finding Reese.: a SAFELIGHT novel vol.2 (SAFELIGHT Series) Page 8
“Not as bad as your last name, Doc,” he replies irritated with his eyes closed.
I place a hand over my mouth stifling laughter. Jackson’s mood has been flip-flopping over the past weeks, and while his humor is somewhat there, his remarks can be off the cuff and quite offensive.
Dr. Badcocke chuckles heartily. “I get that a lot, Jackson. Now, today we will be working with your gluteus maximus and gluteus medius, and see if we can regain range of motion in those regions of your body.” Dr. Badcocke lowers his eyeglasses and looks at Jackson square in the eye. “In case you were wondering those are your butt muscles.”
“You’ll be working on my ass? Joy,” Jackson replies sarcastically while tapping his fingers impatiently against his knees.
I look at Dr. Badcocke and give him an empathetic smile, which he returns two-fold. Surely it’s not his first rodeo with a wild bull patient like Jackson Reese. I’m just happy he’s not taking Jackson’s actions personal. To be honest, it’s been hard not to over the past two weeks.
“I need you to lie on your side,” the doctor points at the blue, padded mat on the floor, “and lift your leg and keep it elevated for fifteen seconds, okay?”
Jackson begrudgingly moves towards the mat and positions himself as the doctor asks. As he’s raising his leg, pain is etched across his features. “I can’t do this, Doc,” and lets his right leg rest against the other.
“Sure you can, Jackson. I’m going to help you raise it. Work through the pain.”
Doctor Badcocke kneels beside him and raises Jackson’s leg. “Now I’m going to count to fifteen. One, two, three−”
“Fuck! That hurts!” Jackson mutters but keeps his leg elevated and pushes through his pain thanks to the encouragement of the good doctor.
“Okay. Now the left,” the doctor exacts.
They repeat the process until they get through the therapy session. “See, Jackson? We’ll get you back in shape in no time,” Dr. Badcocke declares with a smile. “You got this.”
I sit back and watch Jackson closely. While there is fury in his eyes, I also notice there’s a spark of determination behind them. To say the weeks since Chris’s and Rem’s funeral have been challenging would be an understatement. Jackson is struggling with his recovery and between his bouts of depression and frustration over the physical therapy process, to say I’m running on fumes is an understatement.
I’ll be staying with him in Casper while Stryder goes to Australia on a month-long assignment. My heart tightens in my chest at the thought of being separated from the man I’ve grown to know and love. The selfish side of me wants him to cancel the trip and stay by my side. The other wants to encourage him to go out there and further his career. If I’m perfectly honest, I think a little space would do us a world of good.
To think we only have two days left together before he leaves makes me weary. I know Stryder has noticed, and being the sweetest and most understanding of men he says nothing. There are moments I feel the urge to slap myself in hopes of getting my emotions in check.
I want Stryder to stay.
No. Stop being so selfish, Catalina. He has to work.
No, no! I want him to stay.
Ugh. I know I’m sending Stryder mixed signals by being sad one minute over his impending departure, and the next acting like it doesn’t bother me. I need to get a grip on my feelings before he runs out the door scared. I imagine Stryder boarding his flight, falling asleep on someone else’s shoulder, falling in love with someone else, and forgetting me altogether. These things can happen, right? I mean, look at how we met. I realize I’m being pessimistic here, and I hate this insecure side of me. I totally get it . . . He had a life and career before I came along, and like he’s told me before the Earth hasn’t stopped turning . . . Pfft. Isn’t that the truth.
As I sit on a barstool in Jax’s kitchen with my elbow propped against the granite countertop, I think about how this assignment could make or break the beautiful relationship we’ve built over the recent months. I know we’ve said I love you, but the more I think about our relationship the more I know my love for Stryder is greater than anything I ever imagined possible. And words fail me when I try to describe the depth of my love for him.
When I’m not with him I miss him, and when he’s away, I feel crippled by his absence. I’m really worried how this trip will affect me emotionally, because I’ve become co-dependent on him, losing a part of my inner strength along the way.
Your heart is open.
Every single hair on my body stands on edge, and I shiver as a cold chill overcomes me. I straighten myself on the barstool, wondering if I’ve really lost my marbles. Call me crazy, but I swear I heard someone whisper those words. They didn’t pop up in my mind uninvited.
My breath catches as I look around for the source completely sure I’ve lost my damn mind. A deep chuckle I know and remember all too well rings in the air.
Your heart is open. Don’t be afraid.
“Catalina?” I startle at the sound of my name.
I raise my head from the counter, disoriented. My hands reach for my cheeks which tingle and are surprisingly tender to the touch. I worry my jaw from side to side and it’s only then I realize I fell asleep at the kitchen counter in the middle of the afternoon.
“Cat?” Jackson’s voice rings into the vast kitchen space, his deep timbres echoing softly. “Are you okay, girl?”
I straighten my spine against the leather back of the barstool and stretch my arms over my head. A few yawns escape me, and I see Jackson standing on the opposite end of the counter looking at me with his brows furrowed.
“My back is killing me,” I answer, amid yawns which make him laugh.
“I thought you were dead, woman. I walked in to get something to eat, and the first thing I saw was you slumped over that damn chair,” Jackson jokes.
“I’m just tired, and I haven’t been sleeping well,” I clarify as I stand. I place my hands on the counter. They’re trembling.
Jackson chuckles, and wiggles his eyebrows devilishly. “Just stop fucking like bunnies and you may just get a good nights’ sleep. Not judging, just saying . . .”
If I wasn’t so rattled I’d laugh along, but right now I feel contrite and unable to enjoy Jackson’s crack at our healthy sexual appetite. I look into Jackson’s eyes and sigh which in turn makes him hobble over to me. Placing his gruff hands on my shoulders, he keeps me at an arm’s length, his crisp, azure eyes regarding mine.
“What’s the matter, Pardo?” Jackson asks, sounding incredibly serious as his eyes blink rapidly.
I exhale loudly and hang my head low, my eyes focused on the seams of the hardwood flooring. “I just−I’m physically tired, and I’m freaking out over Stryder leaving. I don’t want him to go.”
Jackson’s hands move to embrace me, pulling me close to his chest. My arms instinctively wrap around his waist, and when he winces, I loosen my hold.
“So you’re scared of losing Jupiter, aren’t you?” Jackson mumbles against my hair, and I nod in response. “Girl, you don’t need to worry about a damn thing. You have that man wrapped around your pinkie and you don’t even know it,” he asserts with a chuckle.
Despite this reassurance I don’t feel any more secure. When you love someone as much as I love Stryder, it’s easy to come up with a million reasons to be frightened. My heart is open, as the voice said, and the walls that once protected it are gone. I’m left vulnerable and it scares me to no end.
I know you can’t die from a broken heart, but thinking how long it took me to breathe again, to live again after losing Blake makes me want to never endure that kind of pain again.
“Hey, where’d you go?” Jackson asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“I’m here,” I cough, forcing a smile. I hope he doesn’t notice it’s not a genuine one. Jackson Reese has so much going on in his life right now, the last thing he needs is to worry about me. “Are you hungry?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
I busy myself making us cold-cut sandwiches with mustard and mayonnaise, then rummage through the cabinets looking for a cutting board. In my search I come across a juicing machine, and take some carrots, an apple, and some kale from the refrigerator. At first, Jackson gives me a disgusted look when I place the brownish-green concoction in front of him; he even crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head like a petulant child. But when his lips meet the frothy goodness, he chugs it down and asks for more.
“Is this juicing-crap healthy? I’ve gained weight since the accident,” Jackson complains, as he gestures at his body. When I nod, he smiles in relief. “Good, because I need to lose fifteen pounds, and fast! I’m not a narcissist, but this body isn’t me.”
I smile from behind the counter, and place my sandwich back on the plate. Looking at him square in the eye, I speak. “Being fifteen pounds heavier is better than being dead six feet under.”
Jackson looks at me and blinks twice. I can tell by the look on his face my words are sobering. For a man filled with humor, he was yet to come up with a witty comeback to my solemn words. To dispel the sudden silence between us, I continue.
“Juicing will be a great way to keep you healthy and it will definitely help you lose some of the weight. Before you know it, you’ll be back in shape and cleared by the medical team to resume snowboarding.”
Jackson looks at me and smiles. “I sure hope so. Another juice please,” he says, as he gestures at the machine on the counter. I laugh at his eagerness and spoil him by making him another.
We eat our lunch at the counter in comfortable silence. My mind is filled with worry for the man sitting beside me. I’ve seen him sit by the large windowpane for hours at a time staring at the Wyoming Mountains that form part of the view of his backyard. I may not know Jackson Reese like Stryder does, but I know him well enough to know he misses snowboarding. I mean, he’s used to being in the great outdoors and being confined to four walls and a ceiling is definitely playing a huge role in his depression. Hell, being indoors makes me feel confined too, ever since the press tour ended.
And then there’s the part of the puzzle that worries me the most. Despite accompanying Jackson to his sports medicine and psychologist appointments, it’s like his body is there, but his heart and mind are elsewhere. It breaks my heart to see him sitting on the damn family room couch with a lost and defeated expression. He refuses to talk about the accident. I’ve sat beside him on that very couch holding his hand and praying he opens up, but I can’t force him. He has to come to terms on his own. I know because I’ve gone through the same thing, and now more than ever I understand Faith’s constant nagging over the years, and make a mental note to apologize to her next time I see her.
“Where’s Jupiter?” Jackson asks in between chews.
I exhale a little louder than intended and reply, “He’s out getting supplies for his trip.”
Jackson drops the sandwich on his plate and reaches for my hand. “Girl, don’t be sad. He’ll be back before you know it, and hopefully by then we can all go snowboarding . . . and find some normalcy. You’re staying with me while he’s away, right?”
I squeeze his hand tightly, and looking into his eyes I answer. “Sadness is inevitable, but having you by my side will make the wait easier. My focus is to get you better,” I confirm as I let go of his hand. I place one hand over his heart and the other on top of his messy hair. “Your mind will take some time to catch up with what’s happened, but your heart will never heal unless you allow it to. Please talk, if not to me then at least say something to the therapist tomorrow. Please.”
Jackson nods, and a stray tear escapes from the corner of his eye. I catch it with my thumb and smudge it across the top of his cheek, and that makes him swallow hard. I rise from the stool, and wrap my arms around him, bringing his head to rest against my chest. One of my hands cradles his scruffy face while the other rubs his back in wide, soothing circles.
“It’s my fault, Catalina. I killed Chris and Rem,” Jackson concedes in between sobs. “I knew in my gut something was off, and for a second I thought about calling Base and letting Rob know I wanted to abort the run. I always listen to my gut, and I don’t fucking understand why I didn’t make the call.” His last words come out choked, and bitter sobs leave his chest.
“Jackson, it wasn’t your fault, you hear me? We can’t accept responsibility for an act of nature. Trust me, it took me a long time to understand that, because Mother Nature ripped away my fiancé and baby, and for a very long time I blamed myself for something I had no control over. This wasn’t your fault, and please, for the love of God, stop blaming yourself,” I beg, as tears of my own stain my cheeks.
“Oh, Cat. I’d be in a lot worse shape if not for you. I’m sorry if I’ve been such an asshole. I’ve never lost anyone in my life before, and I don’t know how to cope without alcohol. Right now, all I want to do is drink, lose myself, and find temporary happiness to replace the pain in my fucking chest.”
Jackson lifts his head from my chest and looks into my eyes. “How’d you do it, Cat? How’d you live after losing everyone who’s meant something to you? Tell me how to get rid of this pain that makes it so fucking hard to breathe because right now, I feel like giving up. It was me who should’ve died that day, not them!”
I move my hands to cup his cheeks, and when our eyes connect I see a raw vulnerability in his eyes a look I’ve seen in the mirror for years.
“You are not giving up. You deserve to live, to breathe and sigh, to laugh and cry because you are worthy of that and more! You have to look back at these moments and face adversity with a smile because that is who you are. You are Jackson Reese, and champs never give up. You will get through this, and together we will heal like we have before, got it? No more ‘I feel like giving up’ shit-talk. That’s not you−that’s grief feeding your mind with bullshit.”
Jackson looks shocked at the bluntness of my words, then rests his head against my chest as hearty chuckles leave his throat. This inspires me to laugh as well, and when our laughter subsides he raises his head.
“I can see why Jupiter likes these. They’re soft and shit,” he mumbles, with that mischievous glint in his eyes I haven’t seen in weeks.
Laughing hysterically I push him off my breasts, and smack him softly on the arm. “Jackson Reese, get off my tits before you get a swift kick in the balls,” I warn playfully.
Shielding his junk he shakes his head, and a goofy smile spreads across his lips, but the smile quickly fades and a determined and thoughtful Jackson looks back at me. Clearing his throat, he speaks softly. “Thank you for listening, Cat. I think it’s time to talk with the shrink. I owe it to Chris and Rem, but more importantly, I owe it to myself.”
I exhale loudly, thrilled with his epiphany. It’s tough coping without the right kind of support, and I will be by his side every step of the way. Sometimes destiny and fate have a weird way of reminding us of our inescapable vulnerability, but more importantly our inexorable humanity. Life is fleeting; and what little time we have left in this world, we must make do with what we have and cherish those whom we love by our side.
“Jax, you don’t need to thank me. I love being here with you, and I hope we can look back at this moment and see it as a first step in the right direction. The weeks to come will suck because you’ll go back and forth with your memories of the accident, but the most important thing to keep in mind is you survived, and you’re still here for a reason and you’re most definitely not alone. Remember that. Now finish your sandwich.”
Jackson nods and carries on with his lunch while I tidy up the kitchen. Shortly afterwards, the front door opens and closes, and I smile. He’s back. Drying my hands with the dish towel, I walk towards the foyer to greet Stryder.
Stryder drops his shopping bags n
ext to the console by the front door, and walks towards me with determined strides. One glance at me and his brow furrows with concern. I give him a reassuring smile and point my chin towards the kitchen. He sighs.
“Hi, baby,” Stryder whispers, as he places a chaste kiss on the tender spot behind my ear. His touch is innocent, yet my skin prickles and my nipples harden underneath my sweater. A knowing smile turns his lips up, and he wraps his arms around my waist to pull me closer. “I’ve missed you.”
“Me too,” I confess, my knees wobbling. I bring my hands up to hold his face, and bring my forehead to rest against his.
My mind swirls with thoughts that are tender and bittersweet. Being held like this by the man I love has the ability to make me and break me, and I know I don’t want him to leave. As my thoughts go into total disarray, Stryder kisses my forehead and breathes, “You’ve been crying, Cat. Please tell me it isn’t about me leaving.”
With his lips still pressed against my forehead, I shake my head. “No. Jax started talking.”
Stryder breaks our hold and quirks his head towards the kitchen. A small smile graces his face. Looking down at me, he whispers, “That’s good, Cat. You’re the only one who can make a breakthrough with him. What did he say?”
Not wanting to make Jax uncomfortable, I take hold of Stryder’s hand and lead him upstairs. Once in the privacy of our room, I give him a recount of the conversation Jax and I had downstairs. He drags his fingers through his hair and sits on the edge of our bed. I walk over and sit beside him, giving him a minute to process whatever he’s feeling. But the silence is unbearable, so I gently squeeze his thigh, reassuring him I’m there if he needs and wants to unload. Stryder smiles softly, and places his hand over mine, his long fingers caressing my wrist.
While nothing can be heard in the quiet of the room, I know there is a riot going on in both of our heads. The more I think, the harder I squeeze Stryder’s thigh.
“What’s going in that beautiful mind of yours, Catalina?” Stryder asks, raising his free arm and draping it over my shoulder. When I don’t answer immediately, he exhales loudly and pulls me in closer.