“What the fuck do you want?” On the outside he’d perfected the tough-guy role, but Jillian—Jessica—always ignited the fuse on his patience.
“AJ needs his anti-seizure medication.”
“Do you have a prescription?”
“No. He didn’t bring any with him.”
“You’re dreaming, little girl. I’m flattered you think I’m God, but I’m not. I can’t just thumb through a PDR and find him the right medication.”
“Clearly you’re an old fuck who hasn’t been to the doctor recently. Welcome to the digital age where everyone’s entire life, including their medical records, can be accessed online.”
“You’re asking me to break into the hospital’s database?”
“I’m not asking. Message me with the pharmacy information.”
*
Jillian and AJ continued south with her drug dealer on speed dial. Each passing day AJ seemed to be doing better. Jillian would have been skeptical had AJ himself not acted a little shocked. He admitted the doctors said radiation was a wait and see situation. She insisted he still take his medications, if for no other reason than the fact that she’d repeatedly sold her soul to the Devil, or vice versa, to get them.
“You’ve been gone a while. How long is Jackson going to let you gallivant around the country with me?”
Jillian grinned, keeping her eyes trained to the miles of Texas highway before them. “I occasionally check in with my parole officer … can you say the same? Besides, I told you Jackson’s too busy courting your ex-cleaning lady.”
“Courting?”
“Yes. He’s decided it’s time to marry and populate the world with little Knights. Pun intended.”
“I think she’s close to my age and maybe has a teenager or something. Shouldn’t he be courting someone in their childbearing years?”
“I like Ryn and I should land my fist in your junk on her behalf for making her seem old and barren. Not to mention she’s worked for you how many years? And you think she “maybe” has a child who FYI is twenty-one—a daughter.”
“She was my cleaning lady, not my psychiatrist.”
That hit so close to home.
“And honestly, I rarely saw her. Most people aren’t home when their cleaning lady comes, and she only came twice a month. She actually did more odd jobs for me. I don’t mind scrubbing toilets and running a vacuum, but laundry, dusting those stupid mini-blinds, light fixtures, and cleaning my fish tank…” she felt him glaring at the side of her head “…that’s the stuff she did for me and it didn’t require an exchange of personal information.”
“I think when you ask someone to wash and fold your tighty-whities there really should be an exchange of personal information.”
AJ shook his head. “It was more sheets and towels, occasionally my uniform or ironing some shirts.”
“Good to know … I thought she must have been pretty desperate for work. Anyway, I hope it works out. I’d love to be an aunt. I’d be the coolest aunt ever.”
“Is that enough?”
“What do you mean?” She stole a quick, sideways glance.
“Don’t you want to be a mom?”
“I feel like we’ve had this discussion.”
“I feel like you’re afraid to admit what you want, or maybe you’re even afraid to want it at all.”
“I don’t want you to die. I’m not afraid to admit that. I want a romantic date with cloth napkins. I want to always be on top when we have sex.”
The last part was a lie. Jillian realized her list of wants turned into her needs. Her deepest truth: she didn’t want everything she needed or maybe she didn’t want to need it. Needs were weaknesses.
“You’d be an amazing mother.”
She guffawed. “How can you even say that with a straight face?”
“Your compassion equals your strength, and you’re the strongest person I know.”
“Well, it’s a moot point. You can’t have kids and I choose you.”
“But—”
“I. Choose. You. And don’t you dare talk about the fucking cancer. You’re better … we’re better.”
AJ sighed, gazing out his window. “We’re better,” he whispered.
*
If he loved her, he’d let her go. AJ couldn’t get that thought out of his damaged mind. Jillian loved him and she let him go with a simple thank you. He blamed his selfishness on the tumor … by that point he blamed everything on the tumor. How much of her life could he steal and still feel like a man and not an inconsiderate bastard?
“How do you feel about ice cream?” She slowed, pulling into the dinky parking lot of an ice cream shop with a few picnic tables in front.
“I feel like you want some.”
“I do.”
That smile. When they first met he never imagined one day having a long list of traits he loved about Jillian Knight—quite the opposite. Life was nothing if not unimaginable. The woman was real. She never faked anything, not a single word, not a single smile. Every ounce of her being screamed, “Take me as I am.”
Hence the selfishness. If life was short, then AJ’s was less than a breath from ending, so he wanted to end it with something real.
“Let’s get ice cream then.” He smiled back at her.
“I hope they have dipped cones.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the window.
“I’ll have a twist cone dipped in chocolate.” Her eyes beamed as if all her dreams just came true.
Who was this woman with the innocence of a young child dying to escape?
“Small vanilla in a cup.”
“What?” She looked at him with wide eyes. “What he means is a hot caramel sundae with pecans.”
“I do?” He looked down at her.
“You do.” She pressed a kiss to his arm as he handed the lady a twenty.
They took their cool treats to the picnic table.
“We should stay here for the winter. I bet Omaha sucks in the winter.”
“Can’t be any worse than New York.”
She paused with her dripping cone at her lips. A moment later she nodded. “True.”
“Hurricane season is over. We should head to the Gulf and find a little shack to rent.”
“Shack?”
“We don’t need much.”
He was looking at everything he needed.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do the laundry and dust the blinds.”
“You clean?” AJ couldn’t hold back his incredulous response.
“As needed. We might have to negotiate the definition of need. I have this feeling yours may be a bit more stringent than mine.”
He nodded, taking a small bite of his ice cream. “Were your parents wealthy?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Work seems to be an option for you, not a necessity. You live in a nice house, drive a brand new Harley, drop a couple thousand dollars on camping equipment, and for that first week I’m pretty sure you paid for all the gas and the hotel room expenses. Unless you stole my credit card from my wallet.”
Jillian licked her ice cream and chocolate covered lips. “Hmm … I never thought about stealing your wallet. Total oversight on my part.”