67. Troy
October, Present Day
Maple Ridge
I waketo a hospital room that is brighter than when I let my eyelids drift shut. I have no idea what time it is or how long I’ve been sleeping. The only thing I do know is that it’s Friday. And Jess has been unconscious for the past four days.
Except…she isn’t unconscious now.
She’s watching me, but her eyelids are droopy as if she’s groggy and dazed, and her beautiful face is still pale.
My hand hasn’t stopped holding hers, even while I was sleeping. The only thing I did stop doing was tapping ILU. Or maybe I was doing that in my sleep.
Seeing her…alive. Here. Her heart pumping in her chest. It’s all too much and not enough. My own heart stutters, weeps, rejoices, and for the first time in what feels like forever, my mouth curves into a smile. A real smile.
I sit up straight and tighten my hand around hers. “Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“I hurt, but…I’m happy to be alive.” A drowsy smile flickers at the corners of her mouth, and her gaze roams over the room. Get Well floral arrangements fill every available surface. Their light scent cuts through the disinfectant-heavy air. “I’m assuming I’m alive and not in heaven.”
I chuckle, more out of relief than anything. “You’re definitely alive. Have you been awake long?”
“Only a few minutes. What about you? H-how long have you been here?”
“Since you came out of surgery.” I’m not sure if now’s a good time to tell her she’s been unconscious for the past four days.
“Surgery.” She sounds out the word as if trying to recall why she would need to go under the knife. “Because I was shot?” A whirlwind of emotions clouds her eyes.
“Do you remember what happened? How you got shot?”
“No. Not really. Only bits and pieces.”
“I’m not sure what happened either. Noah told me one of the men, Scott Moore, was arrested for killing your late husband. He didn’t tell me much more than that.” I stand and kiss her forehead. “Rest, and we’ll talk more once you’re feeling up to it.”
Talk about what happened while she was missing. Talk about us. Because I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not pushing her away like I did when she convinced herself that I belong to Olivia.
The only person I belong to is Jess.
I had accused her of running away from people who loved her, but she hadn’t been the only one to run, as Mom pointed out. Only instead of running away, I was happy to fix other people’s problems so long as I didn’t have to face my own emotions.
Jess nods, her eyelids sliding shut. They open wide…and slide shut again. This time she loses her battle to stay awake and drifts back to sleep.
I check the phone number Robyn texted me an hour ago. The number for a therapist she recommended. For me.
* * *
On Jess’stenth day in the hospital, I walk into her room to find Emily perched on the windowsill. That’s nothing unusual. All of Jess’s friends have been regular fixtures in her room since she regained consciousness a week ago.
The number of vases filled with flowers in her room has doubled in the past seven days. They now crowd the sill on either side of Em and are scattered about on every available surface. And in the spaces that aren’t packed with flowers, Get Well cards are prominently featured—including the ones from Mom and Olivia. They each, individually, visited Jess briefly the other day and apologized for their behavior. It was the first step in healing what Cora had inadvertently damaged with her article. It was the first step in Jess and Olivia becoming the close friends I know they’ll eventually be.
And Mom is already talking like Jess is part of the family.
Olivia gave her sister a piece of her mind about what she did and how she almost cost Jess her life by giving away her location to the men bent on ending her life. Unfortunately, beyond her sister telling her off, there were no repercussions for Cora. Legally, she did nothing wrong.
Zara is sitting in the chair where I spent much of those first few days when Jess was hospitalized. Jess is on the bed, dressed in jeans, a cardigan, and a sling. She’s all smiles, probably because she finally gets to go home today. She’s just waiting for her discharge papers.
She’s possibly also all smiles because the media has thoroughly dissected news about who really killed her late husband as well as the charges Scott Moore faces. And people around Maple Ridge are realizing how wrong they’ve been about her. She’s not a dangerous offender like they made her out to be.
She’s a strong and beautiful woman who wanted a new start to her life, who wanted a chance to heal and move on.
The same thing any of us would want if we’d been in her situation.
A few of the people who’d canceled on me have phoned while Jess was recovering and apologized for being wrong about her. Not all of them have had the balls to do that, to admit their ignorance warped their perception of Jess, but I guess I’m not too surprised. Some people prefer to cling to their hatred and prejudice than to embrace the truth. Prefer hatred over love and acceptance.
Jess’s face isn’t swollen anymore. Only several faint bruises and some new scars remain on her forehead, chin, and cheek. Her body is a dense roadmap of cuts and scrapes, but they’re starting to get better.
It’s the scars I can’t see that will take a lot longer to heal.
Jess and I haven’t talked yet about what went wrong between us. We haven’t had a chance to do that. Not unless we wanted to be interrupted by the constant flow of people coming and going from her room.
I’ve held her hand over the past few days, and she hasn’t pulled away or given any indication she’s uncomfortable with me doing that. Just the opposite.
I’m taking that as a good sign.
For now, I’m being her friend as I slowly navigate back to the road we were originally on together.
I also haven’t mentioned what she told Noah to tell me—about loving me and wanting to have my children. When she said that, she thought she was dying and was barely conscious. She might not have actually meant any of it.
Jess is my family. Having children with her isn’t what will make me happy. Being a major part of her life—that will bring me joy.
The argument between us the night she broke up with me was my fault too. I threw the question—the one about having children—in her face. I was angry and disappointed and hurt. I lashed out and I’m not proud of what I said.
“Are you sure you don’t want me staying with you at your house?” Emily asks Jess. “So you won’t be alone?”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Bailey.” Jess is practically vibrating with excitement and relief. She hasn’t seen Bailey in almost two weeks. And Bailey will be excited to finally see Jess again.
“But you also won’t be able to reach the top shelves in your kitchen while your shoulder is healing,” Emily points out.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I don’t often use the wineglasses, anyway.” Jess flashes her a quick grin, then looks toward the door, her eyes wide, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I just need to get those darn discharge papers and I’m out of here. Garrett’s sending me feedback today on my novel, and I can’t wait to get started on the edits.”
“I still can’t believe Iris used to be a spy in France during the Second World War,” Zara says, reclining in the armchair. “I can’t wait to read the book, Jess. Garrett hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
Emily kicks her legs up, her ass precariously parked on the edge of the windowsill. “But don’t worry—he didn’t tell us anything that happens. He said we have to wait until it’s published.”
Jess laughs a soft, sweet sound deep in her chest. She winces, pain flickering on her face—no doubt due to the gunshot wound she’s healing from. “First, I need to finish those edits and see if an agent wants to represent the book. And then I have to wait to see if a publisher is interested in it.”
“They will be.” Zara looks at me, and then back at Jess. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you home? Stick around, cook you some dinner?”
“I’ve got it,” I tell Zara, my voice stern enough for her to get the hint. Jess and I are finally going to talk, the two of us, without any interruptions. Plus, Noah will be coming over to update us on the kidnapping case.
“Are you sure there’s no media waiting outside of my home?” Jess asks me, clearly unsettled at the thought of going through all of that again—minus the protesters this time.
“None at all.”
The media has requested numerous times to interview Jess. I told them she needs to heal from her ordeal and to please respect her wish for privacy. Anything they want to know will have to come from the various police departments involved in the case and the FBI.
A nurse comes into the room and goes through the patient care information on gunshot wounds with Jess. She leaves after answering Jess’s questions.
“What about Robyn?” Jess has spoken with several social services support staff while in the hospital, but what she really needs is to see Robyn again.
“I called her earlier. I have an appointment tomorrow with her. And just so you know, I was still seeing her after…um…after what happened.” She lowers her eyes, and a light blush sweeps across her cheeks.
“Fortunately, the money Skye Backlund raised to cover your medical and therapy expenses will pay for it, so the cost won’t have to come out of your nest egg.”
Skye, the president of the high school PTA, decided her participation with the protesters outside of Jess’s house tarnished her reputation in the community. She took it upon herself to start a fundraiser to help Jess out.
And made sure the media knew about it.
The reaching out to the media was partly self-serving on Skye’s part, but I’m not complaining. Jess will need Robyn’s support and guidance even more now as she processes everything that happened. The money that was raised will help, so she doesn’t have to use the restitution money the State of California gave her. Both mean that I won’t have to offer to help Jess out, which I know is important to her. She doesn’t want to be reliant on anyone but herself.
“And your old job is still available,” I tell her. “But only if you want to come back and work for me.”
She nods, but her eyes lack enthusiasm at the suggestion. I let it slide, for now. The two of us will discuss it further once we get to her house.
There are a lot of things we need to discuss.
Jess stands from the bed. “I still can’t believe Skye raised money after trying to get me to leave Maple Ridge.”
Emily chuckles. “I’m not too surprised. Her youngest is in Olivia’s class this year. Olivia spent a week at the beginning of the term talking about bullying and being mean to people. And she made sure to assign homework for the kids’ parents to help with.”
I pick up Jess’s overnight bag. Em and Zara gather up the Get Well cards and walk us to my truck. The nurses will be redistributing the flowers to other patients’ rooms.
We’re not even out of the parking lot when Jess’s phone rings.
She answers it. “Hi.…No, that’s fine. I’m happy you called.” She truly does sound happy, maybe a little nervous too, her words slightly hesitant. She mouths Jaxon to me, and her reaction makes sense. I’d told her about him a few days ago and about how he had come to town, hoping to talk to her. She remembered him and was sorry for everything he’d gone through. Things she could relate to only too well.
While they talk, I slip into my thoughts, my attention on the road. Thoughts about what she and I need to discuss once we get to her house.
Jess ends the call as I pull into her driveway. “Thank you for giving Jaxon my number.”
“How’s he doing?” I haven’t spoken to him since he and Nigel returned to California, but I did keep him updated on Jess’s condition.
“Good. We plan to keep in contact and talk some more soon.”
Maybe that’s what they both need to help them heal—someone who can relate to what the other person has gone through and be there as an additional support system.
Simone is waiting inside Jess’s house with Bailey when we arrive. As soon as Jess walks through the front door, Bailey charges over to her and jumps her front paws onto Jess’s stomach.
“Down, Bailey,” I command.
Jess crouches next to her and puts her good arm around Bailey in a careful hug. “I’ve missed you.”
She lets go of Bailey after a long moment and slowly pushes to her feet, struggling slightly with the effort.
My arm goes to her waist, and I help her up. She feels so right slotted against me. I can’t imagine ever letting go of her. I don’t want to let go of her.
But what I want and what Jess wants seem to be two different things. She steps away from me and gives Simone a one-armed hug. “Thank you for looking after Bailey.” Her gaze turns to the kitchen. Her eyes widen. “Wow, who are the flowers from?”
A huge-ass vase of orange, yellow, and burgundy flowers is parked in the center of the kitchen table. All I know is, they aren’t from me.
“I don’t know,” Simone says. “They arrived ten minutes ago.”
Jess walks to the table and removes the small envelope tucked into the flowers. She opens it and reads the card inside. “They’re from Anne. That’s so sweet.” Jess sniffs the flowers. “She messaged yesterday and asked me when I was getting sprung from the hospital.”
Simone picks up her purse from the coffee table. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She flashes me a sly grin. “But let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be over tomorrow to see how you’re doing.” The last part is directed to Jess.
Simone leaves, and I finally have Jess all to myself. I’ve been waiting for this day since I found out she was missing. Waiting for this day since she regained consciousness.
“Do you need anything?” I ask, my fingers, my lips, my soul craving to touch her again.
“No, I’m good.” She strokes an orange rose petal. “You can…er…leave now if you want. I’ll be fine.”
Hell if that’s going to happen. This talk has been a long time coming.