And can I take a moment to praise this man’s taste in sheets? They’re luxurious beyond compare.
Walking into the closet, I shut the door behind me and pick out an outfit that won’t press too snug against my healing incisions. As I throw on a pair of pants, I feel my resolve to be upset with Jackson slipping further away until I’m huffing in annoyance with myself while pulling on my shirt.
“Seems I’m not the only one feeling wistful,” I interrupt his humming once I’ve finished getting dressed and step out of the closet.
He stands beside the bed and shrugs before continuing to change the pillow cases. Something as simple as changing my bedding—because he knows it’s still difficult for me to do much of anything at this point—shouldn’t have tears welling in my eyes, but it does. “The last time we sang that was on the way to McKenna and Carson’s cabin, which was also the last time I heard that song. Makes me feel hella nostalgic.”
“You did not just say ‘hella,’ did you?” I ask incredulously, quickly wiping away a stray tear before he can see.
“Isn’t that what the kids say these days?” he tosses back over his shoulder with a cocky little smirk on his face.
Tipping my head side to side, I act as if I’m pondering that. “I’m pretty certain it’s not.”
“What if I told you it’s what I say these days?”
“Then I’d say you should probably quit if you want to have any chance at kissing me again,” I taunt.
At the mention of our kiss, his face lights up as songbirds simultaneously take flight in my stomach. Our kiss last night was a decade overdue.
Jax stands up straight and saunters over to where I stand across the room from him. The amount of swagger this man possesses at this time in the morning is unfair. With his shirt off, I’m able to greedily take in the ink covering his left arm that bleeds onto his left pec, right over his heart. His chiseled body is so far from the lankier, eighteen-year-old version I once memorized. I mean, sure, he used to have a six-pack, but the man closing in on me now hasabsfull of definition that ripple to the waistband of his sweatpants.
He was once upon a time a cocky little shit, but now he oozes confidence that he’s rightfully earned by working his ass off bothon and off the ice. And, yeah, I’ve still seen glimpses of that cockiness in him, but it errs more on the side of sexy conviction now.
Jackson steps into my space, closing any remaining distance between us, and his presence is all-consuming, intoxicating. He cups my face in his hands and for a moment he just stands there gazing into my eyes.
“I’m going to kiss you again, Tae. Are you okay with that?”
“Thanks for the play-by-play,” I sass back. “Yes, I’m okay with that.” To prove my point, I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer and loving the feel of his warm chest and stomach heating my skin even through my shirt.
“Come here, baby,” he whispers against my lips, and when his lips press against mine once more, all is right in the world.
Somehow the sterility of the exam room is welcoming instead of stifling. I guess that’s at least one positive, considering I’ll be spending so much of my time in and out of exam rooms over the next several months.
I adjust how I’m sitting on the exam table and the paper that was stuck to the back of my legs and ass crinkles as I do, drawing all attention to me.
“Do you need anything?” Jax asks for about the dozenth time. He’s so helpful and caring and normally I would be so appreciative of that, but right now my emotions are all over the place. The discussion of my future fertility is one that sends me spiraling to the point of no return.
Knowing he’s not to blame for the hand I’ve been dealt and all he’s trying to do is be thoughtful, I take a deep breath before responding. “No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”
Then, focusing my attention back on my doctor, I ask, “I’m sorry, what were you saying? I think, if I remember right, you were talking about timing out the start of my next cycle.”
“Yes, I was saying that because you aren’t going to get a period anymore, we’re relying on your labs and imaging. Based on today’s bloodwork and ultrasound, I can confirm you’re at the stage in your cycle where you’d begin menstruation within the next day or two. Before you leave, we’ll send the scripts to your pharmacy for you to pick up your prescriptions for your injections. You’ll want to make sure you get them in your refrigerator, and then you’ll begin injections three days from now.”
With a growing pit in my stomach, I take a deep breath and say, “As your nurse can attest, I’m not a huge fan of needles or the sight of my own blood.” I wince thinking about nearly passing out earlier when they took my blood. “Is there a way I could come here to get the injections instead of having to self-administer them at home?”
“Or can you teach me?” Jackson cuts in. When I look at him sideways, he shrugs. “What? If the injections can be self-administered, it’s not like I couldn’t be the one to give them to you.”
“You’re right, Jackson. Typically if someone isn’t comfortable with needles, we recommend a support person help administer them,” Dr. Prescott tells us. “We also recommend doing the shots between six and nine o’clock at night, and to try as best as you can to administer them at the same time consistently each night leading up to the egg retrieval surgery. The daily injections will last ten to fourteen days, depending on what your lab work tells us. Then we will schedule the trigger shot to be done exactly thirty-six hours before the retrieval.”
Wringing my hands in my lap, I look over to where Jackson sits beside me and worry my lip. “I don’t want to mess withyour schedule too much, you’re already doing so much for me throughout this process. I couldn’t ask that of—”
Placing his hand on mine, he cuts me off. “Let me stop you right there. You’re not messing with my schedule. All of my training is in the morning and early afternoons. I’ll be able to give them to you. And you’re not asking anything of me, remember? I want to do this with you, T.”
It’s nearly impossible to fight the tears welling in my eyes as I take in what he’s just said. He wants to do this with me. What does he mean by that? He wants to be beside me as I fight this damned cancer? Or does he want to support me during the egg retrieval process that could possibly result inourfuture children? Or maybe, just maybe, he wants to be there for me through it all.
But I’m not sure Jackson is ready to stand by my side when there’s still so much I’m keeping from him—so many ugly truths he’s yet to discover. If he learns them, would he still feel the same as he does now? Or will he turn his back on me when the harsh realities come to surface?
18
