Jackson
After work we swapped places, with Anderson heading out for a late workout. I settled in the bed next to her, checking emails on my phone.
It wasn’t long before she shifted in the bed restlessly, flinging an arm over my hip. I didn’t move, not wanting to wake her, but she blinked. “Jackson?”
“Hey.” I touched her cheek. God she was burning up. “How are you?”
“I don’t feel good.”
“No, I bet you don’t.”
“Anderson gave me medicine.” Her words were a little slurred.
“He did, and it should totally kick in the next day or so.” I started to move. “Let me go get you a cool cloth.”
She flung her arms around my waist. “No. Stay.”
“I’m coming back—right back.”
I wiggled out of her arms and soaked a rag in cold water before coming back. I laid it gently over her forehead and got back into the bed next to her.
“You came back.”
“I told you I would.”
Her eyes closed and I held back a laugh. She was totally out of it.
“When have I lied to you?”
“Never,” she whispered. Her hand moved to my chin, playing with my stubble. “Tell the truth; do you really want me if I can’t give you a baby?”
I frowned. Anderson told me this came up earlier that day—that he sensed a possible wavering in her conviction. “I always want you, Heaven.”
The truth was that I didn’t know how I felt about the kid thing. It’d never crossed my mind. I’d been focused on work and building the business, living happily with my girl and best friends. Kids—they seemed like something far in the future. Something other people did. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want kids. I just wasn’t there yet, and I certainly wasn’t in the position to make a life-changing decision about it.
“Do you think I’m being dumb?”
I thought about it as she watched, through glazed eyes. I had no idea if she’d remember this in the morning and I decided to do as I’d said. Tell her the truth.
“I don’t think you’re being dumb. I think you’re being rational—safe. But if you want to know what I really think, then I’ll tell you.” I inhaled and exhaled. “I think you’d make a fantastic mother. I think that all the struggles you’ve been through will make it so you know how to handle the worst kind of shit. You’re strong and brave. I don’t think you should let your fears—or the past—hold you back.”
“You think I’d make a good mother?”
I nodded. “If you wanted, yes.”
She ran a lazy hand down my chest. “You’re sweet. And cute.”
“And you’re delirious.” I kissed her knuckles. “Go back to sleep, okay?”
“Okay.”
Her eyes fluttered closed—for good this time—and I stayed close in case she woke up again.
21
Heaven
Finally, I felt better.