Not once had he been with her without Roger’s presence to serve as a buffer.
Jesse couldn’t have said if that was a good thing or bad thing.
Now, as he crouched down in front of her, he realized he felt about as nervous as he had the first time he’d asked her out. How many years ago? Eighteen years. Eighteen years ago now…they’d been together almost all through high school.
“Zoe?”
She blinked slowly and shifted her eyes to his face. A slow, polite smile tugged at her lips and she murmured, “Hello, Jesse. How are you this evening?”
He peered up at the sky and then looked back at her. Rain clung to her lashes, dripped off her nose. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, kind of wet.” Very wet. The rain was already snaking down past his collar, inside his shirt to trickle down his spine, and it was so damn cold. “Zoe, what are you doing sitting out here? It’s pouring out. Are you okay? Is…is your mom all right?”
He’d heard about her mother. Shit, that had to be hell. Zoe’s relationship with her hadn’t ever been easy, and now the woman was in a nursing home because she couldn’t take care of herself anymore. Couldn’t take care of herself, and there was no way she’d let Zoe do it, if even half of the stories he heard were true. She’d never been a pleasant woman, but lately, it was worse.
Zoe just stared at him. In the poor light, he could hardly make out her eyes, but he knew that soft, pale green better than he knew the color of his own eyes. They were too dark, the pupils large and dilated…shock, he realized.
Reaching out, he touched her hand. “Zoe?” he said quietly.
She blinked, a slow drift of her lashes over her eyes and then she looked down at his hand touching hers. When she looked up at him, there was some sense of awareness in her eyes, but only just. “Hello, Jesse,” she said, again.
Hello, Jesse.
Like she had bumped into him on the street.
Not like he’d found her sitting in the middle of downpour, sitting alone in the square. Scowling, he closed his fingers around her wrist and tugged as he stood. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”
He was half-prepared for her to argue.
There was a time when she would have.
But she followed along behind him, not saying a word.
He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—her silence now, or the way he’d found her.
Apparently working for his dad paid well, Jesse thought, pulling up in front of the large, custom-designed brick home.
He’d been by the house a number of times, but the few times he’d been invited, he’d refused.
Going inside that house, seeing where Roger lived with the woman Jesse still wanted, that was more torture than he really wanted.
Plus, he wasn’t overly keen on renewing the friendship he’d had with Roger. Maybe it was petty of him, but he didn’t care. Some part of him still felt like Roger had moved in and taken something that had been Jesse’s. Until he could get over that, he was better off not pretending or forcing a friendship he didn’t really feel, he figured.
It was definitely better for Zoe and Roger.
Parking to the side of the long, curved drive, he climbed out of the car and came around to the side. When he opened the door, Zoe just sat there.
Swearing, he crouched down and waited for her to look at him.
For the next minute, all she did was stare straight ahead.
Finally, unable to bear the silence, or that look in her eyes, he reached out and touched her arm. “Zoe, what’s wrong?”
Vaguely, Zoe heard Jesse’s voice but it didn’t seem real.
She knew she was in his car, and she knew he was talking on his phone, and although part of her understood the words, all they did was bounce around inside her skull, kind of like a ball in pinball machine—none of them connected. Nothing made sense.
Brain tumor.
MRI.
Roger…where in the hell are you? You’re supposed to be here.
Here. With her. Just where he’d always been, for the past fifteen years. Why wasn’t he here now?
She started to shake, barely able to think, hardly able to breathe.
Brilliant light shone in her face and she flinched, hiding away from it. Hard, hot hands caught her arms and she lifted her head, stared dully at Jesse.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said woodenly.
But she wasn’t. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again.
She went to pull away from him—she couldn’t take the touch of his hands—it didn’t feel right having him touch her. Abruptly, she stopped and stared, realized they were in the brightly lit front room of her home.
The home she shared with Roger.
Roger.
The pain inside her rose up, grabbed her around the throat like a fist and she started to shake. She needed to cry, wanted to scream—where was he?
A hand touched her shoulder gently. Looking back at Jesse, she stared at his face mutely.
“I called my dad—figured he’d know where Roger was,” Jesse said, his face neutral.
His eyes weren’t.
Those dark blue eyes were anything but neutral, anything but calm. She couldn’t entirely understand all the emotions she saw there, and she wouldn’t let herself think about them, either.
“Roger is in Lincoln with your father, of course.” Was that really her voice? So calm, so collected?
How could she sound so…unaffected when her life was on the verge of shattering?
Brain tumor.
MRI.
Tests.
Why aren’t you here, you bastard?
The sobs trapped inside her chest begged to be set free and she turned away from Jesse, took one slow step toward the couch, then another. “I appreciate you bringing me home. I’m sure you have other things to do, though,” she said.
Calm, keep calm. Don’t fall apart until he’s gone…
“Zoe.” He touched her shoulder again. His voice soft and low.
She broke. Shattered.
Sinking to the floor, she started to sob.
The storm of grief didn’t ease even in her sleep. She lay curled in the corner of the couch, covered with a blanket, and every so often, a soft little sobbing sigh would escape her. It was going to break Jesse’s heart.
Pulling his phone from his belt, he checked the time again.
Almost midnight.
Where in the fuck was Roger?
He wasn’t leaving, not with Zoe so…broken.
A heavy knot of worry, fear and pain lodged in his chest, turning his heart to ash. She hadn’t told him what was wrong, but considering how hard she’d been crying, she hadn’t even been able to speak.
It was 12:28 when he finally heard a key turn in the lock.
Roger appeared in the doorway, Jesse’s dad standing at his shoulder. For one second, Roger’s eyes narrowed on Jesse’s face and a look shot through his eyes—one that didn’t settle right. But then it was gone, gone so quick, Jesse thought he’d imagined it. And maybe he had, because Jesse was so pissed, so damned pissed. How in the hell could Roger be out doing fuck knew what when Zoe was like this?
Jesse opened his mouth to blast his former best friend, but the words died in his throat as he got his first good luck at Roger in weeks, months.
He’d lost weight.
Too much of it too. Roger had been on the football team with him—defense to Jesse’s offense, and the man had carried his muscle fairly well even after graduation.
A lot of that muscle was gone, like it had melted away.
He was pale, that sickly pallor of the sick.
The dying…
“You look like shit,” Jesse said, his voice flat.
Roger’s mouth curled in a faint smile. “Thanks, buddy.”
He turned and looked at his wife, something twisting his expression. “What’s wrong?” Roger asked quietly.
“I found her in at the square, s
itting outside in the middle of a downpour.” He wanted to yell at Roger, but something held his tongue. He had a feeling about why Zoe had been out there—looking at Roger, he knew. It was the kind of knowledge he didn’t want, either. He felt it settle it the back of his mind, whispering and if he could have, he would have shut down, blocked it out. “She was…upset.”
“I had a doctor’s appointment before I left for Lincoln this morning. She’s just a little worried,” Roger said, shrugging it off.
A little worried.
“What’s got her worried?”
“Doctor mumbo jumbo,” Roger said. He shrugged and moved to the couch. “Thanks for bringing her home and for staying with her, Jesse. I’ll take care of her now.”
Jesse remained silent as Roger slid his arms under his wife, lifted her and cradled her against his chest. As he straightened, he staggered slightly and Jesse had to fight the urge to help.
He knew it wasn’t welcome.
After Roger left the room, he looked at his father.
“What the fuck is wrong with him?”
His dad looked at him with quiet grief. “He has a brain tumor.”
Chapter Three
“You need to take your medicine.” Zoe tried to get Roger to look at her.
He was going downhill so fast.
Too fast. It had only been two months since they’d found out.
Two months, and there were days when she barely recognized her husband.
Two months, and, according to the doctors, unless a miracle happened, she only had a matter of weeks left with him.
“I don’t want the damn medicine,” he snarled, sending her a dark, ugly look. There was a look in his eyes, one that would have frightened her. But this was Roger.
“Come on, baby…”
He swung out, knocking the pills out of her hand—he hit her wrist with enough force that her hand went numb. Sucking in a surprised breath, she stared at him, but he wasn’t looking at her now.
Her hands shaking, she knelt down and picked up the pills. One had rolled under the bed and she had to crawl under it to get it. As she straightened up, she looked at him, almost afraid of what she was going to see on his face.
“The medicine makes me so damn sick,” he said, looking back at her. This time, his eyes were calm and whatever she’d seen there was gone. And he smiled at her, crooked a grin. “Come on, baby. They make me feel worse, anyway. It’s not like they can do much of anything now anyway. I’m a dead man.”
A dead man. “Don’t say that.” Tears burned her eyes as she stared at him. “Please don’t say that.”
For long, long moments, he said nothing and once more, he looked out the window, staring at the gardens they’d spent so much time on.
For long, long moments, he wouldn’t look at her.
Then, finally, he sighed and met her eyes. “I’m dying, Zoe. We both know that. Pretending isn’t going to change that.”
“It’s not fair,” Zoe half-shouted. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. She was not going to talk to him about fairness, was she? He was the one laying there, a shadow of himself, his body wasting away, his brain wasting away…
“Zoe. You and I both know that life isn’t always fair.” He gave her a faint grin. “Life’s a bitch and then you die. We all die, baby. It’s just happening to me sooner than we’d planned.”
Life’s a bitch and then you die…
Roger’s words, and his black humor, still echoed in her head two weeks later.
Every day, he got a little worse.
Every day, the pain got a little worse.
Every day, his moods got a little worse.
Sometimes, it was like he was a different man entirely…a man who scared her. And even as much as those brief moments terrified her, she hated herself for being afraid of him, even for a minute, because she knew she couldn’t comprehend the pain he was in, pain not even the drugs could touch.
And then other times, most of the times, he was fine. He was just himself…slowly weakening, slowly fading away, but still so loving, so full of that sly humor and that gentleness that had made her fall in love with him over the past fifteen years.
Right now, though, it wasn’t one of those good days.
Right now, he stared at the wooden tray, his mouth twisted like she’d just served him up maggots and larvae instead a sandwich and soup.
“What in the hell is this shit?” he muttered, more to himself than her.
“It’s what you asked for earlier,” she said softly.
He shoved it away, hard enough that half the soup sloshed out of the bowl. “I didn’t ask for that.” He shot her a dark, narrow glance then stared out the window.
She took a slow careful breath as she took the tray.
As she went to turn away, he brushed his hand down her side. “Hey, why don’t we go sit outside, enjoy the garden?” Roger smiled up at her.
That weird, half-crazed look in his eyes was gone, and he was just Roger. Just her husband.
“Sure.” She smiled at him. “Let me just go put this up.”
But by the time she got back to the bedroom, he was asleep.
It was an hour later when the phone rang.
Bone tired, Zoe stared at the display on the phone and almost turned away.
She didn’t have the patience, the time to deal with her mother right now.
She’d used Roger’s unexpected nap to get some cleaning done around the house and make some calls to the store, and that had been a bitch. A shipment at the store had been screwed up, and she needed to get online and figure out what had gone wrong.
She had payroll to deal with.
Worse, every waking minute with Roger was like walking on eggshells. She never knew what was going to set him off and the stress from that alone was driving her insane, and then, piled on top of that, was the guilt. Her husband was dying and she was whining because he was in a bad mood?
The last thing she wanted to deal with was her mother.
Shit. Tears pricked at her eyes but instead of letting them fall, she answered the phone.
“Yes?”
“Hi, Zoe. I know this probably not the best time, but…”
Not the best time.
Twenty minutes later, she hung up the phone and gave into the urge to press her back to the wall and close her eyes. Weariness dragged at her. She was so tired. So fucking tired.
Lifting her head, she stared down the hall at the open door of the bedroom she shared with Roger.
She had to go see about Mom, no choice there.
But she couldn’t leave him alone.
Shoving away from the wall, she headed toward the bedroom. One thing at a time. If he wasn’t feeling so sick, then they could worry about the next thing.
Then the next thing, and the next, and the fucking next…
“Damn it, can I just have a bit of break here?” she muttered as the burn of helpless anger settled in the pit of her belly.
Staring at the bag of books, Jesse tried to tell himself to just leave it on the porch and get back in his car.
Instead of doing that, which was probably the smarter thing, he knocked on the door. Hell, he knew Roger needed a distraction and he’d just gotten some new political thrillers in that were just up the guy’s alley—and two of them were audio books.
Zoe’s favorite urban fantasy author had a new book out.
Books were a nice distraction at any time, right?
It wasn’t like he didn’t have a good reason for swinging by.
Ever since he’d found out about Roger’s diagnosis, the petty anger he’d harbored against his friend… Well, Jesse had realized just how fucking petty it was, and he’d shoved it straight where it needed to go, out of his heart, out of his mind.
They might never have the friendship they’d had in high school, but they were friends and right now, both Zoe and Roger needed all the friends they could get.
And Jesse needed to be there for both of them as much as he c
ould.
Besides, his dad was worrying about him too. Ever since Roger had turned in his resignation, the old man had come by as often as he could, but it was now re-election time and instead of visiting every couple of days, he could only get by once a week or so and Jesse had promised he’d come by today.
All valid reasons.
Nobody needed to know it was a perfectly legit cover for him to be able to look at Zoe and soothe the ragged pain inside his heart, one that gotten worse ever since the time he’d laid eyes on her again in the city square a few months back.
He couldn’t help her.
She was going through something he couldn’t even imagine and he couldn’t do shit to help.
Except bring some books for Roger and offer to help out at her store as much as he could, and that didn’t count for much of anything. He couldn’t take this pain from her, he couldn’t fix Roger—as fucking jealous as he was, he’d fix the man in a heartbeat if it was in his power, but he couldn’t.
All he could do was stand by and watch as two people he loved suffered.
The door swung open and the smile and speech he’d rehearsed faded away into nothing as he found himself staring at Zoe’s face.
“Jesse, hi.”
Forcing himself to smile, he held out the bag. “Hey. Wanted to bring this by. And I promised my dad I’d come by and check on things.”
She might have barred him from coming in but he edged past her, forcing her to back up unless she wanted him brushing up against her. Which she didn’t—Jesse was fully aware of the extreme care she took not to let him touch her. The door closed behind them and he turned to study Zoe’s face.
She looked tired.
Still so fucking beautiful it made his heart ache just to look at her, but tired. Like she could sleep for a week.
Tired and frazzled and frustrated.
He felt like a major prick because he wanted to offer to hold her for the entire week.
Her husband’s dying, man. Remember him? Guy used to be your best friend? Still is your friend?
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” She gave him a practiced, completely false smile.
“Bullshit.” He dropped the bag on the table centered under a mirror and folded his arms over his chest, studying her face. “Don’t hand me the line you hand people in your store, people at church, whoever. I know you too well. How are you, really?”
Jesse's Girl Page 2
