Page 60 of Jameson’s Salvation

“Great. I’ll be back. Anything else while I’m out?”

I thought about everything she’d said and as much as I hated to ask, she was right. I needed help, down to the simplest of necessities.

“Is Nixon going with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then would you mind going to my house and picking me up some fresh clothes?”

“Already done. I went with Nixon a while ago and packed you a bag. I tried not to go through your stuff the best I could, but Jameson was adamant you had clean clothes. Sorry I didn’t think to grab your shower stuff, but I did throw in your deodorant.”

Of course, Jameson would’ve already thought about clothes. The man was forever making sure I was comfortable.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, sister. I’ll be back in a flash and if you’re up to it, I’d like to spend time chatting with you.”

“I’d love that.”

“Great.”

With one last smile, McKenna left the room and I laid back down to think about everything she’d said.

Could I ask Jameson for more help?

19

Jameson

Jameson stood in the hall outside of his bedroom and without remorse listened to McKenna and Kennedy’s conversation. It had been mostly one-sided but he didn’t need more words from Kennedy to know how she was feeling.

He also knew she wouldn’t give up, but she needed time to process this latest blow and he’d give her a safe place to do it until it was time to remind her to bundle up, because the world was a cold place to be. But with him by her side, she may stumble but she’d never fall.

McKenna exited the room and didn’t look the least bit surprised he’d been eavesdropping. With a pat on his shoulder and a smile, she walked down the hall.

He stood there a while longer debating whether or not to give her more time. Finally deciding he could no longer stand being away from her, he entered his room and closed the door behind him.

They both had queen-sized beds but his was softer, and with the thick down comforter she was lying on, she looked like she was being engulfed in white. It felt bizarre being back in his room after spending so much time at Kennedy’s.

Her room had personality, it was warm and inviting, just like the woman who’d decorated it. Jameson’s was boring and cold. The same could be said for the man who lived there. At least before he’d met Kennedy.

Now when he crawled into bed, cold didn’t seep into his bones. He didn’t lie awake staring into the dark replaying the worst of his life. Instead, Kennedy’s body pressed close to his, her arm would pin him to the bed—grounding him, her goodness surrounding him, and he could sleep. She warmed him from the inside out.

“Thanks for letting me stay here,” Kennedy murmured as Jameson made his way across the room.

He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on her hip. He was unable to keep from touching her. When she was close, Jameson craved the contact.

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” Jameson said, then reminded her, “You’re not alone anymore.”

“McKenna’s nice.”

“She is.”

“And beautiful.”

“Yep.”

Kennedy looked away and Jameson didn’t like the unsure look in her eyes.