At one point Brooke and AJ disappeared inside, and when they both returned Jillian could tell Brooke had been crying and maybe AJ too. He wore a baseball hat pulled low on his head, which made it hard to get a good look at his eyes.
Jillian found herself not fitting into Dodge and Lilith’s conversation with AJ’s parents, and AJ himself seemed to be avoiding her, so after dinner she sneaked out the door and went home. In that moment she regretted shoving Jackson out of the house because she needed a good kick in the ass to push her past the rut she’d fallen into since Brooke’s revelation about the possibility of AJ moving back to Portland.
“Hey, I wondered where you went,” AJ said, standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Jillian stilled the punching bag and tugged off her gloves. “I wanted to give you some time with your family.”
“That’s nice of you, but you didn’t have to leave.”
She shrugged, wiping the sweat off her brow with her arm. “I needed to work out anyway, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to be down here later when Brooke and everyone came back so …”
“Oh … well, after you shower come back over for a little bit. Okay?”
She nodded.
AJ started back up the stairs.
“I’m mad,” she said. That admission, those two words, ripped through her gut. Jillian didn’t want to be mad, and she sure didn’t want the insecurity that came with confessing her vulnerability.
He stopped and turned, an uneasy squint tugging at his brow.
The giving-a-shit, channeling her humanity thing, took its toll on her that day.
“I’m mad. Okay? I was mad that time when I took Cage out on a date because you had the balls to go out with Carin after our moment in the shower that morning. So, I’m sorry. I should have just told you upfront that I was mad. I didn’t, but I am now.”
“You’re mad at me now?” AJ looked lost. Typical male.
“Yes, and I’m not even going to play the whole mind-fuck guessing game with you.” Her voice grew louder with each word. “I’m just going to tell you and then you’re going to apologize for even considering leaving me to move back to Portland!”
AJ closed his eyes. “I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what? That they asked you or that you’re considering it?”
He looked at her but didn’t answer.
“You’re leaving.” She shook her head.
“I didn’t say that.” He walked back down the stairs.
She retreated. “Well, you didn’t say you’re staying.”
“I didn’t say anything!” An eerie silence followed his echo.
“I can’t move to Portland with you,” she said, her voice soft—regretful. “But maybe you weren’t going to ask me to anyway.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.” His shoulders slumped. “I haven’t even told my son that I’m dying.”
“You’re not—”
“Don’t!” He sighed. “I’ll let everyone but you think that a miracle is going to happen. My parents believe it, Brooke believes it—hell, even I want to believe it—but you are my real … my truth. You are the only clarity in this whole fucked-up mess. You don’t have to watch me die to accept that it’s going to happen. But what if they do?”
She couldn’t look at him. He’d put her up on a pedestal as if she were invincible, a rock that could not be broken. He was so very wrong.
AJ kissed the top of her head. “I have to go back over there.” He turned and walked up the stairs.
“AJ?”
“Yeah?” he answered with his back to her.
“There’s no acceptance in watching someone die. There’s only a lifetime of regret from knowing you couldn’t stop it from happening.”
Chapter Nine
It took Ryn several days to recover from a near-kiss, or a half-kiss, or whatever involved Jackson’s tongue grazing the top of her lip. Her hormones giving her whiplash didn’t help either. Unpredictable periods toyed with her, making it impossible to prepare for them. In the middle of the night she had a hot flash. A. Hot. Flash! What was she, sixty? Then the next minute she thought about sex—nonstop. She imagined having sex with every guy she saw, and it had nothing to do with their looks because she also imagined every couple she saw having sex too.
Sex. Sweat. Sex.
Her body couldn’t decide if it wanted to act sixteen or sixty.
Gunner barked while she made a late dinner: an egg salad sandwich. She knew someone had to be at her house because it’s the only time he barked when she was home.
“Who’s here, baby?” She looked out the front window and jumped, pressing her back against the wall next to the window, trying to hide.
“Oh God.” Ryn closed her eyes. Her khaki shorts had permanent oil stains from lemon wood polish and her large T-shirt looked even more grotesque and two sizes too big, resembling a night shirt. She couldn’t bear to think about her bra: a compression sports bra that made her chest one small speed bump. Maybe the large shirt was a blessing.