“It’s great, don’t you think?”
“Of course I think it’s great, but—” I gave him a once-over, my eyes moving down and then up. Was this someone else in a Jackson James costume? “Why are you so happy?”
“I’m happy for Ash, for Drew.” He stared at me for a beat, the grin on his features turning to confusion. Finally, dawning comprehension lit behind his eyes. “Oh, come on, Cletus. I’m not still hung up on Ash. That was all over a long time ago.”
“Really?” I wouldn’t have been able to cover my astonishment had I tried. “Then—” I started, stopped, shook my head, and started again, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I mean, I love Ashley, I always will. She’s awesome. And so, absolutely, yes. I’m thrilled for her and Drew. The way they look at each other, it’s like, they should’ve gotten married ages ago, right?”
“How do they look at each other?” I was officially confuzzled, and I do not use that word lightly.
“Like how Jenn looks at you,” he said, lifting his chin toward the hall we’d just walked through. He turned his attention to me, his expression thoughtful. “I want somebody to look at me like Jenn looks at you, how Ash looks at Drew.”
“And how does Jenn look at me?”
“She adores you. It’s obvious to everybody. She thinks the sun rises and sets with you. You are so lucky.” He tapped me on the shoulder, and I didn’t even mind.
Once more I really, truly looked at Jackson James, but not to inspect him for signs of fatigue or to gauge his level of dedication to his job. Unfortunately—or, fortunately, depending on one’s perspective—it appeared that Jackson was one of those rare souls with hidden depths. And, man, that irritated me. At first.
I suppose I'm not always right. Just 99.9 percent of the time.
“You want someone to look at you like how Jenn looks at me,” I repeated, considering the words and all the information I had on Jackson James. He wasn’t a philanderer, but he was an indiscriminate baker.
“Of course.”
“Jackson, you do realize that in order for somebody to look at you that way, you have to be with the same woman more than once?”
He chuckled. It sounded self-deprecating. “I know that Cletus, and I'm working toward it. But there are so many beautiful women.” He grinned, and I knew if I’d been almost anything but a heterosexual man, his grin would’ve been both charming and alluring.
“And you have to sample them all?” I asked, a little charmed despite myself. What is happening? I need more sleep.
“Well, no, I guess I don't have to.”
I shook my head, smiling ruefully, because I was fairly certain Jackson and I had just officially become friends. “So, Jackson. I’m going to fill you in on a little secret. I don't know if anybody's told you this yet, and you clearly haven't figured it out for yourself, but if you sleep with one beautiful woman, you've slept with them all.”
His smile dropped, and he looked almost offended. “I don't know if that's necessarily true.”
“Oh no, it's true. I'm right.” I let my certainty show. “Because once you sleep with the beautiful woman, you'll never want to be with anybody else again.”
His frown deepened, pinching his eyebrows together, like he didn’t follow.
I spelled it out for him. “See, the difference between a beautiful woman and the beautiful woman is that God put her on this earth just for you. And when you meet her, you’ll never want to be with a beautiful woman ever again.”
He blinked, rearing back a bit on his heels, and something akin to sad realization turned his features hard, like I’d related something he didn’t like even though it resonated.
Studying him for a long moment, I endeavored to work through what I’d said that might’ve distressed my new friend so much, and decided to add, “I’m not saying there’s only one ‘the beautiful person’ for each person out there, I’m not saying that. In fact, I reckon there’s likely multiples of ‘the beautiful person’ for each person. So it’s not like you get just one chance. But you do need to give someone the opportunity to become ‘the beautiful person’ instead of—”
“You know what?” He cut me off, seeming even more agitated than before. Jackson cleared his throat, glancing over my shoulder. He shook his head as though to clear it. “Never mind. I gotta go. See you later.”
And with that, Jackson James left me standing in the corner of the hospital waiting room, staring after him, feeling like I’d just shoved my whole foot in my mouth—for reasons unbeknownst to me—with seventeen seconds still left on our conversation timer.
Walking back to Jenn’s room, I replayed the conversation a few times in my head, unable to figure out where I’d failed to effectively impart my glorious wisdom.
“There are multiples of ‘the beautiful person,’” I mumbled as I walked into Jenn’s room.
“What’s that?” She peered over the screen of the tablet I’d set up for her. It had a holder with an arm attachment hooked up to the side of the hospital bed, so she could place and move it wherever it suited her neck.
“Oh, nothing.” I sipped my coffee. It was no longer hot. “What are you watching?”
“Nothing really, just looking through my options.” She pushed the arm down, lowering the screen. “Tell me, how was Jackson? What did he want to talk about?”
“He wanted to know what was happening with the wedding, if you and I were going to go through with it or not. I explained that Ashley and Drew were stepping in and stepping up, that the wedding would be theirs.” I stood at the foot of the bed. It seemed to be the best place to stand with deference to her neck brace.
“Oh. Good.”
“Do you regret it?” Though the coffee was now tepid, I took a sip while refocusing the entirety of my attention on my wife and her well-being. I’d have to marinate on the Jackson situation later.
“What?”
“Not regret, precisely. But does it bother you that we got married in the hospital on a rush?”
“Oh, that.” She smiled, her eyes sparkly again as they moved over me. “No. Not at all. When I woke up and Isaac was in my room, I was so confused. He didn’t stay, didn’t seem to want to be with me if I was awake. Then, after asking for you a hundred times, you showed up with the officiant, with George. It was like you’d read my mind.”
Good.
“Did you and Isaac get a chance to talk?”
“No.” Much of the sparkly happiness drained from her features.
As soon as Jenn and I were married and his opinion on her care was no longer requested, he’d disappeared.
I’d already filled Jenn in on the story Isaac had told Billy and I, doing my best to relate the conversation word for word. She’d seemed very relieved when I clarified that Isaac had only shot Kip after Elena had killed him first, a situation where thirty seconds made all the difference, I supposed.
She didn’t seem at all surprised by her brother’s involvement in Kip’s murder—that he’d been the shooter—which made me wonder if she’d already come to the same (or similar) conclusions I had prior to her car accident. But she did seem surprised to learn he was an undercover agent, planted in the Wraiths by some government agency. This, more than anything, seemed to upset her.