My head spins, and I feel as if I’ll be sick. “That’s not possible. I signed the annulment paperwork nearly ten years ago,” I whisper.
“Which would’ve been fine had I filed the paperwork. But considering our wedding was completely legal, without anymental incapacity or intoxication, we didn’t qualify for an annulment in Minnesota,” he explains in a monotonous tone.
“So what you’re trying to tell me is that you and I arestill married?”
“It would seem so, which means I’d like my wife to move in with me so she can receive the best care at our disposal.” He flexes his hand as if he wants to reach for mine again.
I don’t give him the chance as I toss mine in the air. “You expect me to just upend my life and move in with my estranged husband after not being together for the past decade?”
When he speaks again, his tone is softer. “How long have you known? Do you know what stage yet?”
Wringing my hands together nervously, I tell him, “I was diagnosed a little over a week ago. From the testing and biopsies they’ve done, they’ve diagnosed me with stage two endometrial cancer. They’ve confirmed it has spread to my cervix, but otherwise, it seems to have been contained. I’m scheduled to have surgery in two weeks, and then I’ll begin chemotherapy after I freeze my eggs. It’s going to be okay.I’mgoing to be okay. I’ve got a plan, and that treatment plan will be carried out in Nashville, not Minnesota.”
He takes a moment to rake his fingers through his hair before he sighs and says, “I’m glad you have a plan, but respectfully, I think you should seek a second opinion. How about this, if you come back to Minnesota with me and you see this world-renowned oncologist, I’ll give you the divorce no questions asked after you finish treatments.”
Narrowing my eyes on him, I ask, “Why after I finish treatments?”
Jax sighs, closing his eyes as if he’s trying to regain his composure. When he opens them, I feel his serious gaze burning into me like a brand—one I was once proud to bear. “Because I’ll respect your wishes to their full extent while you’re receivingtreatment. As your husband, I’ll be able to make decisions on your behalf if need be. And if we were to divorcenow, those decisions would likely fall on someone else’s shoulders.”
“You’d respect all of my wishes, no matter if you agree with them or not?” I question, my tone riddled with disbelief.
“Aside from you seeking treatment alone in Nashville, yes, I will respect all of your wishes.” He says the words so simply, though if he’s anything like the guy he used to be, I know Jackson Wilson is the most stubborn man alive, and he will ask me to bend to his will.
“What if trying to see this new surgeon delays my treatment?”
“I think the fact that you’re a famous country star and I’m a professional hockey player may help us pull some strings.”
“Why are you so hellbent on me moving in with you? You understand I’m going to have a major surgery and will need to recover, right?”
“Meaning you’ll need someone there to help you while you’re recovering. That someone will be me.”
I fold in on myself at the thought of needing someone else to care for me. It makes me feel weak and desperate—feelings I’ve recklessly run from over the past decade. “But it won’t be. Don’t you start your season soon?” I question, a little put out by his insistence.
He sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll have to report to preseason training camp in mid-September.” He drops his hand and continues, “But I play professionally for Minnesota now, so I’ll work out a schedule. If I need to take a leave of absence, I can do that too.”
Jax tells me this as if I haven’t followed his career since he left for Harvard.
“No. Jackson, no,” I say firmly. “A leave of absence won’t be necessary. If this world-renowned surgeon is still able to do mysurgery the first week of August, I should be back on my feet like normal before your training camp.”
He gives me a tight-lipped nod and focuses on his folded hands in his lap. “I’ll go make some calls and see if I can’t get an appointment scheduled for Monday morning.”
“That’s not going to work, J. The medical field doesn’t bend to your whim.”
“My father has a lot of influence in Rochester,” he explains, and my stomach sinks and twists just thinking about the senator.
“No, please don’t use his name. If you have to throw around ours, be my guest. Just not his,” I plead.
He lifts his head and narrows his eyes at my pinched tone. I feel naked under his searching gaze until he finally nods curtly in acknowledgment before asking, “Can I get you anything?”
God, and there he is. The sweet, caring guy I fell head over heels in love with at eighteen. How, after all this time, is he affecting me in this way? My stomach somersaults at the thought of being in his proximity again. Oflivingwith him.
But it’s also the perfect reality check that I’m far from the innocent, put-together girl he loved back then. So as I shake my head, I remind myself: no matter how successful I’ve become, I’ll always be an empty shell of the girl I once was. Too much has happened—keeps happening—for him to ever see me as he did at eighteen under the stars in the back of his pickup truck.
4
Now
In the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital, I remember thinking I’d never felt more helpless in my life.
