Page 117 of Second Chance Saloon

“Jackie, you can tell me. I won’t judge you, whatever it is.” Mitch cupped her cheek, willing her to look into his eyes. “You can trust me.”

Her shaky fingers covered his hand. Every ember of joy and heat that had warmed her only half an hour ago or so extinguished, like her body physically responded to the mood shift, leaving behind skin so cool that Mitch instinctively pulled the sheet up to cover them better.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she choked.

“The beginning is usually the best place.”

Jackie nodded, breathing out. Her gaze found his and Mitch held it, the ghost of an encouraging smile forcing its way onto his parted lips.

Their paired heartbeats were the only sound filling the air between them.

A minute passed, or maybe two; he couldn’t tell. If she needed time to compose herself, he’d wait as long as it took.

He’d waited ten years already, after all.

“You know Sharon isn’t my biological mother. I might’ve mentioned that once upon a time, though I wouldn’t expect you to remember. It was so early after we met—”

“I remember.” Mitch interrupted her. “You told me about her when I first told you about my father.”

Jackie blinked. “That’s right.” She didn’t even attempt to hide her surprise.

How could he forget the first night he’d spent at the ranch, sneaking out to stargaze while trading insecurities and feelings with each other.

She cleared her throat. “Her name was Weronika. That last summer before our senior year, she sent me a letter. I’ve never read it, but Dad told me more about her and how they met. Vegas, he fell fast and hard, she got pregnant, didn’t want me. For a while, I thought that was the end of the story. I had no interest in reading her letter, and left it with my dad, but the letters kept coming.”

“You’ve never mentioned any letters.” Mitch struggled to keep the hurt from his tone.

They had been so close that summer, having the time of their lives, or so he thought. How could Jackie have kept something so big from him that entire time? That was months before she left.

“I thought you’d convince me to read them, and I really didn’t want to,” she said.

“I’d have never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”

“I know that. But you’re so reasonable, sensitive, and convincing. I think I was lying to myself that I didn’t want to know. Somewhere in my subconscious, I knew that you’d be the only person who could make me face the truth. I wasn’t ready for it,” Jackie murmured on an exhale.

Mitch’s throat worked as he tried to process that first piece of information. He told her he wouldn’t judge. He knew this wasn’t the full story, but he suspected those letters had to be a significant part of it. “What happened after?”

“I wanted to tell you. It was eating me up, keeping a secret from you. We shared everything.” She dragged her teeth across her bottom lip. “Do you remember that night at Betty’s when we went out with Lyla and Nick to celebrate our futures in New York?”

His brow furrowed. Nights spent having fun, the four of them, blended into a precious mosaic in his memory. One of the many proofs that all they shared had really happened. Sometimes, he reminisced about those times with Lyla and Nick, regret and longing twisting his gut.

But he couldn’t fully remember that night.

Jackie sighed like she could read his mind. “My dad was waiting outside my apartment after we got back; you were meant to stay over but went home? I texted you the next morning saying I had a headache and avoided you for like a week.”

Recognition flooded his senses. “Ah. That night.” He remembered finding Fred’s late-night visit odd, but when he’d asked Jackie about it, she’d told him everything was fine. He believed her and never thought about it again. Maybe if he did, maybe if he’d asked more questions, then things would’ve been different.

“You couldn’t have done anything to change things, Mitch,” Jackie whispered, kissing his knuckles, like she could read his mind.

His other hand hadn’t moved off her cheek.

“Anyway, Dad chose that night to spring on me that Weronika had Huntington’s. That was the reason she sent me the letters, apparently. She was running out of time and wanted to apologize for giving me a fifty per cent chance of inheriting it from her,” Jackie whispered, every word carefully measured like she didn’t want him to misunderstand or miss even a syllable of what she was saying. “Do you know what it is?”

Mitch swallowed, hard. He opened his mouth but only a misshapen sound left his throat. He damn well knew what Huntington’s was.

No, Jackie couldn’t have Huntington’s. His mind combed over every minute they spent together for the past week, searching for any clues, anything that was different, anything that was more fragile … But the woman Jackie had become over these years was anything but fragile.

She let go of his hand, shuffling away from him. “I don’t have Huntington’s. It’s a bit more complicated than that.”