Page 40 of End Of Never

His finger runs circles along my arm, “I know you don’t need one, but it will make me feel better knowing someone is here with you, in case you need something. Let me help you.”

I take a deep breath, “I don’t know how. It’s not that I mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just that I always do things on my own. I figure it out, it’s what I’ve always done. Don’t misunderstand me being here. I am here because I want to be, not because I need to be. Trust me, I’ve been in worse conditions and alone, and I made it. But, I do appreciate everything you’re doing for me; it’s just going to take me a while to learn how to let someone in.”

His strong arm wraps around me, pulling me into him. His whisper is soft, as he leans just above my ear, “You can stay here as long as you want to. I know exactly who you are, Lilla Lane; I knew before you did. You are strong and resilient, and I know you are the last person who thinks you need anyone. But if there ever comes a time when you find yourself needing someone, need me.” With a soft kiss, he rests his head on the pillow, and I fall into a vortex of memories, of all the times he saved me from myself.

The morning comes, and I surprisingly feel well rested. Jace is already awake, and the smell of coffee pulls me from bed. Walking to the kitchen, I spot Jace standing behind the island, making eggs and bacon. “Good morning.” He is shirtless, in his sweatpants, with wet hair, and a smile that makes me weak in the knees.

“Morning.” He pours a cup of coffee and holds it out for me. “Coffee and breakfast are on the way.” He kisses my cheek and passes me quickly, and heads to the bedroom.

My eyes follow his every move as they trace over every tattoo that lines his body. When he comes back, a black shirt hugs his once-bare skin. “Why won’t you let me look at them?” I take a sip of coffee and sit in the chair. He shakes his head as his hand runs through his hair. “It’s her, isn’t it? The girl from the pictures on your dresser.” He looks up from cooking, with desperation in his eyes.

“Absolutely not. The picture on my desk is of my old co-worker, Shay. We worked together, but we lost her during a call. I put her picture there to remind myself why we do this. To fight for people who need us, to save people, because at the end of the day, that’s all she wanted to do.” He advances over to me, “I’ve never lied to you. I won’t start now. I’ll make you a deal. You be a good girl, and let Mr. Wilder babysit you, and once that cast is off, you can inspect my body, inch by inch.” With that, he turns back to the stove and begins plating our food.

“Deal.” I give him a soft smile and dig into breakfast.

The day passes with rest, rest, and more rest. Jace and I watched a few movies and talked about what’s next and what my clinic needs to be back up and running.

Hayden pulls into the driveway, and he and his dad slowly make it up the stairs. “Hey, sweet girl.” Mr. Wilder slowly moves towards the recliner, which we now call his, tucked in the corner next to the couch.

“Hey, good lookin', how are ya feeling today?” It’s sad to watch him dwindle as the sickness consumes his body. Little by little, the cancer takes pieces of him, leaving him frail and thin. His full head of gray hair is now lost from chemo. His pole legs match his long, slim arms as he presses on his cane, helping him to his chair.

“Another day, what are we watching today?” Hayden helps him get situated, making me laugh. “Can you believe these yahoos trust me to watch over you, when I can’t even get in and out of this chair alone?” He shakes his head while grinning.

Jace walks out, looking incredibly sexy in his tactical pants and short-sleeved shirt, emphasizing his muscles. Taking in my sight, I watch him as he slides on his boots, lacing them tightly. My eyes fixate on the way the strings loop between his fingers, and his forearm flexes when he pulls the bow tight. Jace looks up slightly, catching me, and winking. Did his tying his shoes turn me on? Yes, yes, it did. Sending me a sexy smirk, he snickers, “Like what you see?” Yes, I sure do.

Hayden turns to the door, “Let’s go before we’re late, or this pirate tries to jump your bones.”

That makes Mr. Wilder laugh hysterically. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m into role play… well, sometimes my wife would dress up like—”

“Dad!” Hayden’s voice is in pure shock, with his brows touching his hairline. “No, absolutely not. You keep that shit to yourself, old man. Jace, let’s go before I have a heart attack.”

Jace comes over to me, kissing my forehead, “Have a good day, baby. See you soon. Drink water. I made dinner for you guys; it’s in the fridge. We’ll be home in the morning.” He gives me one more kiss before following Hayden out. “Be good, Mr. Wilder!” He shouts as he shuts the front door.

The day unfolds as movies play in the background while Mr. Wilder and I talk. We talk about everything, and he never fails to amaze me with his stories and the way he lived his life.

“I was working the night shift at the papermill when our house caught fire. I remember the call and the way it made me feel, with each word, a piece of my heart shattered. I was working, and my wife was dying in a fire, and Hayden was trying to save her. It’s one thing to hold guilt for not being there; it's another to hold the guilt Hayden holds, being right there, yet so far away. It was rough for both of us at first; we had to learn to live without our foundation, without the one person who held us together like glue. I feared Hayden blamed me for being at work, and when I sent him to the boys' school, he told me he blamed himself, and that broke my heart.” He shakes his head, looking back on the painful memory.

“You did well, he’s a good guy, your wife would be so proud.”

“I did all I could with a broken heart.”

For the next month, Mr. Wilder and I spent nearly every day together, learning about one another, and he gave me insight and knowledge I’ll hold on to forever. Growing up without parents, you miss out on deep conversations, the kind that parents use to guide their children. The conversations that always start with, ‘when I was young’, or the ‘I’m trying to keep you from making the same mistakes,’ and to be honest, those are my favorites. Those conversations are raw and emotional, and they show just how much he lived and how much he mourned.

What I’ve learned from Mr. Wilder in the last few weeks:

Love and love hard.

Be strong even when everyone, including yourself, tells you otherwise.

Fight for yourself.

Always eat dessert first.

Listen to hear, not to respond. Be a sponge, soak it up, and sit with it. Think about what is said. Once you’ve soaked in it, respond with intent.

Embrace the noise, and lean into the quiet. Soak in every minute of every day because time is a thief, and when there is no more time, the thief turns around and shines a big light on all the moments you had, and didn’t capture. So capture every moment, frame it in your mind, and save it for the day when all you have is memory.

This is my favorite. Fight. Fight with your friends, your spouse, your parents, everyone. Don’t fight to harm with fists or words, fight to grow. Fight for more love, more compassion, and a better relationship. Fight to love harder, stronger, and at the end of the day, fight because you are worth it.