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“He has early onset dementia,” she blurted out.
Honestly, telling someone was actually a relief. There was no one she could talk to about this. Uncle Willy hadn’t wanted her to tell anyone.
Sympathy filled Jameson’s face. “Oh, baby.”
She sucked in a breath, unable to take that from him. That look. Him calling her baby.
Jack’s name for her. She kind of wanted Jack right now. For him to grin and make a joke.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie.”
She nodded, unable to speak without bursting into tears. She’d shed enough tears over the last . . . what time was it, anyway? Sun streamed through the window in Jameson’s office. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Shoot. It was just after eight in the morning.
“He doesn’t . . . he doesn’t want anyone to know. So you can’t tell anyone.”
“Sweetheart, no one will think any differently of him.”
“Of course they will.” He couldn’t be that naive.
Jameson bit his lip. “Ian and Jack should really know this. They will be around him the most. What if he gets disorientated and confused? Upset?”
“Then I’ll be there.”
“Sweetheart, he fell down the stairs and has a concussion.”
She felt those words like they were hits to her body. Was Jameson saying that this was her fault? That Uncle Willy had been disorientated and fallen because she hadn’t been waiting up for him?
“This is . . . it’s my fault?”
Jameson’s eyes widened. “What? No, no! Sweetheart, that wasn’t what I was saying at all. None of this is your fault.”
But she thought it was. Deep down. What if he’d needed her and she hadn’t been there? He might have been searching for her.
Maggie rubbed at her chest. Why couldn’t she take a full breath? What was wrong with her? She gasped and rubbed harder.
“Easy. Hey, everything is all right. Maggie, look at me.”
She ignored him. She couldn’t breathe! Panic flooded her.
“Maggie. Look at me.”
The command in his voice shocked her into glancing up at him.
“Now, I want you to follow my directions.” He put her hand on his chest. “We’re going to breathe nice and slow. In and out. I’m going to count. In. One. Two. That’s it. Out. One. Two. And again. No, you’re not allowed to look away. Listen to me. In. One. Two. Out. One. Two. You’re doing so well. And again. That’s it. Well done, I’m so proud of you.”
Jesus.
What was he doing to her? As the panic faded, she started to feel warmth flooding her. She needed more praise. More. More.
So greedy.
“That’s better. Good. Nice and slow. No. Don’t close your eyes. Keep looking at me. Good girl.”
She shuddered. Did he know what those words did to her? She stared down into his concerned green-blue eyes. “So pretty.”
Jameson shook his head. He was crouched in front of her, looking like a dream come to life.
“I’m not the pretty one. And you’re hurting my street cred every time you call me pretty.”
