All of You(17)
Author: Christina Lee

“Some blurred vision, slurred speech, and weakness in her limbs. Doc wonders if she had another small stroke last night. Scheduled her for a CAT scan.”

I loaded the med trays, trying not to get choked up about Mrs. Jackson. The logical side of me said that I worked in a nursing home and patients didn’t stay here forever. They either recovered or died.

Which led to my emotional side. I wanted to pull away from her, stop talking to her so damn much, so that it would be less painful when she left. But that would only hurt her.

Just like I was hurting Bennett. I immediately shook that thought away.

When I entered her room, she was resting on her side. Here normally dark complexion looked a bit paler. I ran my fingertips over her forehead to wake her up. “Med time.”

Her breaths were short, and she squinted at me through slits. “H . . . Hey, sunshine.” I noticed how the words broke from her lips in a lazy, sluggish pattern.

She blinked the sleep away, and I positioned her pillows to help her sit up. She studied me with concerned eyes. “Nah, I take that back. I’d say someone got rained on instead.”

She couldn’t be closer to the truth if she tried.

“It did rain a lot last night,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

“You could say that again,” she said, and then narrowed her eyes. “But I wasn’t speaking literally.” “I know,” I said, my voice strained and quiet.

She grabbed for my hand. “S . . . something happen with that gorgeous man who’s chasing after you?”

I didn’t want Mrs. Jackson to know that I was in fact worried about her today, so this time I relented on her Bennett questions.

“Maybe.”

“He’s getting too close, isn’t he?” She raised her eyebrows. “And you . . . you’re pulling away.”

This lady needed an award for mind reading.

“Why do you always think it’s me causing trouble?” I asked, my hand on my hip. “Maybe he did something wrong.”

“If he did something wrong, it was only out of fear,” she said, downing her pills and water. “And fear is the flip side of love.”

“Huh?” I massaged her weak and trembling fingers.

“Honey, I know there are things you haven’t shared with me.” She squeezed my hand with the little strength she had. “Painful things.”

Wow, this lady was good. Damn good. I didn’t deny it or try to make light of what she saying.

“Your whole life can’t be defined by that one single moment. Or even a series of awful moments.”

She held my gaze, and it was difficult not to want to look away. “You are strong and courageous. But it doesn’t mean you can’t lean on others sometimes.”

My eyes felt glassy and full. I blinked to keep the tears at bay. I was overwhelmed with emotions today. About Bennett. My mom. Mrs. Jackson.

“Especially very handsome others.” She winked. “Take a chance on him, girl.”

Man, people were dishing out advice left and right today.

Maybe the universe was conspiring against me.

“Let me get the circulation going in those feet,” I said, to change the subject. I pulled back the covers to reveal her swollen legs. Water retention made the skin bloat and stretch, giving it a shiny and fake look, almost like plastic.

As soon as I began rubbing her ankles, her forehead relaxed, her back slumped in relief, and she became more animated.

“I want to hear about your grandmother today,” she said, her voice still a bit rough. “You’ve only mentioned her a couple of times.”

How had she known I’d been thinking a lot about her lately?

I couldn’t help wondering whether, if Grandma had been alive when mom dated Tim, she would have believed me, and held me those nights I lay shivering and crying?

I knew, without a doubt, the immediate answer to my question. Of course she would.

Mom had a blind spot when it came to handsome and charming men, and Grandma always called her on it. Asked her where she’d ever gone wrong for Mom to want to rely on a man so completely.

I’d asked myself the same question a thousand times. Wondered if there was something in Mom’s past that I didn’t know about. Would never know about. Something that made her cling so recklessly to any string of false security.

Was it the death of her father at an early age? Or seeing how Grandma had worked two jobs to support them? Did Mom hope that by getting pregnant with me, she’d snag the guy who knocked her up? It didn’t work the first time—or the second time, either, for that matter.

I heard Mrs. Jackson let out a whimper at a certain sensitive spot around her ankle, and that snapped me out of my thoughts.

“My grandma was a lot like you. Feisty, compassionate, and wise.” I massaged her calf muscles and up to the back of her knee. “A pain in the ass, too.”

That got a grin out of her. “No wonder you like me so well.”

I returned the smile as I started on her other leg.

Mrs. Jackson closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “What happened to her?” “She died of cancer when I was twelve.” I remembered the day we got the call, how it brought me to my knees. I’d never prayed before in my life, but that day, I prayed and begged and pleaded that the news wasn’t real. That she’d come waltzing through that door and scoop me into her lap once again.

“Well, isn’t that a damn shame.” Mrs. Jackson was looking at me now, her eyes soft around the edges. “I’ll bet she taught you a lot. Had a hand in making you the woman you are today.”

“Absolutely. I learned to be independent and go after what I wanted.”

And if I was being honest, my own mother had pushed me to become the person I was, too—by forcing me to take up for myself. Lord knows she never did.

Mrs. Jackson’s cheeks lifted. “If she was still around, I bet she’d agree with me.”

“About what?”

“About giving pretty boys a chance.’ I shook my head and laughed. “See, I told you—a pain in the ass.”

Chapter Seventeen

A few nights later, I stood at Bennett’s door, my hand poised to knock.

I’d hung his drawing in my bedroom and studied it every night before bed. It reminded me of Bennett. His laugh, his eyes, his warmth.

The fact of the matter was that I missed him. And I owed him an explanation, at the very least.

I wasn’t ready for anything, but at least it was a start. I’d never opened up to any guy before, but something told me he was worth it. That he’d understand.

He lived by a preconceived code to protect himself. And so did I. And he needed to know why.

I knocked three times and waited. I heard movement inside, and then a voice. A female voice.

“Someone’s at your door, Benny.”

Benny? I’d only ever heard his family call him that.

Did someone else know him as intimately?

The door opened just as I considered making my escape.

It was Rebecca. The ex-girlfriend that I’d met at the art show. My heart froze instantly. I couldn’t blink, move my lips, or walk away. I could only stare at her blue eyes and shiny red hair. Her pretty face and impressive figure.

“Hi,” she said. “You’re Avery, right?”

And then I became unstuck, for self-preservation’s sake. “Hi, Rebecca. I was just going to talk to Bennett about something. But he has company, so I’ll come back later.”

“He’s in the shower,” she said with a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “We’re going out for a bite to eat. But I’ll tell him you stopped by.” I practically sprinted to the elevator, my stomach throbbing. He had definitely moved on. Maybe seeing Rebecca again made him curious about rekindling something with her.

I lay on the couch, the TV turned to a random channel, a tub of ice cream melting in front of me. I told myself I couldn’t get upset over this. I was the one who’d pushed him away. Just because I was ready to open up to him didn’t mean that would fix or even define our nonexistent relationship.

We were in limbo. He was in limbo.

So I could understand him wanting to forget, to move on.

I thought I heard them walk by my door, joking and laughing, so I blasted the volume on the television. Not two minutes later, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. Bennett: Rebecca said you came by. It’s not what you think, Avery.

Me: I’m not thinking anything.

Bennett: Don’t pretend. Not with me.

Me: Okay. How about this: I have no right to think anything.

Bennett: True. But I still wanted you to know.

Me: Why?

Bennett: You know why. How come you stopped by?

Me: It was nothing.

Bennett: When it comes to you, Avery, it will never be nothing. It will always be something. BIG somethings that I’ll always want to know about.

A shiver raced through me. Even the tone of his damn text message got to me.

Me: J Get back to your friend. I’ll catch you later.

After eating a good chunk of that ice cream and watching a lame comedy, I decided to go to bed.

Apparently my sappy button was fully charged tonight.

I realized I was practically standing guard over Bennett’s purity; his damn virtue. And I needed to cut that shit out. Just because I couldn’t have him—at least not according to his conditions—didn’t mean that nobody else could, either. So why did the very thought of him being with Rebecca—with any girl really—make it so f**king hard to breathe?

When I heard the knock at my door, I closed my eyes and made a silent wish that it was Bennett and not Bennett all at the same time.

As soon as I pulled the door open, he said, “She’s thinking about transferring her credits and coming to school here.”

“So she can be closer to you?” I moved aside to let him in.

His dark-wash jeans and messy hair didn’t go unnoticed. Had Rebecca’s fingers been in that hair?

“Who knows? Not sure I care,” he said, and the heaviness in my chest lifted. “Anyway, I told her I’d show her around campus today. So, I did.”

“And where is she now?” I sat back down on my couch.

“On her way home.” He sat next to me. Close enough that our knees touched. “It’s only a thirty minute drive. She could commute here for classes.”

I stared at the TV infomercial. “And stay at your place whenever she needs to crash.”

He elbowed me gently. “Avery Michaels, do I detect a certain tone in your voice?”

I arched an eyebrow. “What tone?” I was so full of shit, and he knew it.

He turned to face me. “Five words or less: How did you feel when Rebecca opened my door?”

I fumbled with the remote. “I felt nothing.”

“Really?” A crooked grin draped his lips. He wasn’t letting this go anytime soon. “Let me see if I can help you out. Maybe the same way I felt when I heard how Oliver talked to you at the shop, or when you were standing at the door in your pajamas, with Rob.”

Heat splashed across my cheeks.

“And how’s that?” I mumbled.

He inched closer and fused his eyes to mine. “Surprised . . . curious . . . PISSED . . . jealous, jealous, jealous.”

“You’re bending the rules. That’s six words.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I thought I’d let you borrow one.”

I felt an electric current coursing through me. “Why?”

He smirked. “If you can’t say it out loud, then I’d be helping you out.”

My fingers fisted the blanket.

All at once he grew serious, his eyes large and sincere.

“Why did you stop over tonight?” His voice was soft, like a caress.

“I . . . I owe you an explanation for the other night.”

“No, you don’t,” he said. “I scared you, and I’m still sick about it.”

“You did scare me,” I said, and his head dropped. “But not in the way you think.”

He looked up at me. “How, then?”

“The way you were talking to me.” I took a deep breath. “It brought up some memories I had locked away.”

“Shit.” He rushed his fingers through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, Bennett. It’s not like I thought you’d hurt me,” I said and then cleared my throat. “Actually, I’ve never felt safer with anyone else.”

His breath hitched in the back of his throat. He raised his fingers to touch me, but then dropped his hand. “You are safe with me, Avery.”

“It’s an idea I need to get used to.”

He nodded and then sat back, waiting on me. He became so still. As if he’d dissolved into the furniture, afraid to even stir the air. Afraid I’d changed my mind about talking to him.

“When I was sixteen, my mom had a boyfriend named Tim, who was a cop.” When I looked at Bennett, his eyes were wide and intense. “I always got the feeling he was checking me out or looking at me in a different kind of way. The way he should be looking at my mom.” Bennett put his fist to his lips, but remained silent.

“He took an interest in me—in my schoolwork, my activities—he tried to build my trust. When I started dating Gavin, my first love, Tim acted strange. Almost jealous.”

Bennett reached for my hand and I offered it willingly, even though I was ashamed of what I would tell him next. Revealing this to him was like stripping the nerves from my body one strand at a time.

Painful, nearly impossible, and scary as hell.

What if he didn’t believe me, either?

I shook those thoughts away. He was not my mother. And he certainly wasn’t Tim.

There were few people in this world I trusted—and Bennett was quickly making the short list. He had somehow embedded himself beneath my skin, made me feel secure and protected, and here I was telling him one of my deepest, darkest secrets.