A lot, starting with her dignity and her mind. Maybe he made a valid point. There was just one problem. The cradle she wanted to rob had a warning sign that said “celibate.”
Chapter Five
“Your favorite neighbor just pulled in his garage,” Jackson announced as he came in the back door, dripping with sweat.
Jillian didn’t care, at least that’s what she told herself every morning to muster the strength to get out of bed.
“No response?” He plopped down in the chair next to hers. “Good. Let’s talk about me then.”
His mouth held a pleasant smile, one that said he had a secret ready to burst from his lips. He marked time much better than she did, going through the motion of each day like a good soldier. But it had been a while since she’d seen him look happy.
“Let’s.” She found her own smile. It was his moment.
“I know I was a little pissed about you telling Ryn that I’d taken a vow of celibacy … which I did not do.”
“You had sex.”
“I did not.” His grin held firm. “But I think I should now. I think I’m ready.”
“I agree. You should, but not with Ryn.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because she works for us.” Jillian drummed her fingers on the table. A tight grin pulled her lips into a firm line.
“She works for you. Technically, I think you hired her.”
Jillian shook her head. “She’s probably married with kids. Don’t be a home wrecker … that has never been your thing, so don’t start now.”
“She’s not married. I asked.”
“Are you going to marry her?”
“What does that matter?”
“Because this house has never looked so clean and unless you marry her it will eventually end with her quitting because of you. And … she’ll probably quit working for AJ too, just so she doesn’t have to be in the same neighborhood as you.”
“You’re full of shit. Look at yourself. You’re a walking disaster. I had to pick up your room before Ryn came just so she could find the floor to vacuum it. You’ve been a slob your entire life. And a certain doctor that I shall not name … he knew it too, and it drove him crazy, and you know I’m right. I know for a fact you thrive in disorder. So either you intended Ryn to be a gift for me or you’re using her to worm your way back onto AJ’s good side. And just to be clear … I’m not sure he has one.”
She stopped drumming her fingers on the table and rolled her eyes. “Fine, but do me a favor. Choose what it’s going to be and make sure she understands.”
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“If it’s just sex, then make sure she knows up front. Otherwise …”
“Otherwise what?”
“Marry her.”
Jackson laughed. “I’ll ask her on Tuesday which she prefers.”
Jillian didn’t want to laugh. She’d been in the worst mood since she last saw AJ and her depression began to feel like a security blanket—dark but warm.
Unfortunately, she envisioned Jackson asking Ryn if she’d rather have sex with him or marry him and the image brought a huge smile to her face.
“That looks good on you.” He smiled back. “Now go.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Go where?’
“I know you’re dying to go next door.”
She wasn’t.
“Lay it on the line. Don’t take any of his crap and call me if you need backup.”
“You don’t even like him. Why do you care?”
“True. But I think Jillian needs him.”
Loving Jackson came easy, even when he acted the part of a paranoid, overprotective ass. Eventually he came around and supported her with only one goal: for her to find happiness. Was AJ her happiness? Could she be happy watching him die? Did he have to die?
*
Jillian hadn’t prepared herself for the defeat in AJ’s eyes when he answered the door. She expected grumpiness, and anger, not shoulders curved inward, eyes devoid of life.
“Can I come in?”
The hollow man before her nodded once.
Grabbing two beers, he handed one to her. She shook her head. There was no need for an SOS. He wasn’t dying.
He wasn’t dying.
“I need you to live.” Her voice, barely a whisper, squeezed past the lump in her throat.
AJ leaned against the counter, staring at his feet. “Sorry.”
She wanted to tell him everything. He would fight for himself—fight for her—if he knew about her past.
“I know what it feels like to want to give up. I know what it feels like to not feel in control of your body. Living is so much harder than dying.”
His cynical laugh sliced through the thick air. “You have experience with dying?”
There existed a headstone with her former name on it. In many ways she was dead. After all, a person couldn’t live without a heart, and hers resided in San Francisco.
“I do.”
He laughed again. “But let me guess … you can’t tell me about it.”
“You know what pisses me off the most? You’ve had one opinion and you’re already planning your funeral. Just because some neurologist or oncologist thinks your tumor is inoperable doesn’t mean another more experienced or more confident doctor would.”
AJ looked up at her. “So that’s a no answer yet again to your past.”
“We’re not talking about my past, we’re talking about—”
“Well I think we should. It’s a moot point talking about my future that no longer exists. I’ve told you about my past. I think all that’s left to talk about is yours.”
Anger gripped every nerve as she fisted her hands at her side. It was a low blow. He didn’t need to push her away with her own past.
“I love you.”
He shook his head. “You’re reciprocating. I didn’t ask you to say it back. I said it because I needed to make peace between us. You’re saying it because you’re scared and pissed.”
“I think telling someone you love them after you find out you’re ‘dying’ would be classified as an act of fear or anger, so please don’t feed me this line of bullshit that you had some romantic epiphany about us on a whim.”
“Are you done?” His face turned to stone, eyes cold.
She stepped closer until they were toe-to-toe. “I’m just getting started.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore.”
“Well. I. Don’t. Care.” She poked his chest with each word. “You have two parents and a son that will be devastated. You don’t enlist in the air force and fight to stay alive to make it home to your family just to turn around and give up. You’re not a fucking coward so stop acting like one.”
“Six months.” He glared at her.
“What … what are you talking about?”
“I saw the oncologist. It’s cancer and he gave me six months to live … with treatment.”
She stared at his chest. How did his heart feel about that? Hers remained hollow. It had been for many months. Those were crushing words. Luckily, she was safe. No heart. Nothing to crush. But for some reason, his words filled that empty space and formed into something living, beating, and aching so damn bad. How could nothing feel so painfully like something?