Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Eloise’s brow furrows. “You are?”
I nod.
After a long moment, she smiles. “I think that’s the right decision.” She’s being incredibly kind. I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I looked like death warmed over. I had soot on my face and clothes.
“I suppose you heard.”
My gaze lifts to hers. “Heard what?”
“There was a fire at the Sanford’s last night.”
I grip the coffee mug tighter.
Eloise eyes me, and I feel translucent, but I don’t blink. Instead, I let her see deep into my eyes that fill with the tears I refuse to set free.
She sips her coffee, breezily averting her gaze to the road. “I saw it on the news this morning. They’re not disclosing names, but there were casualties.”
“Tragic,” I murmur.
“I do hope Jackson returns soon.”
She hopes he’s alive. I see it in her eyes. All the things she’s not saying. She's giving me the deep breadth of space to share what I can—if I can—and only when I can.
“I’m going to pack my things.” I stand and reach for the door. “Jack … gave me his piano since it’s damaged. So if he forgets to tell you, and you see a moving truck show up, don’t be alarmed. I’m going to make arrangements as soon as I get home.”
Eloise quickly blots the corners of her eyes and offers me a brave smile. “He must have really cared for you.”
Cared …
Past tense.
“I think so,” I say without looking back at her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
JACKSON
“Welcome back,” Jessica says to Jackson. The warmth of her hand spreads along his arm when she gently squeezes it.
He has no recollection of time, but it feels like he’s been asleep forever.
“If you try to die again, I will kill you.”
“If—” His voice breaks into a partial word at best.
Jessica lifts her head. “Shh. You have laryngeal burns from smoke inhalation. And …” Her eyes fill with tears, but she glances away and wipes them while pulling in a shaky breath. “Your heart has stopped twice.”
Her words lack clarity. Why would his heart stop twice? And who felt the need to bring him back to life twice?
“Livy’s here.” She smiles. “Well, she took Wylder outside to play.”
Jackson’s gaze scans the room. He’s in a big plastic bubble with machines all around him, portable lights, and a slew of electrical cords.
“Slade called in a favor. So did I. So did Luke.” She shakes her head like she’s mad at him for making them use up all of their favors. “It took a week to get you stable enough to transport you from a makeshift hospital in Kansas to a makeshift hospital here in San Francisco. Your doctors are old—pulled out of retirement and, quite honestly, struggling with dementia. But you’re alive, so let’s not leave anyone a bad review.”
He tips his chin into a tiny nod. His throat feels raw and irritated, like he needs to clear it, but his body thwarts the slightest attempt to do anything but lie still and breathe.
“Good boy.” Jessica winks. “Be right back. Livy’s going to bawl her eyes out. Just be prepared.”
Livy …
It’s been over two years since Jackson’s seen his daughter. And he’s never met Wylder in person. Livy’s not the only one who might bawl her eyes out. She’s here, which means whatever he did ended things—Day, Knight, and everything in between.
God, I hope it’s over.
Livy pulls back the plastic curtain, tears already soaking her cheeks. Jackson knows he has no chance of keeping it together. Behind her, Slade’s holding Wylder, who hides his face like he’s shy.
“Daddy,” Livy chokes as she hugs him.
He inhales her floral scent as her blond hair brushes his face. “Livy,” he whispers, falling into silent, uncontrolled sobs.
She doesn’t let go, and he’s OK with that. His hands rest on her back. Jessica and her husband, Luke, file into the space too.
When Livy loosens her grip on him, she wipes her eyes and sniffles. “Meet your grandson.” She takes Wylder from Slade and sits him next to her on the edge of Jackson’s bed.
He smiles, wiping his eyes before resting his hand on Wylder’s head.
“Wylder, this is your grandpa.”
Grandpa.
Jackson’s still unsure about that title, but he’s deeply in love with the blond-haired boy who giggles when his nose is bopped. “He’s … perfect,” Jackson whispers.
“The doctor said your throat should be fine in a few weeks. So, as long as your heart stops trying to quit, the prognosis is good. Do you remember much from going in and out of consciousness?” Livy asks.
He rolls his head from side to side, still mesmerized by the little boy on his bed. When Jackson’s gaze shifts to Slade, something unspoken passes between them.
This boy will never hurt a soul. He will live a beautiful life. We will give him everything no one else in this room has had the privilege of experiencing—peace.