Page 52 of Defending What is Mine

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sam:Present—February (One day after Jack’s transfer stateside)

Listening to Chet’s plea reveals the soft-er side of a man that, until now, I didn’t believe had one. Watching these two, these brothers, stepping out of their armor and allowing themselves to be vulnerable, touches my heart.

At first.

But after all Chet says, after he opens up and shares his heartfelt concerns, Jack has the nerve to look him in the eye and tell us both to go home. Oh hell no! So much for touching my heart. Now I’m pissed.

I feel like a fool for dropping everything and rushing to his side. And for what? So I could be standing in his hospital room when I got rejected? I feel like a fool for convincing myself to expect something different. In my desire to show Jack how much he means to me, I was willing to move heaven and earth in my life, not to mention fly halfway across the country on a moment’s notice to be with him in his hour of darkness.

Now that I’m here, the question stuck on repeat in my head is, why? Why did I react that way? Why did I expect his to reaction to be any different? I glance back at the door. Why did I envision walking through that door and finding him here, sullen and alone? Defeated, even. Why did I think he’d look up from his bed and, for a moment, not recognize me?Only to watch the recognition dawn, and witness as my very presence began to pull him back from the edge. I shake my head, disappointed in myself for getting caught up in a stupid fantasy. Ugh. Stupid, stupid girl!

Apparently, what I should’ve expected was for him to not even have the balls to look at me while he rejects me…andhis brother.

My first instinct is to rage on him, but I don’t. I keep my composure and decide to talk it out like rational adults. “You asshole! You have got to be freaking kidding!” I bite the tips of my mittens between my teeth, so I can sternly wag my finger and dramatically wave my hands while I continue. “You’ve been through the worst, the most unimaginable, most horrific experience, I get that. I totally do, Jack. You’ve had—I couldn’t begin to guess how many surgeries, and a coma, and…”

Jack finally allows himself to look at me again, momentarily derailing my train of thought. But when it becomes clear he’s only trying to get my attention so he can rattle off a list of excuses, my hands begin to shake and my voice quivers, but I press on. There’s no stopping me at this point. I’ve got weeks of this stir-crazy anxiety pushing its way out.

“Damn you just the same, Jack Wilde. Damn you if this is how you’re going to be now that you’re finally here.” Tears stream down my cheeks. “I waited for days to hear from you! I waited and I worried! I practically drove Mollie crazy with my thoughts and theories. And sure, eventually I found out about the accident. And obviously that wasn’t your fault and there was nothing you could have done. But then I found out you were in a coma, and again, I waited. And again, I worried.”

Determined not to stop until I’ve said what I need to say, I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my coat, and press on. “And then you woke up, and Marie went to be with you, and I thought I could finally breathe again.”

Cue even more tears.

“But guess what, Jack, you know what happened next? Even more time passed and still…still, I heard nothing.” My voice cracks on my next word, then falls to little more than a whisper. “Why didn’t you call?”

Jack’s chin drops, his eyes locking onto his blanket.

Um, is this supposed to be his way of telling me to go? That I should take the hint to leave because I’m suddenly less interesting than a stupid blanket?

“Excuse me. Still here, bub. Maybe have the common decency to look at me while I’m talking, huh?!”

Jack honors my request, sort of. He slowly lifts his head toward me, but his eyes remain locked on that blanket for a frustratingly long time. Without so much as a word spoken, when our eyes meet again, his troubled countenance reveals his truth. He has no energy for this. He’s already fighting a war with himself and the look on his face says he simply doesn’t have the energy to devote to a second front. He looks lost. Almost…broken.

I intended to keep railing at him like the ridiculous child he’s being, but I can’t.

Not while he looks like that.

I love him too much to be anything other than what he needs. And it’s obvious what he needs now is a soft place to lay his head. Not heat. Not rage. Just tenderness.

My anger retreats and my tone softens. “Jack?” I shoot a questioning glance at Chet as I step toward his bed, but his shrugging shoulders tell me he’s got nothing. “What is it? What’s going on? Please, Jack, talk to us. We’re here for you.”

Jack turns away again, but this time when he does, he grabs the blanket and throws it off, revealing his injuries. One leg is marred with bruises and the other…is heavily bandaged at the knee…or, where his knee should be.

“Oh!” Not the best possible reaction, I admit.

Realizing how unhelpful it is to the situation, I stumble for better. “You…” I turn back to Chet in shock, but it’s obvious this is something he did know—but for reasons I will be asking about later chose not to share. “I…I had no idea.” I hurry to the side of his bed to hold his hand, or rub his back, or do anything I can to touch him. “I cannot fathom what you’ve been through,” I whisper. “If you can’t talk about it, I understand. Maybe you need time. Maybe you need to talk with someone else first. The only thing I need is to know that you want me.” I sniffle. “Here. Back home. In your life at all. Please Jack, just tell me what you want.”

Chet clears his throat. “I think I might take a walk and see if I can track down a half-decent cup of coffee around here.”

When the door closes, Jack lays his head against my arm and exhales a heavy sigh. “God, you smell good.” His voice is coarse and low. “You’ll never know how much I thought about—how much I missed—the way you smell. I don’t know what it is, but it’s unmistakable.” He nuzzles his face into the gap between my chest and arm. “Yes, I want you, Sam. You don’t understand. You’re the only thing I’ve wanted since I left last summer. The only thing.” Jack exhales another heavy sigh, though this one sounds like it carries the weight of the world on it. “But not like this. You deserve to be happy. That’s what matters. It’s the only thing that does. And I don’t see how you ever could be now, not with me like this.” Jack waves his hand at his bandaged leg and his voice cracks. “I’m. Broken.”

I run my fingers through his mussed hair and pull him in tight against my chest. “But you’ll heal. Nothing is ever too broken to fix—if it’s important enough. Don’t push me away before I have the chance to prove it to you.”

His face still pressed to my body, Jack shakes his head. “What if you’re too late? What if I am too broken? I can’t bear the idea of my happiness coming at the cost of yours, or Vanessa’s.”

When I open my mouth to reply, a half-incredulous laugh slips through. “Why does it have to be one or the other? Why can’t we be together, and that be the thing that makes us both happy?”

Jack doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t matter because he’s alive, he’s home, and I know I’m not going anywhere.

---