Page 21 of Signed With Love

I pull away. You know about Dad?

Jamison wipes the tears from my cheeks and nods. He signs, asking for my phone. I pull him inside, my hand wrapped around his bicep.

My phone rests on the table, so I pick it up with my free hand and pass it over. He opens the text messages he sent me earlier, then leans over so I can read through them.

I need to know you’re getting my messages. It’s about Billy. We just flew him to the hospital in Kodiak.

He had a heart attack. I got him stabilized, and Chadwick got him to the hospital. He’s okay, but I’m driving to you. I know you’ll want to see him tonight.

I’m on my way. Gloria said you’re still in class, but she’ll keep sending you messages. Wait for me before you leave.

I look up at him again, squeezing his arm tighter.

Again, he signs, He’s okay.

I nod and pull myself together. I won’t get to Dad if I can’t focus. I take a deep breath, then tug on Jamison’s arm to have him follow me to my bedroom so I can pack an overnight bag. Releasing my hold on him, I shove things haphazardly into my bag. It’s like Jamison knew exactly what I needed and came to help me. I’m not sure I’m in any mindset to make the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Kodiak by myself. I struggle with the zipper. Jamison reaches around me to slide the zipper closed and lifts my bag onto his shoulder.

You text work? Let them know? he asks.

Right. It’s Thursday, and I still have class tomorrow. I shake my head. I’m so scattered that I’m not focusing on things well. Jamison swore Dad is okay, and I trust him, so I can calm myself the rest of the way down.

I send a message to my boss. He will get me a substitute, and my students will be taken care of. I take a deep breath and release it again. Jamison comes in for a hug, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me deep into his chest. I place my arms across his back, the cotton of his shirt wrinkling under my hands. He settles me. The mineral oil and earthy scent that clings to him settles my heart.

I breathe him in just as Jamison tilts his head down and presses against my hair. He’s kissing me. My heart gallops in my chest. His firm body mingled with the knowledge that his lips are on me causes my stomach to drop. I’m so thankful for his steady presence right now; his friendship and the way he dropped everything to be there for me makes a knot form in my throat.

He pulls away and leads me to the front door. I’m so lost in thought that Jamison has to turn the lights off, lock the front door, and lead me down the steps. He opens the passenger door and tosses my bag and purse in the back. I hadn’t even remembered to grab my wallet, but Jamison did.

He starts his Jeep, the low vibrating rumble soothing. He reaches across the center to grab my hand, the one I was nervously tapping against my knee. His long fingers wrap around mine and squeeze. His palm is warm and firm as it engulfs mine. There’s a worn callus that marks the inside of his palm, and his hands are rough from years of work. Hands I note he said had to work to save my father. The tears fall, and I instinctively lift our joined hands and kiss his knuckles, thanking him for what he’s done for me. He rubs his thumb back and forth across my knuckles, saying you’re welcome.

The drive up north is calm this afternoon. The breeze settles the last of my worries, and the constant warmth from when Jamison held my hand earlier is still there. He eventually had to let it go so he could drive.

We pull into the hospital parking lot, and I follow Jamison inside on autopilot. I’m crashing hard now that the adrenaline has settled. The memories of the last time I was at a hospital swarm in my vision. The blood and the pain I felt when Maddie was ripped away is pressing forward.

I step into my father’s room. He’s tied up to an array of machines. His face is paler, his white beard thicker than I’ve ever seen it before. His eyes flick to mine, and he raises his hands, which are held back by the IV lines.

Don’t cry, he demands with a weak movement of his hands. I walk over and take the spot at his bedside. He looks so tired and worn, not like the happy and bright spot he’s always been.

Are you okay? I ask.

I’m doing just fine. They said I’ll be out of here soon.

I close my eyes and think of how much my heart could have broken if I lost him. But I didn’t. I open my eyes again and reach out to squeeze his hand.

The sterile smell of the hospital causes my stomach to churn. The way the starch bedding scrapes against my skin when I pull my hand back feels like it’s tearing my skin off. The fluorescent light burns my eyes, and they are dry and itchy. I don’t want to be here. The last time I sat at a bedside like this, my sister never came home.

I’m sorry I worried you, Dad signs.

It’s hard, but I wouldn’t be anywhere else.

I know.

I reach out to squeeze his cold hand one more time. I’ll sit at this bedside for him because the alternative is too much to bear. Losing my father would be like losing a part of myself.

I already lost my other half when I lost Maddie, and there isn’t much more of me left now.

Chapter Ten

Jamison

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