Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

CHAPTER 14

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Jack stayed all day. When Tristan woke, he waited, while I saw him and I didn't try to read anything into the decision. It seemed sound. Tristan would only be confused if some strange guy were with me.

My steps were much lighter after seeing my son alert, even though his eyes were bleary, instead of alight with his latest mischief. Bravely, he even smiled upon seeing me, and talked some between Jello bites. The oxygen had been removed, the tubes hanging discarded over his bed, and relieved, I watched his small chest expand and contract beneath the hospital gown. Beneath the covers was the miracle of modern science; I had peaked at the bandages in my last bedside visit while Tristan was sleeping. The pain medication had him falling asleep fast, especially once he ate, and eventually, a nurse ran me out of the room.

Jack seemed to hang on every detail, even asking what flavor Jello, and if Tristan liked that flavor the best. I was feeling so good about his prognosis, that I eagerly nodded when Jack offered to hunt down the cafeteria and bring some food back.

As I watched him walk away, my eyes honed in on the fit of his jeans, and my fingers unconsciously curled into the gel case of my phone. When he disappeared from my line of vision, I stared at my hands and wondered what exactly was going on between the two of us. Was he feeling this same closeness, like we were already joined by more than one night of sex, and a son?

From my pocket, my phone pounded his ring tone, and people all around me rubbernecked, some frowning with disapproval, some smiling in amusement at the screeching guitar riff, and rowdy scream. Quickly, fishing it out, I jabbed at the screen and spoke, “Hey, what's up?”

Considerately, Jack gave me a rundown of the food choice, and I found it difficult to select while being too engaged by the sound of his voice.

“Cool,” Was his acknowledgment when I finally spoke.  Then, “What to drink?”

“Tea,” I chimed, happily imagining the icy caffeine drink after doing carbonated canned caffeine and hot coffee all day. “Unsweet.”

“Unsweet?!” His exclamation rebounded without pause.

“Yes, if they have it.”

“You sure you are a southern girl?”

My already growling stomach rumbled at that husky barb. “Last time I checked I cud still get a ya'll on better'n any gurl in this neck o the woods.” Before the stress and fatigue of the day, compounded with nerves due to what seemed mild flirtation, caused me to blurt anything else equally ridiculous, I bit my lip and did a face palm.

His response was not disappointing; his voice dropped another pitch and decibel, “That's for damn sure, Mariss.”

My stomach lurched again. Was he purposely taking me back to the Hangout Fest? Or did he think that is what I had done with my crazy remark?

In the pause that followed, the sounds of the cafeteria filtered through, and I heard him phrase a polite a thank you to someone, then he spoke back into the phone, “Want desert? Never mind, stupid question. Everyone wants desert. See you in a sec.” And with that sweet promise, he dropped the call before I could refuse whatever sweet delectable goodness he was looking at.

A prickle of awareness was becoming familiar, and, several minutes later, my vision turned, from absent-minded 'people watching', back to the hallway. Intently, I savoured his approach with as much hunger as I devoured his exit; an appetite that had nothing to do with the containers of food he balanced with both hands.

The moment his attention came my way, I averted my eyes to the television, hopefully, before he saw my mouthwatering stare.

Side by side, we flipped opened Styrofoam lids, and before the steam even fully escaped, I forked my first bite of lasagna swallowing it whole. Jack was tearing up a hamburger and french fries as if he hadn't eaten in days.