12. Sam #2
I wake up again to the soft melodic voice of Dylan, singing along with one of her movies.
My lips tip up in a smile, and when my eyes crack open, my head doesn’t instantly hurt.
Reaching for the phone, I realize I slept for another three hours.
My room is completely dark now, even though it's just around five in the evening. There is a glow under the door coming from the front living space, and I can hear Jameson’s deep, gravelly voice as he talks to our daughter.
Feeling somewhat energized, I slide out of bed and wrap my robe around my body before leaving the room.
In the open space, I find a sight I’ve only ever dreamed about.
Dylan is playing with her dolls, her eyes bouncing from the movie to the bottle she’s pretending to feed her doll.
Jameson is in my kitchen facing Dylan, his back to me, while he stirs something on the stove.
My feet move before I can stop myself. Dylan spots me first.
“Mommy up!” she calls out, running right toward my legs.
My hands grab her shoulders and I give her a hug, trying not to breathe in her face. “Hey, sweet girl. How was your day?”
“I play with Daddy,” she tells me, racing off next to Jameson. He catches her easily and holds her against his chest.
“We already ate, but I wanted to make you some soup before leaving for the night.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. I don’t even think, the next thing I know I’m wrapping my arms around his waist and hugging him.
Jameson’s free arm wraps around me tightly.
It feels so good to be held by him. The simple contact opens a flood gate of memories, and before I know it, I’m sniffling back tears.
“Don’t cry, Sammy. You know I hate it when you cry,” he pleads with me, letting me go, only to set Dylan down on the ground before he wraps me back in a hug.
“I’m just so thankful you were here today. I needed you, and Dylan needed you.” I struggle to pull in air; my body still weak from being sick all day. “You just jumped in and helped.”
Jameson presses his lips to my hair and my forehead, his arms still wrapped around me completely. “I’ve always been here for you, Sam. I always will be. You and Dylan are my life. Please don’t cry.”
My next sob sounds more like a laugh, and I gently pull back and out of Jameson’s arms. He lets me go, but I catch the glint of reluctance in his gaze. My heart flutters in my chest, and I feel my cheeks pinken. “I ruined your shirt.”
Jameson doesn’t even look down at the massive wet spots from my tears. His hands frame my face and his thumbs brush off the remaining wetness on my cheeks. “I don’t care about my shirt, Sammy. Let me take care of you.”
His words are meant to be about getting me better from my sickness, but I can’t deny the way my body responds to them.
A shiver of heat flares up my spine, and my stomach warms at what once upon a time would be a double meaning.
I can’t believe that even in my state of sickness, I’m thinking this way.
Stupidly, I raise my face in his hold and our eyes meet.
The breath gets knocked from my lungs. Holy hotness.
Jameson is easily the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever known.
My knees feel weak suddenly for a very different reason.
As if sensing my brain melt down and finding it funny, the corners of Jameson’s lips twitch.
“Okay, I think now that you’ve cried enough water to fill the Great Lakes, let's get you fed. You’ll feel better.”
Bonelessly, I let him lead me to the chair I always sit in at the table.
Within a few seconds, a steaming bowl of soup is placed in front of me.
Unlike this morning, the aroma of food now smells appealing.
Then he sets down another Gatorade for me, this time it's red, as well as a piece of lightly buttered toast. My stomach grumbles while I dig in, enjoying the fresh taste of homemade chicken noodle soup.
“Did you make this?”
Jameson glances at me from where he’s pouring the rest of the soup into a Tupperware container. “Ah, yeah. I found it online.”
“It's really good,” I tell him, before dunking a corner of my toast into the broth. “It tastes just like my aunt’s.”
By the time I finish, Jameson has cleaned up the kitchen and my living room. He has Dylan ready to go again, her favorite blanket wrapped in her arms. “I can take her tonight so you get a good night's sleep. I’ll bring her back tomorrow if you’re feeling better.”
As I stand by the door, I hate that they're leaving, but also, I know I’m going to crash and I won’t be any good to Dylan once the cold and fever meds hit. “If I’m feeling better tomorrow, do you think you can bring her back in the afternoon? I want to clean the house if I can.”
“Just let me know a time. Call me when you wake up,” Jameson replies. Without caring about germs or anything, his hands grab my shoulders and he places a kiss on my cheek. “Sleep good, Sammy.”
“Night, Mommy,” Dylan says and blows me a kiss. I pretend to catch it and place it on my other cheek before blowing her a kiss of my own.
“Night, sweet girl. I love you.”
“Love you,” she calls behind her as they walk out the door.
The space feels emptier this time as I hear the lock engage, knowing they’re officially gone.
Everything is quiet and I instantly miss the low hum of their voices when I had first woken up.
With nothing else to do, I flick off the lights in the living room and kitchen, making my way back to my bedroom.
I take a quick shower, enjoying the hot water relaxing my muscles, before getting out and slipping into bed.
On the night stand is another water and a package of flavored hydrogen and electrolytes drink mix.
Strawberry Kiwi. The same my aunt used to get me.
Just like he had the same chicken noodle soup.
Grabbing my phone, I pull up the contact for my aunt Paisley.
The phone rings, and I can hear music in the background. She must be working tonight.
“Hey, honey. How are you and my favorite bumblebee?” she asks, her voice slightly raised.
“We’re doing good,” I rush to assure her. I haven’t talked to her nearly as much since moving out of her place. “Dylan is doing amazing and loves her daycare.”
“That girl was always happy just to be social, I swear,” Aunt Paisley laughs. “Honey, I don’t mean to sound rude, but your voice is scratchy. You sound like shit.”
I laugh into the phone and sniffle. “Yeah, the usual flu bug hit me last night.”
She’s quiet on the other end. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you feel better. How is Dylan?”
“Well, she’s hopefully not going to get what I have. Jameson took her for the day.”
Aunt Paisley makes a whew noise into the phone. “I’m glad he was able to help out. The last thing you both need is your baby getting sick. It's just terrible.”
“I know,” I tell her before taking a deep breath. “I’m actually feeling better. I was calling to ask, though, did…did Jameson call you?”
She’s quiet for a beat. “Why would he call me?”
My shoulders tense. “It’s just funny. His soup tasted just like yours and he even brought me the medicine you had for me and the drinks I liked. I thought maybe he called you.”
Silence on the other line greets me. My heart beats loudly in my ear drums. “Sam, honey,” she says, and the tone of her voice already tells me everything I needed to know.
“It was him. Everytime.” My words come out laced in disbelief.
She sighs and the background noise fades more. She must have moved to a different room. “I didn’t know what to do the first time you got sick that year. He was picking up Dylan and knew exactly what you needed, but asked me not to say anything. That boy didn’t want any credit.”
“Thank you for telling me now,” I say to her, feeling my eyes swell with tears.
“I hope you feel better soon, Sam. Call me later this week?” she asks, a spark of hopefulness in her tone.
“We’ll call,” I tell her before hanging up.
The tears I held back slide down my cheeks.
Waves of grief slam into me; yet, at the same time, I feel both cherished and loved just like I always have when it comes to Jameson.
Not for the first time, I wonder if I made a mistake back then.
I wish I had trusted myself and him more.
Maybe we would have ended up here together, even if I hadn’t thought it was best to give him space.
My fingers shake as I type out a quick message, one that is long past overdue.
ME: Thank you for taking care of me always. After dinner this week, can I take you and Dylan to this fun spot I found for us?
In true Jameson fashion, my phone vibrates within a minute of my message.
KANE: I’d like that. Sweet dreams, Sam.