Page 88 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

“Wow, what?”

One of her shoulders rises and falls. “I wasn't expecting that. I guess I just assumed you were angry and wanted nothing to do with me and would never want to be near me again.”

The irony of her statement makes me bark out a laugh which sends a twinge of pain to my side again. I drop my hands from her and instinctively grab it.

She narrows her eyes on my hand for the second time. When her gaze reconnects with mine, I can see all the dominoes fall into place in her head. “Oh, no, Jameson. You didn't….”

22

JAMESON

I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it from her for long, and it had never been my intention to. If she had wanted to see me, if she had asked Ashley to get in contact with me at any point, I would have been there as soon as was humanly possible.

But what I said to her was true—I never wanted to interfere if she didn’t want me there. Plus, I was never quite sure how to say, “Hey, by the way, I gave you my kidney.”

Now that she's figured it out on her own—a little earlier than I had thought she would—it kind of saves me from having to figure out how to broach the subject.

As soon as I winced and grabbed my side, I knew she would understand. She would instantly recognize the tell-tale location of my pain because she’s undoubtedly still feeling it, too. Two months out, I’m mostly healed, but certain things still send those little reminders that my body isn’t complete anymore.

I lock eyes with her confused ones and nod. “I did.”

She jerks out of my hold, grasps the hem of my shirt, and tugs it up. The fresh scar across my side stands pink against my skin under the florescent lighting of the restaurant. “You…” She glances up and back down and tenderly brushes her fingers across the scar. “But how?”

I grab my shirt from her hand and yank it back down. “You are right about what you said before. I was pissed at what you said that day. More than pissed, actually. It felt like you had stabbed me in the fucking heart. Especially because I had come that day to tell you that I was falling in love with you.”

A gasp spills from her lips, and she presses her hand over her mouth.

“I was coming to tell you that I would be with you no matter what happened. That I would support you. I was prepared to never leave your damn side until they found you a fucking donor and I could bring you home. But then, you tossed me away like I was week-old leftovers and accused me of wanting you to be sick.”

Even saying the words now brings back all those old feelings and raises the temperature of my blood. I forgave her a long time ago for what she did and said, but the hurt is still there and maybe always will be.

Tears fall from her eyes now, and she shakes her head. “I'm so sorry—”

I hold up a hand to stop her. “I don't need you to apologize. Really. You don't have to. Because like I said, I was pissed…until I talked to Rachel again.”

“Rachel?”

“She told me what a fucking moron I was. Something she likes to remind me of often, by the way. She said you were clearly pushing me away because of what you were going through and that you definitely didn't mean anything you said.”

A tiny smile plays on her lips. “Well, I did mean some of it.”

I lean in and kiss her forehead. “I know you did.”

“But not that really bad stuff.” She sniffles and clings to my shirt. “You have no idea how much it hurt for me to say those things to you. To push you away.”

“If it was anything like how much it hurt me to hear it, then I do.”

It had been an awful few days after, drowning my sorrows in booze and carbs and avoiding calls from a frantic Grant worried about our impending opening I didn’t give a fuck about anymore. All I wanted to do was cry and curse the woman who had broken me.

“But the kidney?”

“Well, Rachel being Rachel asked me what your blood type was. And when I told her, I practically went deaf with her screaming through the phone. Because it turns out all three of us are also O negative.”

“Really?”

I nod. “I never knew my own blood type. Probably pretty stupid on my part not to. But Rach knew from dealing with the hospitals when Mom and Dad were sick. Turns out they were both O, so we had to be. Anyway, once I knew I was the right blood type, it wasn't even a question I was going to find out if I could donate.”

Tears flow down her cheeks, and I reach out and brush them away with my thumbs. The last thing I ever want to see again is tears from this woman.

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