Britt drove him to his apartment and unlocked the door when he fumbled with the key.
Jack covered her hand with his. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Britt,” he said fondly.
He talked through the pain. She held Jack close and he cried in her arms. Whatever storms he faced, she wanted him to know she would be his anchor. Always and forever.
They stared into each other’s eyes and no words were needed. He kissed her so thoroughly that there was no mistaking his intentions.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered.
“I need you now more than ever. I can’t tell you how much,” he said. “I just want to be wrapped in your arms.”
Engaging in sexual intimacy might help ease his pain a tad. He wanted to be comforted by sex. And Britt wanted to take away his pain, she desperately wished she could. She could only imagine the heart-wrenching pain he was going through.
Jack got to his feet without letting go of her. Never releasing her from the circle of his arm around her waist, he unbuttoned her jeans and worked them down her thighs. She tilted her head back so he could kiss a more satisfactory spot on her neck while she fumbled with his jeans and shoved them down. Within seconds, Jack had scooped her up and set her on the table, stripped away her jeans and panties.
Panting at his touch, she was carried away with the fervor, the frantic need she felt from him. Britt set her hands on the back of his neck. He dipped his head and kissed her neck. She wound her legs around him and kissed his mouth. He reached down and fumbled through his wallet for a condom and slid it on. Before she could catch her breath, he had entered her. His thrusts were fast, plunging deep and hard, relentless. The tide of emotion, of passion swept her along to the finish faster than she could have believed. She shuddered as he pounded in to her, climaxing with a cry almost of anguished release.
Britt held him then, stretching and straightening until she stood, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He crushed her against his chest, shuddering with sobs. She kissed his hair, whispered
to him. She held him up, strengthened and supported him and in that moment she felt braver and more right than she ever had. She knew beyond a doubt that she was meant for him and that she was in exactly the right place, with Jack. He needed her and she would be there for him. She kissed his cheek and took him by the hands and backed slowly out of the kitchen, leading him to the bed.
They curled up together, his arms enveloping her, his sobs against her hair. She gripped his hands and kissed them, crying along with him. There were no words for the depth of his grief, no reassurance profound enough that she could speak it. So she held him and he held her and at last, at long last, he fell asleep. Britt turned in his arms to face him. She brushed his sweaty hair back from his face and kissed his brow and held him. He rolled over toward her, his head pillowed on her chest and she lay there on her back, stroking his hair and his shoulder, wishing she could do more. He gave way to peaceful sleep and after a time she slept as well.
When they woke it was midafternoon. He stirred, smiled up at her and then she saw his face crumple as memory and awareness crept back into his consciousness. He swallowed hard, set his jaw, did not give way to weeping, to sorrow this time. He levered himself up into a sitting position and she rested her hand on his back reassuringly. He raked hands through his messy hair and got up and dressed again.
“I’m going to call the mortuary if you’ll go with me. I need this to be over with. Charlie—can come or not come. It’s too horrible and dragging it out will only make it worse, make it more endless.”
“Whatever you think is best, Jack,” she said.
Britt retrieved her clothes from the kitchen and put them on. She sighed with a bit of sartorial regret, wishing she had something a bit more professional to wear to the funeral home for what seemed a solemn occasion. The idea of coffin choice didn’t much lend itself to flip flops and jeans, but she supposed what mattered was that she would be there for Jack, not what she wore. When she stopped to pull her hair back at the mirror, she heard him talking on the phone.
“Look, I know what you mean, but you’re not here and she is.”
Britt narrowed her eyes and listened.
“If you want to be here, then be here. Otherwise let me deal with it however I have to. Fine.”
She busied herself with her ponytail and stepped out to meet him.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As I can be, I guess.”
“If you don’t want to go with me...”
“I can go or not go, whatever feels right for you.” She gripped his hands. “I want to be here for you.”
He embraced her in a hug. “Please come with me.”
So she nodded, kissed his cheek and walked him downstairs. They drove off toward the mortuary to select a coffin for his father. Britt comforted him through the entire process. Then Jack took her back to St. Teresa’s Hospital so she could retrieve her vehicle. She felt shaky and sad. The world had lost such a great man and she truly grieved his loss.
Chapter 6
Britt went home, took a long bath and turned on the house channel. She watched some remodels and house flips, ate a Thai takeaway, and decided to do something constructive instead of being a couch potato. She popped down to the shop and got cookie dough to bake. Surely, warm cookies would be comforting for Jack.
Back upstairs, she discovered the roll of refrigerated dough was intended to make forty-eight cookies and her pan would only accommodate twelve at a time. She was going to have to make four batches of cookies. She started eating cookie dough after the first batch, and then reminded herself about those scary salmonella outbreaks that were always on the news and she made herself stop. She burned her mouth on a cookie straight out of the hot oven and thought with self-awareness that this was in fact why she never baked...she’d eat the food! When she’d baked, cooled and bagged the cookies, she texted Jack to see if she could drop them off.