sugar

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Her eyes flickered with emotion, but it lasted for less than a second. “Thanks.”

  Jackson opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the gentle-yet-definitely-masculine rumble of a throat being cleared behind him.

  “Well. I just lost twenty bucks.” Carly’s oldest brother, Vince, lifted an eyebrow at the discarded wrapper and Saltines crumbs on the tray. “I didn’t think you’d eat. Not even for the big guy.”

  Jackson moved to let go of Carly’s hand, but she gripped his fingers like a C-clamp as she nodded her brothers into the adjacent chairs.

  “Told you,” Dominic replied, the barest hint of a wry smile beneath his tired expression. He flicked a glance over Jackson and Carly’s hands before sliding into the seat next to her. “Hey, cucciola. How’re you doing?”

  “I’m tired. Did they kick you out already?” Carly’s forehead creased in lines of concern and she pushed her tray back with her free hand, soup forgotten.

  “She’s been asleep for hours, so we decided to call it a night. Frankie had to head home because Gina had a night class and little Frank’s been sick, but he’s coming back in the morning.” Dominic paused. “Have you given any thought to where you want to spend the night?”

  Carly’s head snapped up. “Oh. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  Jackson’s gut jangled with realization. The day had been so crazy, he hadn’t given it any thought, either.

  “It’s been a long day,” Vince agreed, pulling up a chair. “Why don’t you leave your car here and you two can hitch a ride to the ‘burbs with one of us?”

  She paused, her eyes skipping between both brothers. “Actually, I think we’ll just stay at mama’s. It’s a lot closer, just in case.” The waver in her voice returned, full force. “Then we’ll meet you here tomorrow.”

  Vince nailed Dominic with a brotherly look Jackson knew all too well, and Dominic shifted in his seat. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  Carly’s frown intensified. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  Vince met her frown with one of his own, just as sturdy, and in that flash the family resemblance was uncanny. “Maybe one of us should stay with you too, then.”

  Jackson noticed it wasn’t a question, and he stiffened against the unforgiving cafeteria chair.

  Carly’s unrelenting stubbornness swooped in to cut Vince’s suggestion off at the pass. “I think I can handle staying at mama’s for one night, Vin. Plus, Jackson will be with me. It’ll be fine.”

  Vince muttered something about that being what he was worried about, and Jackson sat up straighter in his seat in an involuntary response. Thankfully, his brain screamed the reminder that he had sisters too, and it kept Jackson’s mouth clamped shut over the protest burning on his tongue.

  Carly wasn’t so restrained, though. “Vince. Don’t be ridiculous.” Her hand tightened over Jackson’s, and she opened her mouth—presumably to argue some more—but Dominic gently interrupted both of his siblings before Jackson could beat him to it.

  “Carly’s right. It’s a good idea for one of us to stay close. And if she says she’s okay with Jackson, then she’s okay.”

  It wasn’t lost on Jackson that Dominic’s eyes hardened over him as he spoke, but he returned the stare with equal strength. No way was anything happening to Carly while he was there. And he wasn’t going to leave her.

  He tightened his hand over hers. “I’ve got her.”

  Vince grunted and looked for all the world like he wanted to argue, but Carly shook her head, resolute.

  “There’s plenty of room at mama’s. We’ll be fine there.”

  After an ear-piercing silence during which Vince didn’t argue and Carly didn’t back down, Dominic nodded. “Okay, then. Since that’s settled, should we meet here tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and we could all use some sleep.”

  Reluctantly, Vince nodded as he stood, pinning Jackson with a weary stare. “Yeah. Sorry. Today’s just been tough.”

  “No problem at all. I understand,” Jackson said, and he did. Hell, he couldn’t even imagine what he’d do or say if it was his mother in that hospital bed. He shuddered at the thought.

  Vince extended a hand to Jackson, who shook it with the silent acknowledgment that he’d take care of Carly. “See you tomorrow.”

  Both Vince and Dominic kissed Carly goodnight, and after they’d all parted ways, she sank back into the chair across from Jackson.

  “Sorry about that. I should’ve figured they’d be protective, especially after . . . well . . .” Her words faded as if she was too defeated to even finish a thought, and Jackson stood, beckoning her into his arms. Getting her some uninterrupted rest was priority number one right now. The clock on the wall read 8:12, but reality made it feel more like two AM after a fourteen-hour workday in the sun.

  “Hey. It’s fine. Come on. Let’s get you home so you can get a little sleep, okay?” He gathered her close for a quick embrace, and she peered up at him in bewilderment before blinking in recognition.

  “Oh, right. You mean my mother’s house.” She shook her head, sliding her tray from the table to clear it on the way out.

  “What’d you think I meant?” Jackson asked, taking the tray from her with ease. He deposited it at the back of the room before wrapping an arm around her to usher her out the door.

  “Sorry. I thought . . . when you said home, I thought you meant Pine Mountain. I guess it’s been a long day.”

  Something odd shot through Jackson’s belly, startling him, yet he couldn’t place it. Wow, today really must’ve taken it out of all of them.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, settling into silence that was punctuated only by the softness of their footfalls as they headed toward the parking garage.

  But the feeling lingered like leaves whispering in the wind.

  Jackson awoke to several things simultaneously, all of which were confusing as hell. After a few seconds of rapid-fire blinking and muddled thought, he cleared up the where-am-I, what-time-is-it issue. The clock on the nightstand in the guest bedroom glared a rather rude 2:15, and he rolled to his side to work through the next set of questions.

  The side of the bed where he’d last seen Carly was rumpled and empty, and there was a terrible racket coming from the kitchen down the hall.

  Jackson yanked a shirt over his head as he padded barefoot down the narrow hallway, guided by the metallic clang of pots and pans and the lilting hiss of Italian curse words. Carly stood in profile at the kitchen counter, the sleeves of her pajamas rolled tightly above her forearms. She gave the golden-yellow ball of dough under her palms a severe frown as she kneaded it, her hands flexing and releasing like a heartbeat.

  She looked so overwhelmingly sad, with streaks of flour and utter, bone-numbing sadness covering her face, that Jackson’s heart whacked against his ribcage with the need to do something about it.

  “Hey.” Okay, so it was a lame start, but it caught her attention. Carly’s head jerked up, eyebrows winging in surprise toward the sloppy knot on the crown of her head.

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Her hands folded over the ball of dough in a blur of motion.

  “It is kind of two in the morning,” Jackson pointed out gently, leaning against the doorframe. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

  Carly shook her head, momentarily abandoning the dough in favor of stirring something in a huge stockpot on one of the three occupied burners on the stove. “I can’t sleep. Plus, we’re going to need food. Especially when my mama comes home.” She dipped a small spoon into the pot, grimacing as she tasted the mixture. “Ugh. That’s not right.” The spoon went into the sink with a clatter and another curse.

  “Carly,” Jackson started, but she halted his movement toward her with the firm lift of her palm.

  “She’s going to need food.” She returned her attention to the stockpot, forehead creased tight. “More thyme. Yeah.” She rummaged through the cabinet over her head with relentless energy.

&
nbsp; Jackson scrubbed a hand over his jaw, weighing his options. Sugar-coating things wasn’t really his style; plus, Carly wouldn’t fall for that anyway. He moved behind her to pluck the jar of thyme from the shelf, but when she reached forward to take it from his outstretched hand, he held her fast.

  “I’m worried about you. You need to rest.”

  “Don’t tell me what I need,” she snapped, yanking her hand back. “My mother is going to need food when she comes home. She’s coming home,” Carly said, her voice emphatic. “I’m sorry I woke you up, but I have to do this. It’s the least I can do after . . . after . . .” She trailed off on a choked sob, and realization slammed into Jackson like a wrecking ball.

  Carly blamed herself for this.

  “Jesus, Carly. It’s not your fault.” He grabbed her shoulders with the intention of wrapping his arms around her, but the coiled tension rippling beneath his palms shocked him into place. She swung around, defensive to the hilt, eyes flashing whiskey-brown and terrified.

  “Of course it’s my fault!” She balled her flour-covered fists over his T-shirt, but instead of pushing him away, she clung for dear life. “I did everything but tell her to permanently butt out of my life this morning! What if she never wakes up, Jackson? What if the last thing I’d said to her had been some stupid, angry thing about Travis? I never got to say good-bye to my father—I don’t even remember the last thing I ever said to him, but did I learn anything from that? No! What if . . .” Carly’s eyes flooded with tears that quickly breached her lids to course down her face. “What if she doesn’t wake up tomorrow? What if she dies, just like he did? Then what?”

  Jackson didn’t hesitate, even though his ribcage felt like it had been run through a shredder. Carly’s waning strength was no match for the pull of his arms, and he folded her close, as if he could absorb her growing sobs through the contact.

  “You had no way of knowing this would happen.”

  “But it did. It did happen, and now I have to fix it. The only way I know how to do that is to cook, okay? So please let me fix it. Please,” she begged, emotion breaking over the word and carrying more tears with it. “I don’t know any other way to make this right.”

  For a second, he thought her grief would drag him under, but Jackson dug in deep to steady himself and hold her up.

  “Okay. If you want to cook, we’ll cook,” he murmured roughly into her hair, and she shuddered against him, cries wracking every breath.

  “Thank you.” She repeated the words into his shoulder enough times that he lost count, but she didn’t let go so Jackson didn’t budge. Only when her sadness had run its course, her gut-twisting cries subsiding into intermittent hitches, did he pull back to kiss a damp temple and tell her the truth.

  “You didn’t cause your mother’s stroke, Carly.”

  She rested her cheek on the tear-stained cotton of his T-shirt. “I know. But I didn’t make life easier by shutting her out. Despite her nagging, she means well. I’m just so tired of dwelling on everything that went wrong in my marriage. But I never stopped to think that my unhappiness affects her, too.”

  Jackson cupped Carly’s face and smoothed his hand over her cheek, catching the last of her tears with one rough thumb. “Keeping that inside must’ve been pretty tough.” Even now, with shadows of exhaustion smudged beneath her eyes and her disheveled hair falling out of its knot, his heart ached for her.

  “I’m sorry. I just—”

  Jackson’s fingers halted over her lips, literally shushing her even though he knew she wouldn’t like it.

  “I’ll stay up as late as you want to help you cook on one condition.” He jutted his chin over her shoulder to the controlled chaos in the kitchen, and Carly looked so shocked by his movement that she simply nodded without protest.

  “Don’t say I’m sorry to me for how you feel. Ever again.” He dropped his gaze, catching as much emotion in her eyes as he felt brewing in his own. She exhaled a delicate sigh, her breath warming his fingers, but she didn’t fight him. Instead, Carly reached up and curled her hand around his, holding on with a certainty that Jackson felt clear into the floor.

  “Okay,” was all she said.

  He gave one decisive nod before turning toward the stockpot. “Good. Now hand me a spoon so I can taste this, would you please? This sauce isn’t going to season itself, you know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Carly squinted at the bright sunlight muscling its way past the aging curtains, realizing like a delayed reaction that she’d finally let Jackson carry her to bed at a little before five AM. Judging by the heaviness in her limbs, she hadn’t moved much, if at all, during her four hours of deep, dreamless sleep. Carly tried to swallow, but her sandpaper lips only pressed together in a useless maneuver over her knotted throat as she rolled onto her side.

  “Hey,” Jackson mumbled, eyes still closed, and he snaked one tree-trunk arm over her to fit their bodies together. They were both still clad in what they’d worn the night before, and she brushed the pads of her fingers over the chalky smudges of flour on his T-shirt, feeling mildly heartsick at how they’d gotten there.

  Oh, God. Had she really broken down sobbing in his arms, right in her mother’s kitchen?

  “It’s almost nine.” She inhaled the scent of pasta dough and fresh-cut wood from his skin, and he burrowed deeper into his pillow with a sleep-laden exhale.

  “Mmkay.” His breath tickled her neck, but she felt so good wrapped up in his arms and the bed sheets that the outside world almost fell away, forgotten.

  Almost.

  “I’m going to put on a pot of coffee and take a quick shower. I want to be there when the doctor on the night shift does rounds at ten.” Carly shifted her weight to pull back the covers, but Jackson tightened his grip around her ribs, finally opening his eyes.

  “Okay.” He dipped his gold-stubbled chin to drop a kiss on her forehead, and Carly’s heart stuttered in her chest. She paused, weighing the thoughts flying around in her brain and trying to snag one long enough to make it coherent.

  “Thank you. You know, for staying up with me last night. For . . . holding me.” The stutter in her chest grew insistent, pushing through her like one hell of a wakeup call. “For everything.”

  Lord, she was bad at this. But the expression on Jackson’s face, so open and easy and matter-of-fact, settled her with uncharacteristic calm.

  “You’re welcome.”

  They lay together for a moment, his lips on the crown of her head, the smell of his skin so comforting and close, so inextricably connected that it hit Carly with a pang deep in her belly.

  Sloane was right. Carly had left friends-with-benefits territory in the dust.

  And if it didn’t feel so warm and good and utterly right to have Jackson here, comforting her when she needed him most, it would’ve terrified her right down to her toes.

  “I wish you’d all stop fussing over me. It’s bad enough with the nurses and the doctors traipsing in to poke and prod. And don’t get me started on what they’ve got masquerading as food around here. Breakfast was awful.”

  Carly had never been so happy to hear her mother’s bitching in all her life. After a full panel of tests revealed that her mother’s TIA had been isolated and there was still no brain bleed present, the doctors had given her a glowing report that ended with the prognosis of a full recovery. Of course, they’d had no idea what they were in for when they suggested she stay another day, just to be on the safe side.

  “Sorry, Mama. But you’re stuck here until tomorrow, so you’ll have to make the best of it.” Carly flipped the cover off the lunch tray that had just been delivered by a smiling nurse, wrinkling her nose at the pallid, over-boiled chicken breast and undercooked white rice on the plate. No way was that going to fly with her mother, not even if she was starving. Which, by the sound of things, might not be too far off.

  “If you’re hungry, why don’t you try some of this salad?” Carly pasted a smile on her face in an effort to work
up some enthusiasm for the ho-hum chunk of lettuce and colorless tomato beside the tray.

  “Because it looks horrible, that’s why,” her mother replied, fastening Carly with a no-nonsense look. “Is it too much to ask my chef daughter for some real food? Please, Carlotta! You wouldn’t eat this.”

  Carly laughed, her first one in what felt like a dog’s age. “Okay, yeah.” She caved, replacing the lid over the chicken and pushing the tray aside. “The guys are making a lunch run. I’ll send Dom a message and have him bring you back a sandwich.” Carly tapped her phone to life and pecked out a quick text to her brother.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Pastrami would be good, with extra cheese. And a black and white cookie. Maybe two,” her mother replied, brown eyes lighting.

  Carly shook her head, unforgiving, as she hit SEND and replaced her phone in her back pocket. “Uh-uh. You heard both doctors. We need to keep your blood pressure nice and low, which means you’re taking a break from some of that stuff for a while. And don’t give the nurse any grief about taking that medicine, you hear me?”

  Her mother’s physician had timed his visit to coincide with the ICU doctor’s rounds a few hours ago, and together they’d come up with a game plan to keep her mama as healthy as possible after she returned home. While the dietary changes and the medication schedule were going to take some getting used to, they seemed like a casual stroll in Central Park compared to the alternative.

  “The doctors said I’m going to be just fine,” her mother argued, although Carly noted it came without the usual fierceness. “I’m good as new.”

  “You’re exhausted,” Carly answered, as gently as she could while still letting her mother know she meant business. “And you need to take care of yourself.” She stood next to the bed, mercilessly rearranging the silverware on the tray until it was ruler-straight.

  “There’s the pot calling the kettle black.” Her mother shifted her weight against the lumpy mattress. Her pillow slid behind her graying head at an awkward angle, but she paid it little mind as she leveled Carly with a knowing stare.