by Liz Crowe
She cocked her head at him and sipped from a water bottle he handed her. “Uh, no. It’s Elizabeth. Sorry.”
“Thank God,” he muttered, taking a drink then opening his mouth for another helping. The threatening, migraine-like headache had retreated now that he had rebalanced his blood sugar, thanks to her midnight snack save. “My parents were both American history professors—one at U of M, the other at Eastern Michigan. They had a thing about presidents.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Hence the Jefferson Taylor name.”
“Yep, and my sister is Madison Eleanor.”
“Eleanor was never….”
“You would not want to get my mother started on how she would have been a better leader than her husband.”
Abigail giggled, which made him smile. “I’d like to ask her,” she said, looking away from him. He tilted her chin up and leaned across the small table.
“Sorry, she died right after Jason was born. I’m glad she didn’t have to live through….” He gulped. “And my dad died before that, before Jason.”
“Oh,” she said, poking through the stew of sauce and rice for more chicken.
“You know what I love about you?” He leaned back, taking in her startled gaze at his words. “You are so matter of fact. So to the point. So….”
“Unemotional?” She put the fork down and leaned on her elbows.
“No, not that exactly. But whatever it is, it’s refreshing.”
“I’m told that it will help me, as a nurse. I’m empathetic, but not sympathetic. Helps me stay objective. That’s what I claimed on my entrance essay anyway.” She shrugged. “I do wish….”
“What, Abigail. What do you wish?” Because at that moment, if it were in his capability, he would make it happen, poof, like a wizard. Anything, to keep her smiling.
“Never mind. I should go.”
“No, you said you’d stay.” He rose, and pulled her close, all of a sudden panicked at the thought of being alone after the intense time they’d shared.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her nose in his bare chest. He loved the feel of her so much so it flat out scared him. “I wish I’d get the acceptance letter from U of M. They were supposed to go out last week. I haven’t gotten anything.”
He smiled into her hair. He could check into that, if not fix it, without a doubt. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. And after bringing her to operatic orgasm two more times, he allowed himself his own release inside her once more, safe, happy, and content. The five hours of sleep he had in her arms was the longest stretch he’d gone since waking from the coma.
Chapter Eleven
Abby sailed through the next two weeks on a cloud of near constant sex with Jay. They’d given up the whole “personal bubble” facade entirely, entering each other’s with gusto and often. But she kept her emotional distance, considering his plan to stay in Traverse City for the rest of the year while she had every intention of going to Ann Arbor and starting school the day after Labor Day, something she didn’t want to touch her, hurt her in any way. She leaned on the coffee counter during a lull toward the end of the week, her body sore in places that would be embarrassing were she not so sated yet revved up and ready for more at the same time. She grinned when she caught sight of his blond hair and familiar face at the door at three o’clock on the nose. A punctual bastard, and a little OCD about other stuff but she didn’t care. He knew how to fuck like nobody’s business and had found and tripped all her erotic buttons and levers within days, using them with alacrity to the point he could almost glance at her a certain way and make her come.
He had his hands behind his back, and she rolled her eyes, anticipating another bouquet of roses or something as extravagant and unnecessary. But he held out a simple light cream-colored envelope, with the words University of Michigan School of Nursing in the upper left hand corner. She frowned, her face flushed, but she took it with a shaking hand. Turning it over once, she glanced at it long enough to realize it had no postage. “Where did you get this?”
“Where do you think I got it?” He leaned in, smiling. “Open it, already.”
She shook, put it down, and backed away from it. “What if it’s—”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He took it, and pulled out a two-page letter welcoming her to the nursing class that would begin Tuesday, September sixth. “Congratulations, Abigail. You did it.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth. Worries about her mother sprang up but she pushed them aside in favor of climbing over the counter to let him hold her, kiss her, and whisper in her ear. “I can think of a great way to celebrate.”
She blushed, pushed him away, and grabbed the letter again, amazed at the heft of it and the way it would put her life on the track she’d envisioned. She picked up the mysterious, un-stamped envelope. “Seriously, Jay, where did you get this? You called your sister didn’t you?”
He stuck his hands in his pockets, and she tried to resist the adorable, sheepish grin on his face. “Abigail I just asked the right questions of the right people is all. It’s something you gotta do sometimes.”
“Well, okay but—”
Lynn burst out of the back room at that moment, her eyes wild. “Abby, oh shit. Honey—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Abby stared at her, confused. “Uh, yeah, I got my acceptance to….”
“Hey, um, Jay, would you excuse us a minute?” Lynn tugged her into the back room.
“What the hell is your problem?” Abby yanked her arm out of her friend’s grip. “You’re scaring me.”
“You need to get down to the hospital. It’s…oh fuck, Abs your mom…she….”
Abby stepped back, tripped and fell over a stack of boxes. “What about my mom?” Her voice rose to a scary decibel level. Jay pulled the curtain separating the back room from the service bar aside. She barely registered him.
“Jay.” Lynn shot him a look. “Can you take her down to the hospital? I’ll be right behind you once I get somebody to cover here.”
He nodded without asking why and tugged her out, dazed and terrified, stuffed her in his SUV, and drove like a mad man, pulling up with a screech in front of the small emergency room. He sat, gripping the wheel, breathing heavily. Dread settling in her gut like a fifty-pound rock. Something very bad had happened to her mother. She already sensed it. And her…boyfriend? Fuck buddy? Grieving widower pal with amazing lips? He looked like he could hyperventilate at the thought of entering the hospital. The utter absurdity of her own stupid fantasy hit her square between the eyes. She had no business with this man, involving him and his already tragic life any deeper in her mess. She put a hand on his arm. “Go on, I don’t need you to come in with me.”
He glared at her, making her jerk back. “I’ll support you, Abby,” he declared through clenched teeth.
She crossed her arms, anger, fear, and dismay making tears spring to her eyes. She’d been a fool—a romantic idiot—thinking she could heal this man in any way. And his certain meddling with the nursing school thing bothered her more than she thought possible. “I don’t want you here, Jay. I don’t need or want your support. Okay? You manipulated that whole fucking nursing school thing somehow, but now I’ve got a crappy life dilemma you can’t sweet talk or politic your way through. So go. I’m fine without you.”
She yanked the door open and jumped down to the pavement. Passing through the automatic doors without a backward glance, she let the nurses guide her to a back, curtained area where she identified her mother’s body. The woman had taken a bottle of pain killers and downed a fifth of vodka. And now she lay cold and dead, leaving Abby with no one. Abby put a hand on her mother’s arm, cursing her, cursing herself and crying until she collapsed on the floor, bringing the nursing staff running. When she woke, Lynn sat beside her, holding her hand. But the one presence she wanted did not appear. And who could blame him? When she’d been such a thoughtless bitch in the face of his agony in front of the hospital.
&nbs
p; “Oh, sweetie.” Lynn patted her hand. “We’ll throw Janice a kick ass party, just like she’d want. Okay?” She sniffled into her tissue.
Abby nodded, looking up at the ceiling and wishing Jay were there before realizing he never, ever would be. Not anymore.
***
The small funeral drew most of the regular townies, and Abby had plenty of opportunity to hear how special her mother had been, once. She’d been so dependent on Abby’s dad, when he passed from fast-moving cancer, she never recovered, or even coped without the help of liquor. Abby sighed at one point, wishing the whole fucking ordeal was over. She’d spent the last several years missing her real mom. The skeletal creature whose remains she’d had cremated was not the strong, robust, opinionated woman who’d raised her. That woman had died five years ago. The rest of this remained a formality, inevitable and sad, but true.
A hand settled on her shoulder. She didn’t look up. “What are you doing here?” she ground out. “I’ve already called the school and declined the placement. I won’t take your fucking charity, Jay Longmire. I don’t need it.” She’d spent the few days between the scene at the hospital and now convincing herself to let him go, chalking it up to one more thing to mourn at this point. She glared at him once, long enough to take in how amazing he appeared in a dark suit, then dropped her gaze to the floor.
“You have got to be the most stubborn woman on the planet,” he whispered, settling into the empty seat next to her. His presence sent a bolt of longing and real pain to the center of her chest. She channeled it to fuel the pounding anger in her temples. “Luckily I cut my teeth on one a hair more mule-like than you.”
“Don’t compare me to your wife.”
“Fair enough,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But you will listen to me at least once more.”
She allowed herself another look at his profile, ignoring the signals from her body that demanded that she hang onto him, let him soothe her. Fuck that six ways to Sunday. She’d learned her lesson and would never rely on a man for anything other than sex ever again. “Why should I?”
He put a casual arm around her shoulders, making her tense, then calm, which pissed her off even more. His lips near her ear brought every inch of her skin to attention. She shut her eyes. “Because I …I think I love you, Abigail Elizabeth. And all I did on behalf of your desire to study nursing at U of M was make a call to the admissions office pretending to be your counselor at the community college checking on the status of your application. They said they’d had a screw up with the acceptance process and were Fed-Exing all the letters. I intercepted yours at your place and took it out of the delivery envelope so I could surprise you—I wanted to be the first to see the look on your face when you got the news. You were not given any special attention, nor did I politic my way into getting your application pulled ahead of anyone else’s. You made it in on your own, like you wanted. Now call them back before you lose your spot.” He kissed her cheek, brushed his lips across hers, and stood.
“I have to get back to Ann Arbor,” he stated. “I’m going to be a real father to my daughter and let her go in peace like she deserved to do a year ago.”
She stood, gripping his arm, her brain awash with words she couldn’t find. He took her hand and put it to his lips and spoke words that seared her very soul. “I love you, Abby, and that makes me terrified of losing you. So you should live your life now. Like you planned. Thank you for healing my heart.” He kissed her palm and pressed it to his chest. Then turned and left.
She watched him go, speechless, until the door shut behind him. Then she sat, stunned, but realizing what she had to do.
Chapter Twelve
Jay sat, listening to the bereavement counselor who had to be present at all such life and death discussions. He heard nothing. He felt less. His eyes burned and his ears were stuffed with cotton. The gaping hole that had been his life for so long yawned wide again, beckoning him back to its freezing cold but oddly familiar depths. He set his jaw and prepared to jump back into it. Living without….anything he loved.
His wife and children, torn from him before his eyes, and now, the woman he’d let creep into his life and grab his heart so hard he barely saw it happen—she had gone too. And he didn’t blame her. His baggage was heavy, and he had no business asking anyone to help him lug it.
“Jay.” His sister touched his hand.
“Huh? Oh, um, yeah. Sorry.” He wiped his aching eyes and focused on the paperwork she’d put in front of him.
“You should go sit with her awhile now,” some total stranger told him, putting a damp palm on his arm. Jay drew back, anger suffusing every corner of his being. What did this smarmy asswipe know about his life? About what he’d seen, heard, and been helpless to change?
“Fuck,” he muttered, standing and pacing the small but tastefully decorated counseling room. “I can’t, Maddy, I…. God help me, I can’t let her go. She’s all I have left of—” The stone he’d been lugging around in his gut rose, choking him with the twin evils of memory and fury. He put his clenched fists on the tabletop, trying like hell to channel the three weeks of utter joy he’d found with Abigail. But it remained elusive. He put his face down, the cold granite soothing his hot skin. Something down in the giant gaping maw of despair snickered at him, crooked a finger, and beckoned him, dangling a fifth of bourbon and a red-eyed smile.
“Jay.” He heard it from about a million miles away. He turned his head toward the bank of windows, unwilling to acknowledge any more talking or mealy-mouthed bullshit about his feelings. He had no feelings left. He’d seen the worst life could offer and now had to watch his own daughter die because he’d been unable to help her, to keep her safe from predatory, drugged-up child rapists.
“Jay,” the voice called, as he started to make his way into the hole again, where he’d lived and would live once more. He raised his aching head. His neck creaked and his temples pounded. The headache crouched in the corner began to stretch painful tentacles into his brain.
“Leave me alone,” he whispered. “Go away.”
“No, Jay. I won’t.” The hand on his shoulder felt good, not like someone doing their job, or his sister with her infernally logical advice. “Look at me.”
He stood, shoving his chair back so fast it tipped over with a carpet-muffled clatter. “I told you to leave me alone. Go live your fucking life. You do not want any of this, trust me.” He glared at the woman he’d come to love. Her calm, olive-skinned face stayed neutral. Her innate soothing nature worked its magic even without words. She reached out and took both his hands. Her skin felt warm against his and every inch of him ached to hold her, to fold her into his arms and never let her go. But the baggage, he couldn’t share it. It was too much to ask of anyone.
She held on, though. And at that moment, he knew. She waited, letting him shake a few more minutes before speaking. “Take me to her, Jay. Introduce me to Mia. Then I’ll sit with you while you do what you have to do. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Epilogue
Four Years Later
“Oh, God, my feet hurt, my back hurts, my shoulders hurt. I think my hair hurts.” Abby groaned and dropped onto the couch. Dexter’s tail thumped on the hardwood floor of the large loft condo as if sympathizing with her. But he’d gotten too old to jump around anymore.
The double shift in the University of Michigan emergency room had worn her out. She sighed and glanced up at the industrial, mechanical crap on the ceiling. She loved her new home, nestled right downtown, walking distance to all her favorite places, with giant front windows out over Ann Arbor’s Main Street. But she’d be damned if she hadn’t told him that those duct work things would get dusty and spidery and…. “Ack!” she yelped when a giant rubber spider landed on her shoulder then slid down to her lap. “You asshole.”
Jay jumped over the back of the couch and tugged her onto his lap, nuzzling her neck. Her skin pebbled at his touch. “You smell like blood. Gross. Go get a shower,” he
muttered as he kissed her and held her close until she felt the unmistakable press of his erection. She wiggled around, making him sigh into her skin. “Mmm.” He slipped a hand under her scrubs and cupped her breast. “A little bird told me it’s your birthday.”
“Yeah, the same little bird that wrote ‘Abigail’s Birthday’ in big letters on the kitchen calendar, I guess.” She smiled and kept her arms around his neck. A stickler for milestones, Jay insisted on celebrations for the smallest events. Birthdays made him pull out all the stops. While exhausted at the moment, she had no complaints, not anymore.
“Maybe.”
“Fine, yeah, it’s my birthday so what. You know I don’t like to celebrate that stuff. You posted all that crap on the calendar. Besides all I want to do is hit the…oh.” She sucked in a breath when he held out a small, square, velvet-covered box. He smiled, setting her heart ablaze. He’d grown the beard back at her request, keeping a short but soft covering over his jaw. Longmire Group had sold the beer distribution business, losing money on paper but gaining Jay and his brother-in-law all kinds of peace of mind by getting rid of it. Jay had launched himself into a new project with gusto—he’d funded and opened an actual brewery on the west side of Ann Arbor and after two and a half years, they were already expanding. Personal Bubble Brewing had become the darling of the Midwest brewing world, winning awards and boasting standing room only in their large two-hundred person Tap Room almost every night. And he smelled great, especially now, when the astringent hops and sweet malt soothed her stomach.
He took the simple solitaire diamond ring and slid it onto her left ring finger, before pulling it to his lips. “Will you please, after years of begging, pleading, threatening, boycotting, and withholding sex for periods as long as twelve hours—please, God damn it, will you marry me, Abigail?”