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Jackson cupped Carly’s face and smoothed his hand over her cheek, catching the last of her tears with one rough thumb. “Keeping that inside must’ve been pretty tough.” Even now, with shadows of exhaustion smudged beneath her eyes and her disheveled hair falling out of its knot, his heart ached for her.
“I’m sorry. I just—”
Jackson’s fingers halted over her lips, literally shushing her even though he knew she wouldn’t like it.
“I’ll stay up as late as you want to help you cook on one condition.” He jutted his chin over her shoulder to the controlled chaos in the kitchen, and Carly looked so shocked by his movement that she simply nodded without protest.
“Don’t sayI’m sorryto me for how you feel. Ever again.” He dropped his gaze, catching as much emotion in her eyes as he felt brewing in his own. She exhaled, her breath warming his fingers, but she didn’t fight him. Instead, Carly reached up and curled her hand around his, holding on with certainty that Jackson felt clear into the floor.
“Okay,” was all she said.
He gave one decisive nod before turning toward the stockpot. “Good. Now hand me a spoon so I can taste this, would you please? This sauce isn’t going to season itself, you know.”
23
Carly squinted at the bright sunlight muscling past the aging curtains, realizing slowly that she’d finally let Jackson carry her to bed at a little before five AM. Judging by the heaviness in her limbs, she hadn’t moved much, if at all, during her four hours of deep, dreamless sleep. Carly tried to swallow, but her sandpaper lips only pressed together in a useless maneuver over her knotted throat as she rolled onto her side.
“Hey,” Jackson mumbled, eyes still closed, and he snaked one tree-trunk arm over her to fit their bodies together. They were both still dressed in their clothes from the night before, and she brushed the pads of her fingers over the chalky smudges of flour on his T-shirt, feeling mildly heartsick at how they’d gotten there.
Oh, God. Had she really broken down sobbing in his arms, right in her mother’s kitchen?
“It’s almost nine.” She inhaled the scent of pasta dough and fresh-cut wood from his skin, and he burrowed deeper into his pillow with a sleepy exhale.
“Mmkay.” His breath tickled her neck, but she felt so good wrapped up in his arms and the bed sheets that the outside world almost fell away, forgotten.
Almost.
“I’m going to put on a pot of coffee and take a quick shower. I want to be there when the night shift doctor does rounds at ten.” Carly shifted her weight to pull back the covers, but Jackson tightened his grip around her ribs, finally opening his eyes.
“Okay.” He dipped his gold-stubbled chin to drop a kiss on her forehead, and Carly’s heart stuttered.
“Thank you for staying up with me last night. For holding me.” The stutter in her chest grew insistent, pushing through her like one hell of a wakeup call. “For everything.”
Lord, she was bad at this. But the expression on Jackson’s face, so open and easy and matter-of-fact, settled her with uncharacteristic calm.
“You’re welcome.”
They lay together for a moment, his lips on the crown of her head, the smell of his skin so comforting and close, so inextricably connected that it hit Carly with a pang deep in her belly.
Sloane was right. Carly had left friends-with-benefits territory in the dust.
And if it didn’t feel so warm and good and utterly right to have Jackson here, comforting her when she needed him most, it would’ve terrified her right down to her toes.
* * *
“I wishyou’d all stop fussing over me. It’s bad enough with the nurses and the doctors traipsing in to poke and prod. And don’t get me started on what they’ve got masquerading as food around here. Breakfast was awful. ”
Carly had never been so happy to hear her mother’s bitching in all her life. After a full panel of tests revealed that her mother’s TIA had been isolated and there was still no brain bleed present, the doctors had given her a glowing report that ended with the prognosis of a full recovery. Of course, they’d had no idea what they were in for when they suggested she stay another day, just to be on the safe side.
“Sorry,mama. But you’re stuck here until tomorrow, so you’ll have to make the best of it.” Carly flipped the cover off the lunch tray that had just been delivered by a smiling nurse, wrinkling her nose at the boiled chicken breast and undercooked white rice on the plate. No way was that going to fly with her mother, not even if she was starving. Which, by the sound of things, might not be too far from the truth.
“If you’re hungry, why don’t you try some of this salad?” Carly pasted a smile on her face in an effort to work up some enthusiasm for the ho-hum chunk of lettuce and colorless tomato beside the tray.
“Because it looks horrible, that’s why,” her mother replied, fastening Carly with a no-nonsense look. “Is it too much to ask my chef daughter for some real food? Please, Carlotta! You wouldn’t eat this.”
Carly laughed, her first one in what felt like a dog’s age. “Okay, yeah.” She caved, replacing the lid over the chicken and pushing the tray aside. “The guys are making a lunch run. I’ll send Dom a message and have him bring you back a sandwich.” Carly tapped her phone to life and sent a quick text to her brother.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Pastrami would be good, with extra cheese. And a black and white cookie. Maybe two,” her mother replied, brown eyes lighting.
