29. Ozzy
Ozzy
“ F etch!”
Wyatt’s tiny voice rings through the cold afternoon air, muffled slightly by the windowpane.
I watch him from Morris’s old room, barefoot in the grass, cheeks pink from the chill.
He throws the tennis ball with all the might in his little arm—it sails about five feet before flopping to the ground.
Rocky, ever the loyal clown, gallops around in exaggerated circles before diving for the ball like Wyatt just launched it across the pasture.
The boy squeals, high-pitched and unfiltered, and the sound cracks something wide open in my chest.
It’s been almost a week since Morris passed.
The funeral was yesterday. The entire town showed up, most in their Sunday best, boots polished, heads bowed.
Even the preacher choked up. There were casseroles, hugs, stories and tears.
Dorothy hasn’t let Wyatt out of her sight since.
Jensen and Theo have thrown themselves into the work; Carter, too.
And Derek—he’s heading back to California tomorrow.
Indy was supposed to come, but Derek told her to stay home, just in case the flight flared up her MS.
And me?
I’m drifting.
I peel myself from the window and look around the empty room.
The hospital bed is gone now. The oxygen tanks, the beeping monitors, the drawer full of prescriptions—all returned to the medical company in silence the day after the funeral.
All that’s left is the chair. My chair. The one where I spent countless nights watching movies and giving Morris shit.
The chair I sat in during that storm, refusing to let him go alone if the tornado was to be his fate.
The chair I sat in and would prop my feet on his bed in his socks just to get him to bitch.
I sit down.
It still smells like eucalyptus and that bitter hospice soap he hated.
I lean back, my head falling against the cushion. My hands rest on the shredded denim at my thighs. The bee tattoos peek through, faint and curled around my kneecaps. I trace them absentmindedly.
“I know,” I whisper into the room, voice thick. “I went and caught feelings, you bastard.” I clench my jaw as I press my lips together.
The silence is overwhelming. The kind that vibrates behind your eyes.
I grit my teeth, swallowing hard. “Real cute of you—cutting out before my Christmas bonus. Rude as hell.” My laugh comes out jagged. Broken. “It’s not fair. I should’ve told Indy no. I should’ve never come here. I knew I couldn’t handle you professionally, and now…”
Now he’s gone.
And I’m left with a hollow space in my chest and a thousand unanswered questions about where I’m supposed to go next.
Tears spill over before I can stop them. I don’t wipe them away.
“Now I’ve lost you… and I’m going to lose this place too. Everyone here. This family.” My voice cracks. “This was never going to last, was it?”
There is a light tapping on the doorframe and I look up. Jackson stands in the doorway, broad, tired and quiet.
“Come with me,” he requests with no further explanation before he turns and walks away.
I wipe my face with my sleeve and follow.
We walk down the hall, into his room. I close the door behind us. He’s already pulling off his work shirt, boots kicked lazily toward the closet. He smells like hay and sweat.
“Jackson?” I ask softly, unsure.
“You okay keeping your room for another few days?” he mutters, disappearing into the bathroom.
“What?” I ask, following him. “My room?”
“Yeah, Jesus, I’m a mess,” he mutters through the cracked pocket door. I hear the shower turn on. “I’m gonna take a shower. Give me five.”
I blink, staring after him.
My room. A few days.
Panic prickles along my spine. Is that what this is?
A countdown? Of course he’s kicking me out.
Morris is gone. I’m not needed anymore. There’s no reason to keep me on the ranch.
And I sure as hell can’t expect Jackson to keep me around just because we’ve kissed a few times and slept in the same bed.
I’m a nurse with no patient. I’m dead weight.
When he comes back, he’s damp and barefoot, wearing nothing but black sweatpants. A towel ruffles his long hair, and a drop of water skates down his chest, sliding over the slope of muscle and disappearing beneath the waistband.
He tosses the towel into the hamper. “So, are you okay with that?”
I try to keep my voice neutral. “The timeline? Yeah. I should be able to find a place by next week.”
He pauses and looks at me before his brow lifts.
“Ozzy,” he says slowly, “we have a place for you. I just wanted the appliances to arrive before you moved in there. Did you really think we’d just kick you out after he passed?”
I stare at him blankly. “What?”
“Derek’s old house. We’ve all been working on it for a while. Fixing it up. For you. So you’d have a home of your own.”
A home. Of my own.
The breath punches out of me. My lip wobbles, eyes already burning.
“Jackson… that’s… that’s so kind, but I can’t stay. I’m not a ranch person. I don’t belong here. I don’t know how to do any of this.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just crosses his arms, muscles flexing, jaw hard. “And?”
“And I’m not a charity,” I snap, looking away. “That house should go to someone in the family. I need to go. Find another job. Start over.”
“You’re my girlfriend,” he insists quietly. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Jackson—A lot of couples live apart. Hell in this day and age, we could be on opposite sides of the country?—”
“Goddamn it, Ozzy,” he growls, dragging a hand through his damp hair.
“I just buried my dad. Derek is leaving. I’m barely holding it together and now you wanna—” His voice breaks.
His body goes rigid. “Y-you wanna do l-long…fucking Christ…” His hand grips the edge of the dresser. His other clutches his chest.
“Jackson?”
“Fuck,” he rasps. “I—I think I’m having a heart attack.”
I’m beside him in a second, fingers to his neck.
His pulse is racing.
“Where’s the pain?” I ask calmly. “What does it feel like?”
“Here.” He presses to the center of his chest, panic rising. “It’s like—stabbing. I can’t breathe. I’m hot, cold, everything hurts?—”
“Shhh…” I take his hand. “It’s a panic attack. Not a heart attack. I promise.”
He stares at me, forehead tight, eyes wild. “Are you sure?” His voice shakes. “Because if this is how Jensen feels with his anxiety, I owe him a goddamn fruit basket.”
I huff a laugh through my tears and squeeze his hand tighter. “I’m sure. You’re overwhelmed. This is your body reacting to everything all at once.”
“What do I do?” he breathes, the words barely there. “How do I stop it?”
“Let me help,” I whisper. “What do you need?”
“Stay.” He doesn’t hesitate. The word is desperate. Frantic. “Stay in this room. Stay in that house. Don’t leave. Don’t make me say goodbye to anyone else. Please.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and run my hand over his bare shoulder, grounding us both. “You wouldn’t be saying goodbye—” I start, but then I see the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m oxygen. Like I’m the only thing tethering him to this earth.
Jackson drops to his knees in front of me and I gasp as he wraps his arms around my waist, pressing his face against my stomach. “Please.” It’s the weakest plea. “Don’t leave me. Please. Not you.”
Tears flow down my cheeks, hitting the top of his head. I crouch down and look into his watery blue eyes and nod slowly. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll stay.” I hold his face in my hands before pressing my forehead to his. “You never have to beg, not with me.”
Relief crashes over his face. He leans into my touch like it’s the only thing keeping him from shattering. I pull him toward me, let him fold into my arms, his head resting on my shoulder. We sit like that for a long time—his chest against mine, both of us trembling and raw.
Eventually, he lifts his head. His eyes find my mouth.
And for the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m falling apart.
I feel like I’m choosing to stay.
“Tink,” he breathes softly. “I haven’t kissed you in five days, seven hours, and…
” He looks at the clock on his nightstand before finishing his sentence, “…twenty-eight minutes. If I have to go ten more seconds, this will become a heart attack.” God, he is so sweet.
I just want to grab him and tell him I’m in love with him, but I can’t.
Not now, with so much up in the air. My living and job situation on top of us all mourning Morris?
Now isn’t the time for love confessions, no matter how badly my heart yearns to tell him.
“Then you had better kiss me.”
I’m not sure I finish the sentence before his lips are on mine. God, his lips feel so good, soft yet powerful, and, oh my god, his tongue. I moan as he begs for access to my mouth. Granting it, I gasp as he teases and tastes my tongue before sucking on my bottom lip.
“Jackson,” I pant into his mouth, earning a groan.
“I’ve never loved my name so much as I do when it falls from your lips,” he whispers huskily. I straddle his legs while tangling my fingers in his hair.
“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” His voice is low as I feel him gently grip my hips.
His lips leave mine and land on my neck, and I breathe slowly as his tongue runs over it.
I feel him halt his descent and pull back.
I’m about to ask him what’s wrong when he moves my shirt collar, and his expression softens.
“You’re still wearing it,” he whispers as his fingers touch the silver chain.
“Yeah, I don’t have to take it off anymore,” I reveal, leaning in to kiss him. His lips meet mine, and I feel his frantic need this time. He lifts me up and carries me to the middle of his bed, laying me down before looking me over. He says nothing, but I know what he’s asking.
“If I can’t handle it, I can say stop?” I manage out, and he nods before falling to his knees in front of me.