by Emily Mayer
"I’ve been able to do some exploring, and you're right, it’s pretty great out here." I felt Jack's stare land on me again as I reached out to take my cup from Tessa. The warmth of the cup seeping into my hands matched the warmth spreading through me from Jack's stare.
"It's always good to see you, Jack, and Evelyn, it was nice to meet you. Come back next time you need your latte fix,” Tessa said, handing Jack his change.
"Thank you! It was nice meeting you, too."
"Good luck with those cupcakes, Tessa,” Jack added as we made our way out of my new favorite place in the state of Montana.
We walked in a comfortable silence, both of us momentarily absorbed in our drinks. A cool breeze rustled the trees lining the street, and a shiver worked its way through me.
"Are you cold?" Jack asked, glancing at me over his coffee cup.
"A little." I took a tentative sip from my cup, testing the temperature. "Oh wow, this is really good." The steamed milk warmed me from the inside out.
"It stacks up against the big city coffee shops?" Jack asked.
"Oh, yeah. That Tessa makes a mean latte."
Jack chuckled next to me, sending a wave of warmth through me that rivaled the latte.
"I'm glad you liked it. I know how much you were looking forward to it. I think everyone at home knows how much you were looking forward to it, actually."
"I may have mentioned it once or twice,” I acknowledged, taking another sip.
"Just once or twice. Do you want my jacket?"
I briefly considered what it would be like to be wrapped in Jack's jacket, but quickly vetoed the idea. There was a real possibility I would never recover from the experience.
"Thanks, but a warm drink should do the trick." I held up my cup, giving him a grateful smile.
We walked the rest of the way to his truck, largely in silence. The sun darted in and out of clouds during our walk, casting shadows on the sidewalk as we went. Jack opened the door for me when we reached his truck, shutting it behind me after I made the climb into the passenger’s side seat.
I looked over at him as he fastened his seatbelt. He was somehow even more handsome in the late afternoon light. Jack returned my gaze for a minute, then turned his attention back to the road.
"What did you think? Of Pine Hollow?" His voice was almost hesitant asking the question.
"I loved it. It really does seem like something straight out of a movie set."
Jack turned to look at me, eyes hard under the brim of his hat. He dipped his head toward his chest seeming to decide on something that he apparently was not sharing with me. Eyes back on the road, he offered one word in reply. "Good."
I spent the next handful of miles wondering if he was ever going to eat the pecan roll resting in the cup holder between us. I imagined in agonizing detail how good it would be with this latte.
"Jack?"
He glanced briefly at me before responding, "Yeah?"
"Are you going to eat the pecan roll, or is it just a prop?"
That hat-covered head whipped back in my direction. He made a noise that was a little bit of a sigh and a little bit of a laugh.
"Is that your way of asking me to share?”
"Yes." I drew out the word, nodding my head.
Jack picked up the bag, dumped out the pastry, and tore it in half. He handed me the bigger half without saying a word.
In that moment, holding the bigger half of a sticky pecan roll, I was finally forced to admit to myself that my heart might seriously be in danger.
23.
The next morning, I woke up with a smile on my face thinking about the ride home with Jack, and the way he slid into the seat next to me at dinner later that evening with a smile just for me. I took a minute to snuggle further into the covers, listening to Hank Williams snore softly somewhere next to me, before getting up.
As soon as my head left the pillow, a bolt of pain shot from behind my eye and down my neck. I winced as a wave of nausea chased the pain. My head dropped back to the pillow as I tried to fight the urge to barf and adjust to the pain. I whimpered, rolling over toward the dresser in search of my phone. The light from the screen sent more bolts of pain through my head. With one eye closed, I sent a short text to Ben.
Me: Migraine.
I switched my phone to silent and reached for the medication I had stashed in the nightstand the night I had arrived. I swallowed the medication, fighting back against the nausea, and slowly laid my head down. Hank Williams didn't seem to be in any hurry to get out of bed, so I figured I would deal with letting him out later.
My stomach had other ideas, though. I threw back the covers and raced to the toilet. My knees hit cool tile, and my stomach tried its best to get rid of anything it could. When it finally gave up, I swished my mouth and rinsed my face with cold water.
I dragged myself back to the bed, crawling under the covers. I tucked my legs to my chest and tried to calm down enough to sleep. Instinctively, I reached out to pet Hank Williams, who had squirmed closer to me. I wanted to believe it was out of concern, but it was more likely he had been hit by a blast of cold air when I threw back the covers, and was looking for extra warmth.
A soft knock on my door woke me.
"Evelyn, is it okay if I come in?" Mary's soft voice felt like a kick to the head.
"Yes," I managed to croak.
I heard the door open slowly, and her cautious footsteps approached the bed.
"Oh, sweetheart, you look miserable. Ben said you had a migraine. I just came to check on you. Do you need anything?"
A new head. I didn't bother opening my eyes. I would rather apologize later for being rude than apologize right now for puking on her. I was sure she would agree with my judgment call.
"No thank you,” I managed to croak, then I had an idea. “Actually, do you have an ice pack I could borrow?"
"Of course; I'll run it up to you. Is there anything else I can get you?"
"No, just the ice pack." I tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace.
"Okay. I’m going to take Hank Williams with me so he doesn’t bother you. Come on, Hank Williams, let's get some breakfast."
Hank perked up at "breakfast," and climbed off the bed, the tapping of his claws on the hardwood echoing through my head. I heard the soft click of the door, then silence. A few minutes later, the door creaked gently and quiet footsteps approached the bed. Mary's hand gently brushed the stray hair off my forehead, a cold pressure replacing her hand as she settled the icepack over my eyes.
"There you go. Are you sure there’s nothing else I can bring you?"
"Yep, I just have to try to sleep it off. Thank you." My voice sounded pathetic to my own ears, little more than a whisper.
"Okay. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit. Just call if you need anything."
Mary tucked the blankets tighter around me before leaving. I sniffled back tears. I couldn't remember the last time someone had taken care of me when I had a migraine—probably when I was home on break from college. I had forgotten how nice, how comforting it was to have someone take care of you. I breathed out a deep sigh in an effort to keep the sniffle from turning into full-on tears. I missed Hank Williams.
I managed to take more medicine at some point, and Mary continued to check on me as promised. I watched the shadows in the room change from morning to afternoon to evening.
A knock punctuated the quiet, the sound heavier than the light rapping of Mary's fist against the wood door.
"Evelyn?"
Jack's voice was soft and low. My heart banged wildly around in my chest.
"Come in,” I said, my voice coming out rough and cracked.
The familiar creak of the door opening had me thrusting my arm under the cover in a moment of panic trying to remember if I had pants on. I felt the edge of my sleep shorts and breathed a sigh of relief. I was pleasantly surprised when I felt only a dull thrum in my head after cracking my eyes open. Adjusting to the darkness, my eyes settled on Jac
k walking cautiously toward me.
He set something on my nightstand before sitting down on the edge of my bed, so close to me that I caught a whiff of that smell that always seemed to make my heart skip a beat.
"How are you feeling?" he asked in a hushed voice.
I gave him a small smile. "I'm okay."
I cleared my throat, hoping to sound a little less like death, and shoved myself up to rest against the headboard. There would be no coming back from puking on Jack. His eyes dipped briefly to my chest before shooting back up to my face. My face flushed at the realization that I was wearing a thin cotton shirt without a bra. I was suddenly grateful that it was difficult to see in the darkness. I tried to move my arms up to cover my chest without being obvious.
"I brought you some ginger ale. I thought it might feel good on your stomach."
I groaned, hiding my face behind my hands.
"Please tell me you couldn’t hear me barfing."
Jack's warm, quiet chuckle washed over me, blanketing me in its warmth. It felt like a tangible thing wrapping itself around me, and I felt it everywhere.
"I didn't hear anything. We had to move the cows this morning so I was long gone before you got acquainted with the toilet."
"Good, that's good.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Ginger ale sounds amazing, actually."
Jack leaned over to retrieve the can and I took the opportunity to shamelessly admire his profile. Even with a migraine, I still knew a good thing when it was right in front of me. He opened the can and handed it to me. Our fingers brushed lightly, making my stomach flutter for a very different reason than it had when I’d woken up this morning.
"Thank you."
“You’re welcome.”
I took a sip, loving how the cold bubbles felt on my throat. Once I was sure the first sip was going to stay put, I took a big, greedy drink that was dangerously close to a gulp.
His eyes traveled across my face as a heavy silence settled over the room. This poor, broken brain of mine scrambled for something, anything to break the silence. Jack's hand moved off his leg. It reached toward me slowly and tentatively, like I was one of his battered horses whose reaction he couldn't trust. His fingertips brushed just above my eye, catching the loose hair, and sweeping it back behind my ear. He brushed the shell of my ear for the briefest of seconds.
My breath caught in my lungs. There was a real chance my heart was no longer beating. Still, still—everything in the room was still as Jack's eyes moved between mine.
"Okay. I'll let you rest."
"Okay," I echoed. Heart resuming a fractured beat, air flooded my lungs, leaving me a little dizzy.
"Come down later if you feel like it. Mom made you some chicken noodle soup, but I can't promise it’ll be there tomorrow. Gabe loves that soup,” Jack said, rising from the bed.
"Tell him to stay away from my soup." I tried to force some lightness into my voice.
He smiled down at me. "I'll do my best, but like I said, no promises."
With that, he headed toward the door. He paused, already halfway out the door, and turned back to face me.
"I hope you feel better soon. Everyone missed you today."
He was out the door before I could shake off my surprise and find the words to answer him.
"I missed everyone too," I answered to the door, my words drifting through the quiet.
24.
Somewhere around eleven thirty that night, I finally gave up the struggle for sleep and accepted that I was going to have to do something about the riot coming from my stomach. I honestly wasn't even that tired anymore. One of the many problems of having a knock-you-down migraine all day is that you aren't tired when you should be, and you can’t stand the thought of lying in bed for another minute, but you’re way too wiped out to do much of anything else. Jack's impromptu visit to my room hadn't done much to help the situation. My mind was a constant whirl of whys and what-ifs.
I slipped on one of the cute sports bras I’d bought the day I convinced myself I was actually going to start taking yoga with Hilari and Anna. They were good for lounging in, with leggings and oversized sweaters, so the bras lasted much longer than my motivation. I pulled on an oversized sweater, remembering how cold the nights could be now. I grabbed the ice pack off the bed and made my way carefully down the dark hallway.
Pausing at the top of the staircase, I listened for any signs of life below. I was still wearing my sleep shorts and didn’t feel like running into anyone. When I was confident there was no one lurking downstairs, I crept down toward the chicken noodle soup that I hoped was still waiting for me. A light in the entryway mingled with the dim porch lights to cast a small path down the hallway leading to the kitchen. My movements were still cautious, but I was surprised at how well I already knew the twists and turns in this house after just two weeks.
My hand moved along the wall of the kitchen until I found the switch, and light filled the room. I paused for a minute to take in the total silence. Weird for the room and weird for me. Silence seemed so unnatural in this room that was always filled with so much noise. The absence of cars driving down the street or doors opening and closing felt foreign too. The city was never quiet, no matter how early or late. A loud growl from my stomach cut through the silence, setting my feet in motion.
"Yes!" I exclaimed in a hushed voice.
The soup was still waiting for me in the fridge. I smiled widely when I saw a note on the lid telling Gabe to leave it for me. Reaching into the cupboard, I pulled out one of the large mugs and heated up the soup. I decided to eat on the porch, grabbing a blanket from the couch before stepping outside.
I passed the chairs and settled onto the porch swing. The night air was crisp and cool enough to make me grateful for the warmth of the blanket as I settled it around me. I ate a spoonful of the soup, savoring the unexpected deliciousness. It was unreal. It definitely did not taste like the canned soup I was used to heating up on the stove. I totally got Gabe's obsession now.
The squeak of the screen door opening startled me, causing a little bit of soup to splash onto my hand. I licked it off, turning toward the sound. Jack was standing on the porch, wearing a pair of loose gym shorts and a grey Grizzlies t-shirt, his eyes trained to the spot where my mouth met my hand. His feet and head were bare, his hair rumpled and a little wild. My heart made an almost painful motion in my chest.
"Jack?"
"Hey, what are you doing out here?" His voice was even deeper than usual.
I lifted my mug for him to see. "I was hungry, so I heated up some soup. It's such a pretty night. I think you can see every single star,” I answered, turning away to look toward the sky for my sanity's sake. I heard his hand run over the stubble of his chin, making me shiver involuntarily.
"Be right back," he said as the door shut behind him.
A minute later, he reappeared with a blanket. I kept my eyes on him as he moved to the swing. I thought his movements were a little more stiff than normal, and he definitely winced when he took the spot beside me on the swing. The question I wanted to ask died on my lips when he reached over to settle the blanket around both our shoulders. He lifted the edges of the blanket covering my legs and spread it out to cover his legs, too.
Jack must have felt the question in my eyes because he said, "It's a little cold tonight," as he leaned back, setting the swing in motion.
"Oh," I responded, before giving my head a little shake and finding the question that had died a quick death a few seconds earlier. "What happened?"
"Happened?" He shot a questioning glance at me.
"You were limping a little and I saw your face when you sat down."
I ate another spoonful of soup, giving him space to decide whether he would answer me. He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the ends that were long enough to curl just a little.
"I spent a lot of time riding today. Sometimes my hip and leg get a little stiff. I came down to get something for it when I saw the kitchen lig
ht on and the door open."
I chewed on my bottom lip, thinking about what I wanted to say next. Something about the dark and the quiet of the night made me feel a little less cautious, a little braver than I knew I would have been in the daylight. Or maybe I was just more tired than I thought, making my brain sluggish.
"From your accident?" My voice came out soft, hesitant.
Jack sighed, never pulling his eyes away from the scenery.
"Yeah, from my accident."
His answer wasn't angry or harsh, just resigned. We both were silent for a minute, the sound of the swing's gentle movement filling the night.
"Jack, can I ask you something?"
He turned to meet my stare and gave me a strained grin. "Did you ever notice that nothing good ever follows that question?"
My eyes bounced between those warm brown eyes that reminded me of whiskey in this light.
"Is that a yes or no?"
"Go ahead, ask away." He stretched his legs out in front of him like he needed to physically brace himself in preparation.
"Do you miss it? The rodeo."
Those big hands—which I knew were rough but could be used so incredibly softly—moved to drag down his face. When his eyes found mine again, there was a tiredness in them I hadn't seen before.
"That's not an easy question, Evie. I miss some things, and other things not at all. I always knew I would be done with it someday, but I hate the way it came to an end. I fucking hated physical therapy, and every single thing that came with getting hurt."
"I've never been to a rodeo,” I offered before voicing a follow-up question, my courage bolstered by the honesty in his answer. "What do you miss?"
"Somehow it doesn't surprise me that you've never been." He turned away from me again and blew out a quick rush of air. "I miss the adrenaline rush, the sound of the crowd after a great ride. I sure as hell don't miss getting thrown around by an angry bull or sleeping in shitty motels."
"I would be seriously concerned if you missed being thrown to the ground by a very large, very angry bull,” I said, trying to lighten the conversation after the heaviness of those confessions.