He jerks his head up, and even though deep inside I’m not surprised, I’m still startled to see him next to me—holding my hand, no less—after all these years.
Jackson Wilson’s mint green eyes lock on mine after almost a decade, and I’m stunned speechless by the desperation in them.
“Tae,” he breathes my name as he takes my hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips, and then resting his forehead on our joined hands, before letting out what sounds like a sigh ofrelief. Placing one more chaste kiss on my hand, he meets my gaze again. “I was so worried. You were singing at my brother’s wedding, and then you collapsed as you came off stage.”
My brows furrow as the recollection sets in. What I’m still confused about is how I wound up performing the first dance song for his older brother’s wedding in the first place.
“I thought the wedding was for a Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle?” I question.
“Yeah, Bennett decided to take his wife’s last name,” he clarifies, and I don’t miss the slight twitch in his cheek as if he wants to smile. If he did, I know I’d get a glimpse of that gorgeous crescent dimple on his right cheek.
“That’s sweet. I’m still not sure why I was asked to perform,” I admit, albeit sheepishly. There’s something about being in Jackson’s proximity again that has me spinning.
“I’m honestly not sure why you were asked yet either. I didn’t have any time to ask him before you collapsed.”
“Yeah . . . about that—” I start but stop short when I realizeheis the person beside me right now. “Where are Kyle and Braidy?”
“I’m going to guess that Braidy is your bodyguard who tried tackling me to the ground when he got to the hospital with your manager Kyle?” Jackson questions, brushing his hand down his jaw.
I take a moment to really take him in after all this time. His light brown hair is trimmed shorter on the sides now, but the top is still longer with tousled curls styled in a way I’m sure no one else could pull off. Instead of a clean-shaven face, he now sports neatly trimmed scruff that complements his features even more. His frame is broader, his muscles more pronounced after years of dedication to his sport. He looks sinfully handsome in a black tux with the bow tie undone, hanging around his neck. But those eyes, those piercing green-blue eyes, haven’t changed. They’re still framed by long, thick lashes most women would kill for. Andthey’re still staring at me, pleading like they were when I ruined everything all those years ago.
“Braidy is still a bit green when it comes to the job—he’s only been with me for about a week. I told Kyle a trip abroad probably wasn’t the best orientation,” I explain but bite my lip when I realize what I’m doing right now—making conversation with the one person I used to swear would never become a stranger, and yet, here we are.
A man in navy blue scrubs and a white jacket comes into my room and greets me, cutting off our reunion. “Hello, I am Dr. Dubois. How are you feeling, Taevin?” he asks with a French accent.
Swallowing past my dry throat, I tell him, “I won’t lie, I’ve been better.”
He nods and asks, “Do you know why you possibly fainted?”
I bite my lip and take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, though nothing seems to do that these days, or at least not since I received the news over a week ago.
“Yes, I know why.” I pause, clearing my throat and trying my hardest not to sneak a glance at Jax as tears prick my eyes. “I was recently diagnosed with endometrial cancer, and I believe I may have fainted due to the pelvic pain I’ve been experiencing, along with possible side effects from a new medication my gynecologist started me on.”
I don’t miss the strangled gasp coming from where Jackson sits beside me.
The doctor nods pensively in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have an oncologist you’re seeing back home? I see you’re from the United States. I’ve got a colleague who is a world-renowned gynecological oncologist.”
“Thank you, but I’m scheduled with an oncologist in Nashville right when I get back,” I inform him.
“Okay. Let me know if you’d like her information for a second opinion. She works out of Mayo Clinic in Minnesota,” the doctor offers.
This all feels so clinical, almost making me feel detached from the reality at hand.
“We’ll take her information, please,” Jackson surprises me by joining the conversation, his voice gravelled with emotion. My head snaps to look at him, and I don’t miss the way his shoulders have stiffened and there’s a look on his face I haven’t seen in years, though I can’t quite place it at the moment.
The doctor gives Jackson her information and then asks if I have any further questions. When I tell him I don’t, he excuses himself, and as soon as the door clicks shut, I turn on Jackson.
“We’ll take her information? No,wewill not. You heard the doctor, he said his colleague works in Minnesota.” I huff in exasperation.
Jackson’s penetrating gaze meets mine. “Yes, you’re right, I heard him correctly. And isn’t it a great thing that you have family who live in Minnesota?”
I scoff at his audacity. “I can’t live with my dad to receive treatments. I have a plan back in Nashville, one that involves me living in my own home while I go through treatment and recover.”
“I wasn’t referring to your dad, Tae. I was referring to your husband. You can live with me—”
Now it’s my turn for a shocked gasp to escape. “Mywhat?” I shout, cutting him off.
“Husband,” he repeats matter-of-factly.
