by Kelly Rimmer
Jake would stay, but it’s me Marcus is sitting with. Jake is on the other side of the room, on alert, like our emotional security guard. He’s primed and ready to support if all hell breaks loose, but for now, he’s just waiting.
We’re all waiting. And the minutes feel like hours.
But I stay, even though every breath of that antiseptic-filled air makes me feel more vulnerable. And I stay, even though I want more than anything to leave and to run. And I stay, because maybe I’m a coward when it comes to my own pain, but I would never, ever leave my friends to deal with theirs alone.
IT’S JUST AFTER 1:00 a.m. now. We spoke a little at first but time has stretched, and we’ve been sitting in silence for over an hour. I don’t know how long twin C-sections normally take, but I can tell from the growing anxiety on Jake’s face that this is just too long. I’m so tense I feel like I’m positively vibrating with anxiety. Marcus has been sitting with his elbows on his thighs, staring at the floor.
“What if she doesn’t make it?” he blurts suddenly. “Or what if the twins don’t make it?”
He’s probably been wondering about this for a long time, but the words can’t be held back now. They burst out of him, raw and desperate.
“That isn’t going to happen,” I say flatly.
I’m not at all an optimistic person by nature, but I know when a person needs words of encouragement. I can’t do much for him other than to be here, but I can point him toward the best-case scenario, not the worst.
I’m all too aware that if the worst is going to happen, forcing him to stay positive in these minutes of not knowing about it yet is actually a small mercy. Besides, he needs to conserve his strength, because either way, he’s going to need it.
Marcus looks up at me, then goes right back to staring at the floor.
“I don’t know how I can love someone I’ve never met,” he whispers. “But I love them. So does Abby. She’s my whole world. Why didn’t I know how sick she was?”
“She didn’t even know how sick she was,” Jake points out gently.
“But—”
The door opens quietly, and we all jump in fright. It’s a doctor in scrubs, and Marcus flies to his feet.
“They all made it,” the doctor says without preamble. I see Marcus slump with relief, but it’s a brief reprieve. “I’m not going to mince words with you, sir. Another hour and it would have been a different story. Abigail’s liver and kidneys were starting to fail, and both of the twins were in severe distress.”
“Where are they?” Marcus blurts.
“Abigail is being taken through to the ICU. She’s going to need some support to stabilize her tonight. But I’ll take you through to meet your children now—they’re in the NICU. One is strong, the other has needed a bit more help, but is stable now.” The doctor hesitates. “Did you know their sex?”
“No . . .”
“Sometimes in these situations, the dad wants to keep the sex a secret until the mom wakes up. So the mom is still one of the first to know.”
Marcus turns back to us, tears in his eyes again.
“She thinks girls, I think boys. I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me if you guys know she was wrong before she does.” A sudden grin transforms his features, and his voice breaks as he says, “Jess. I’m a dad.” I throw my arms around him, and as he returns the embrace, he bends to whisper in my ear, “I will never forget that you did this for us.”
“Go see your kids,” I say, feeling my throat tighten. The second he releases me, he’s already lifting the phone to his ear and I know he’ll be calling his and Abby’s parents, who are in the car together on the way down from Syracuse.
“Mom? They’re here. They’re all okay,” he croaks, voice heavy with emotion as he walks out the door after the doctor. I turn to Jake the minute the door closes behind them.
He’s been my safe place tonight. Even after all of this time, Jake Winton still feels like home in a way that terrifies me, but there’s no way I can deny that tonight, that magic has saved me. I don’t know if I could have been here for Marcus without Jake’s support.
“I’m going to cry again now,” I warn him stiffly. “And this time, it’s going to take a while.”
Jake opens his strong arms and motions for me to join him on the other sofa.
“Have at it, then. I’m ready.”
I DON’T CRY much after all, maybe because my tears have run out. Instead, I sit close to Jake, just holding on to his hand with a vise grip. After a while, I close my eyes. I’m not sleeping, but I am thinking.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks me eventually. It’s well past 3:00 a.m. now. The only thing keeping me awake is adrenaline and the three cups of coffee I’ve had since Marcus joined us in the quiet room. As soon as his and Abby’s parents arrive, we’ll leave, but I didn’t need to ask Jake to know he’ll be happy to stay here with me until they do.
“I don’t know if I can,” I admit.
“You don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, I’ll listen.”
I think about this for a while. I think about how I might explain—what words I might use. The words are so hard to say—that’s why I’ve said them only once in the last seventeen years. How would Jake react?
He already knows, you idiot.
I open my eyes as it occurs to me that after my reactions to Abby’s situation tonight, he’s probably already made some assumptions. I sit up away from him and survey his face and I know I’m right. He’s giving me space to talk about it, but he’s already figured it out. Something about this realization makes it easier to say.
“I had a son. I was young, still a teen. He was stillborn.”
My voice wobbles, but it doesn’t break and I don’t cry. The last time I told someone about Tristan, I was blind drunk and weeping all over Mitchell. That was seven years ago. I don’t leave my apartment on Tristan’s birthday now. No one can say I don’t learn from my mistakes.
“Was it eclampsia?” Jake asks me.
“No. My blood pressure was perfect and they never figured out what went wrong. They said it was just some freak thing . . . supposedly nothing I could have done to prevent it. That didn’t stop me from torturing myself for years researching causes of neonatal death. I’m a walking encyclopedia of useless information about pregnancy complications that I didn’t actually have because my pregnancy was perfect. Uneventful. And then he was gone anyway.”
“I’m so sorry, Jessica,” he whispers. Jake is the empathy master. He looks so fucking sad for me. If anything was going to make me cry again tonight, it would be the look of sheer pain on his face. I have to look away, because he’s mirroring my private inner world so closely, and that’s forcing me to face it.
We knew he was dead before I went into labor. They told me a vaginal birth would be better and then they induced me. I didn’t want pain relief, but they offered it to me constantly. I wanted to feel everything—I wanted to punish myself for letting him down. Twelve hours of pain and pressure went by and then he was born and there was nothing—just silence, and a silence that felt oh so wrong. Even though I knew he was gone, I was still waiting for the cry once he left my body.
Tristan’s perfect little face springs to mind—flawless, other than the fact that he was so bewilderingly still. I remember those ruddy eyelashes and the auburn curls that were stuck to his skull, and the deep-red lips that never had the chance to smile. I remember how it felt to hold him against my chest, his body still warm because he’d just left mine. After a while, he became cold and I was irrationally active, rubbing his skin, wrapping him in more and more blankets, just trying to warm him back up. When the nurses came to take him, I remember thinking I’d never survive the agony of it.
“What was his name?”
“I called him Tristan,” I whisper. Tristan. The baby I never wanted in the first place, the baby I came to love more than anything in the world, the baby I lost anyway and now the baby I still miss every day.
�
�Was it hard for you? Watching Abby’s pregnancy?” Jake asks me. I shake my head, shaking away the memories and the question.
“No. It was . . . nerve-racking. Tonight was hard. I couldn’t tell if I was panicking because of my . . .” I clear my throat. “You know. My baggage or whatever. I had no way to know if she was really sick, and I was worried all along I’d see problems with her pregnancy that weren’t really there. But I wanted this for her. I’ve been waiting years for someone to make me an aunt.”
“Mitchell knows?”
I turn to frown at him.
“How do you know that Mitchell knows?”
“He didn’t tell me,” Jake assures me. “But he did text me to ask me to keep an eye on you tonight.”
“The bastard,” I say, but I don’t mean it at all.
“Why don’t you talk about Tristan, Jess?” Jake asks me softly as his gaze searches mine. I give him a sad smile.
“Because I don’t want people to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”
“And how is that?”
“Like I make sense. Like you understand my trauma, and now you understand why I am the way I am.”
“You’re seeing what you expect to see,” Jake says, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not looking at you that way at all. Do you want to know what I’m thinking?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not,” I mutter.
“You were willing to come here tonight to be there for them when it must have been impossibly raw for you.” He brings our hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles. It’s not a sexual gesture, but one that speaks of a depth of affection I don’t know how to process. “I always admired you, even when I thought I hated you. Right now, Jessica Cohen, I’m in absolute awe of you.”
I close my eyes and let him bring our entwined hands to his cheek. I let my guard down for just another second or two as I focus on the warmth of his skin against mine.
“Jake?” I whisper, eyes still closed.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you.” He pulls me close and wraps his arms around me. Just for a minute or two, I think.
I can’t have him forever, and I can’t ever afford to get used to leaning on him. I’ll just enjoy his comfort for another minute or two, and then I’ll make myself be brave again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jake
THE ROSS AND HERBERT parents descend on the quiet room in an avalanche of tears and gas station flowers just after 4:00 am. A nurse goes to find Marcus, and after he returns to hug each of them, he points to me and Jess and then the door.
“You two. Go home and sleep.”
Marcus is composed now, beaming with pride and relief, although visibly exhausted, and no wonder. He tells us that he’s seen Abby, and although she’s drugged to her gills, she woke up long enough to see a photo of the twins on his phone. He’s disappointed that she’s a long way from well enough to go to the NICU to see the babies, but he’s also proud as punch to have spent some time with them himself.
“And I got a photo of each.” He grins.
“Can we know what sex they are now?” Marcus’s mother asks as she greedily takes the phone from his hands. A sob bursts from her lips as she sees the photo. “Oh God, Marcus, please tell us. You said you would as soon as Abby knew.”
Marcus blinks away sudden tears of joy and then he tells us all, “Girls. Abby was right. I have two magnificent daughters.”
There’s a cheer all round, and I glance at Jess. She’s beaming, genuinely overjoyed for her friends.
She shouldn’t be alone tonight. And even as we say goodbye to the assembled family members and promise Marcus we’ll both return after some sleep to check in on them, all I can really think about is Jess. About her courage. About her pain. About how alone she’s been with her loss, and how vulnerable she is after the intensity of the night we just shared.
We walk in silence to the entrance to the hospital and she slips her phone from her clutch. I know she’s about to call a car, and I reach out and touch her hand gently to stop her.
Emotional upheavals in hospital rooms are basically my day job. Even so, I don’t want to be alone tonight, but I could do it. I’m used to the emotional toil, but I’m also used to going home alone after a long day or night at the hospital.
I simply cannot stand the thought of her going home and crying alone over all of this.
“Come to my room with me,” I say. She looks up slowly and searches my gaze. I see relief in her eyes, and I’m glad I asked the question.
“Just for tonight?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Just for tonight.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jake
IT’S NOT LONG before I’m unlocking the door to my hotel room and Jess and I are stepping inside. I flick on the lights and glance at the alarm clock by the bed. God, it’s almost 5:00 a.m. now. I’m in that weird state where I can’t wait to lie down, but I’m so wound up I know I won’t sleep right away.
There’s only one bed in this suite, and the sofa is far too small for me to sleep on. Jess might fit on it, but it would be cruel to suggest it. We’ve shared a bed without sex before, and tonight we’ll just have to do the same. It’ll be an innocent comfort to be near one another after the evening we just shared.
That is, I assume it’ll be innocent. Until I turn around and Jess has already stripped her dress off and thrown it over the back of the sofa. She’s wearing a skimpy balconnette bra and a matching black lace thong, and she’s walking toward me like she’s about to eat me alive.
“Jess!” I groan. Okay, that’s a lie. I want to groan, but instead, I kind of moan it like a prayer or a plea, and then I cover my eyes with my palm because my eyeballs refuse to stop staring at her. I’ve relived the nights I spent with Jess in my daydreams over and over the last few years, and it’s no comfort that my memories didn’t do her justice. She’s a strong woman—not just emotionally, but physically. She’s toned and muscular, her compact frame honed for power and strength. Jess is beautiful—but that’s not her best feature. No, her very best feature is her complete confidence. I’m sure there are flaws there somewhere, hidden among the pale curves and freckle-dotted limbs. Hell, now that I know she had a child, there’s probably even a stretch mark or two.
But Jess is at home in her skin in a way that I’ve never seen in any of my other lovers. It’s more than enticing. It’s a delicious trait, and one that I came to revere in her. Even now, she’s stripped right down to virtually nothing but she’s standing proud, hand on her hip, challenge in her gaze.
She knows she’s beautiful, she knows what she wants, she knows how to ask for it.
“This wasn’t what I wanted when I invited you back here,” I tell her gently.
“Oh,” I hear her say.
“I just . . . I thought it would be better if we were at least together. Just to sleep.”
I peek out between my fingertips and find she’s paused thoughtfully a few feet away. She shrugs and turns toward the bed, then slowly peels back the covers, bending over in a way that’s completely unnecessary . . . But it forces my gaze to focus on her ass, and I know that’s exactly why she did it.
Jess slides against the sheets as if it’s the most sensual sensation on earth, then she rolls onto her side and props herself up on one elbow. She must know how incredible her breasts look in this pose; Jess never does anything by accident. I’m sure I’m all but drooling as she raises an eyebrow and murmurs throatily, “Are you sure you don’t want to . . . take a trip down memory lane?”
How does she make the words take a trip down memory lane seem positively obscene?
“It wouldn’t be a good idea.” I groan—this time successfully—and all but sprint across the room to my suitcase. I take out a clean T-shirt and throw it over my shoulder, hoping it lands in her general vicinity. I wait until I hear movement, and then turn back to look at her hesitantly.
Jess is standing by the bed now and the T-shirt swims on her, coming to rest around her knees. She’s crossed her arms over her chest and she’s scowling.
“You’re kidding, right?” she says, lifting the hem of the shirt and letting it drop. “I can’t wear this to bed. I’ll get lost in here.”
“Well, you can’t wear nothing to bed either,” I say. My voice is choked. Jess sighs heavily.
“But we are sharing the bed, then?”
I glance again at the tiny sofa and I’m starting to regret my decision to bring her back here. Then I turn my gaze to Jess and see that although she’s pulled a mask over the pain in those bleary eyes, shadows remain. In fact, this moment is somehow the most vulnerable we’ve shared tonight.
“Let’s just go to sleep. No talking, no . . . anything else. We’ll keep our hands to ourselves and if you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to.”
Jess rolls her eyes and walks toward the restroom. As I pull on a pair of boxer shorts, I hear the sounds of her using the toilet, then brushing her teeth. She comes to the door, my toothbrush in her foaming mouth, and I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, although I doubt she means it, especially because she seems to have come back out here to make sure I knew what she was doing. “I figure this is okay. Given . . . well, you know. I’ve had much more intimate things of yours in my mouth in the past.”
I sigh and nod, then wait my turn to use the restroom. Unlike Jess, I close the door. When I come back out, she’s lying on her side on the bed—and it’s funny how I still think about beds in terms of my side and hers. But Jess always likes to take the side of the bed farthest from the door, and now she’s facing away from me, her legs curled up toward her waist. I flick off the light and climb in beside her.
“Good night,” she says.
“Good night, Jess,” I murmur.
Ten minutes later, I’m this close to sleep when she whispers, “Jake? Are you awake?”