“Thanks. I will.”
After a long, procrastinating shower that included a review of the previous night’s declaration made under the heavy influence of alcohol, Jillian slipped on a yellow sundress several shades brighter than her mood, red rain boots, and her best smile to mask the courage she struggled to muster. She considered taking him something to eat, but decided one near-death incident that week was enough.
“AJ?” Jillian called, letting herself in his house.
“On the couch.”
She peeked around the corner to the great room. The closed blinds on every window rejected the light as the stagnant air leadened her lungs with doom. “Hey,” she said, her voice unusually small. Damn nerves. “Are you drinking? Before five?”
AJ tipped back a bottle of beer. Just the sight of it caused Jillian’s stomach to roil.
“Yeah, why not?” He flipped off the TV.
She slipped off her boots and sat on the opposite end of the couch, lifting his feet up to sit and resting them back on her lap.
He nursed his beer, staring at her, but not saying anything.
“About yesterday—”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not … or I was, but I’m not now.”
“Doesn’t matter. Just forget about it.”
Jillian traced her finger along the serpent tattoo on his leg. “What if I don’t want to forget about it?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do.”
She glanced up at him, lips parted, eyes wide. “Do you need a minute to rethink that?”
He took another pull. “Nope.”
“Would you like me to come back later?”
“You don’t need to come back at all. That’s all I wanted to tell you.”
The twenty-four-hour whiplash left quite a sting. Especially since she’d prepared to reciprocate his expression of feelings. Those feelings had taken a backseat to his anger.
“Are you having a moment or is this about me leaving yesterday?”
“Don’t be so fucking condescending with me. I’m not having a moment, and I told you to forget about yesterday.”
Scooting out from under his legs, she stood. “Call me if you need anything.” He didn’t deserve another glance as she pulled on her boots and walked to the door.
“I won’t—” His voice slurred.
She turned. “AJ!”
He shook, tumbling from the sofa with a thunk.
“Oh my God!”
A seizure racked his body, stealing him from consciousness.
Jillian grabbed his cell phone off the sofa table and dialed 9-1-1. They talked her through it and sent an ambulance. She followed it to the hospital, leaving a message on Jackson’s phone, but waited to call Cage, assuming it was most likely a side effect of his accident and the concussion.
They treated him in the ER, but no one would give her any information because she wasn’t family. An hour later they let her see him.
“Why are you still here?” His words hung heavy with defeat as she entered the room.
“Because I love you, you idiot.” It’s not how she’d planned on telling him, but it came out and she couldn’t stop it. The word didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either. It just felt like a word.
He closed his eyes and turned his head side to side. “Don’t.”
She sat on the edge of his bed. “I shouldn’t have left yesterday, and I’m sorry. What you said scared me. I don’t feel worthy of that kind of love and—”
“Stop … just stop.” He opened his eyes. “I meant it when I said it doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?” Jillian’s voice escalated. “Me? Us? Your love for me? Mine for you?”
“All of it,” he said in a monotone voice.
“It mattered yesterday. You said—”
“You didn’t let me finish!”
Jillian jumped.
AJ sighed. “You didn’t let me finish yesterday. You left too soon.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I needed you to know that I love you, but then I was going to tell you that I can’t be with you anymore.”
“Yeah, that makes perfectly no sense whatsoever. You need help. I know you don’t want to talk about the PTSD, but it’s eating you up inside. You may not think anyone can help you, but maybe you just need another opinion.” She refused to back down, refused to be kicked to the curb like an old sofa up for grabs. He could be harsh and hurtful, but she could deal with it.
“Goodbye, Jillian.” He looked away.
“I’m not leaving, you stubborn SOB.” She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. He was it—her last chance at love and she was determined to take it. Her past had taken too much already. It wasn’t deserving of him too. He was her future—a future she would fight for.
“Is this a bad time?”
Jillian turned.
A doctor in a white lab coat stood at the door.
“No … sorry, come in.” She smiled past her anger and released AJ’s face as if she hadn’t just manhandled a patient.
He nodded, walking toward them. “I’m Dr. Rinehart from oncology.”
Every last bit of air evaporated from the room. Jillian couldn’t find a single breath.
“Doctor.” AJ nodded. “This is my friend, Jillian.”
Jillian looked at AJ, not Dr. Rinehart. “W-why do you need an oncologist?”
“Tell her, Doc. Why do I need you?”
Dr. Rinehart gave Jillian a regretful smile. “AJ has a brain tumor. It was discovered on his MRI after his accident yesterday.”
The air. Where was all the fucking air? The migraines, the personality that flipped without warning, the PTSD pigeonholing for everything … how could everyone have missed it?
“Cancer?” she whispered.
“We’re not sure,” Dr. Rinehart replied.
“When will you know?”
Dr. Rinehart looked at AJ.
“When I’m dead and an autopsy confirms it.”
Jillian turned, glaring at AJ. It wasn’t the time to be mad at him, but she was. How could he say that? Why would he say that?
“You’re not dying!” She looked to Dr. Rinehart for confirmation.
“I’ve consulted with the neurologist that saw AJ yesterday. The tumor may be inoperable.”
“But … you can do radiation or chemotherapy or something else, right?”
“Yes, there are other options.”
“But the neurologist confessed that the success rate is lower with tumors like mine. And I’m sure as hell not going to be a guinea pig, so—”
“So what?” Jillian snapped at AJ. “You’re just going to do nothing? Wait until your headaches get even worse? Wait until you’re having seizures every day? Wait until you—” The familiar pain in her chest crashed like a wrecking ball. She didn’t notice the tears streaming down her cheeks until she tasted their salty presence.
“Die?” AJ grabbed her hand and squeezed it so hard that pain in her chest exploded into something irreversibly destructive. “Yes, Jillian. I’m going to die.”
Chapter Two
There was nothing and yet everything to say, but the nothing won over. AJ left the hospital with a grim nod from the doctor and a handful of medications to help with the migraines and lessen his chances of having seizures. Jillian opened her mouth to speak at least a dozen times on the way home, but nothing came out.
“Thanks for the ride.” AJ mumbled, getting out of her car.
“Have you told Cage or your parents?” She jumped out and chased him toward his door.
He shook his head and kept walking.
“Don’t shut me out.” Raw emotion bled from her words. Everything had happened so fast she couldn’t process it.
The man that dared anyone to cross him stood in defeat at his door with his back to her, head bowed, hands on his hips. “Why? You shut me out all the time.”
“I don’t—”
He turned. “You do. You’re orphaned Jillian from New York. You have a sick need to make men bleed. You’re thirty and your greatest skill is selling sex toys. That’s so fucking pathetic. Yet somewhere along the way, I bought into all of it. Part of me loves you, but I don’t know how and I sure as hell don’t know why, because I don’t really even know you!”