Page 88 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part 2

I want life with her. Iwantour life together, but it may not be in the cards for us. Still, I will live to see a heart so pure, so fucking loving, live on. I want to watch her get her legs back, to play on the Olympic Team. That is what I want for her, for me, even if I’m on the sidelines looking in.

Charlotte Miller is it for me.

If she wants all of that without me, then I will make it work because I won’t hurt the girl I love ever again, especially not by removing myself from this earth.

It’s not what she wants. You will get her back.

“Hey, let it go for now. Okay?”

“She’s everywhere, J,” I say, my emotional pain becoming physical and binding itself to my limbs. They’re heavy, aching, tired. So, so tired.

“I know. And she will be here again. But we have something we want to talk to you about.”

Mr. Tucker tosses out a cool chuckle, to which I am not amused. Apparently, the look on my face warrants that reaction. “Don’t worry,” he says, “it’s nothing to be terrified of.”

The tilt of my chin is brief, and I wish I could share in his laughter, but it’s not in me right now. My mind sticks on a girl sitting in a hospital bed looking so defeated and helpless. I can’t shake her from my mind. She’s a permanent fixture.

“Eat,” J orders, handing me a plate with a slice of pizza on it. I glare down at the cheesy goodness as if it is the cause for all of my pain. The nausea bubbling in my stomach is putting up a pretty good protest why we shouldn’t eat, but going there is one step backwards that I can’t afford to take.

“Yeah, okay,” I mumble. Jensen sighs in relief and offers me a half smile. I pull out a chair at our tiny table, my back to the entrance to our bedroom. I’m sort of thankful we never got to fuck all over the apartment like we wanted to because it would make finding a place that didn’t already have a memory attached that much harder.

Mr. Tucker and Jensen take their seats across from me, Mr. Tucker with one ankle crossed over the other, a napkin over one thigh. He clears his throat before picking up his pizza and says, “Now this afternoon has been a rough one, but no doubt with the way you love Charlotte, she will come back to you. If you’d like, some accessible units in these buildings remain available. Two of them are clear, one more that is a two-bedroom unit will be available next week. One of them is yours if you’d like it.”

I did not know these buildings had handicap accessible apartments.

Handicap accessible.Fuck, my sexy, badass, Olympic hopeful needs an apartment with ramps and wide doorways on the first floor. I drop my slice of pizza back onto the plate and exhale.

Jensen reads my thoughts, watching me with subtle fear in his eyes. I’ve always admired J for being able to let his emotions show.

She truly thinks she is useless and not perfect for me. Doesn’t she get it? I mean, we’re not married but what about ‘til death do us part’ and ‘in sickness and in health’… If this would have happened after I married her, committed to the fullest extent, would she have made me leave? Would she leave me if it happened to me?

Doubtful. She’s trying to adjust to life this way. This hit has stripped everything from her and her confidence is so low she needs me to make her see the truth.

“She wouldn’t want you to go out of your way for this. We just moved in here.” I gesture to the apartment.

“We’re not going out of our way for anything. Son, regardless, Charley is going to need to make some changes. Even if she goes back to her parents’ house.” My eyes flick to his in an instant, a warning swirling in them when he is only speaking the truth. Still, I don’t enjoy hearing those words. He holds up his hands placatingly. I sigh and nod. “She will have to live on the first floor of their house and they will need to build ramps or put in a chairlift.”

“She’s going to hate the idea of you helping or us moving again.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jensen mutters, smirking. I shoot him a disapproving glare.

“You guys won’t lift a finger. Movers can be here in ten minutes if I ask them. Your stuff will be there by dinner.” My urge for an automatic response is to say yes because this will help her, but the cautious side of me, the side that has owned me all my life says I should ask her, and that we should turn him down because that is too much help. I don’t want to owe him a damn thing.

But Mr. Tucker has made it abundantly clear in his support for us since the accident that he will expect nothing in return. At least he isn’t trying to get us to move in with him.

It’s going to help her.My brain urges. I’d live anywhere with her. I don’t care where as long as she is with me.

“I have to paint the wall in the bedroom.” I cringe, and Jensen laughs wholeheartedly, clapping me on the shoulder.Asshole.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Tucker cocks his head to the side, dusting his fingers off on his napkin before he wipes the corners of his mouth and places it back on his thigh.

“I tagged it.”

“You tagged it?” Mr. Tucker asks, clearly not understanding.

“Dad, your golden boy here is a miscreant. A graffiti artist,” Jensen tells him. I deadpan, glaring at him.

Mr. Tucker sits back, crossing his arms over his chest as he narrows his eyes at me, pulling his brows down. He studies me for a second. Does he not know what a graffiti artist is? His lack of knowledge shouldn’t surprise me. He’s so far removed from this world up on cloud-nine with his billions.

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