Raining Down Rules (20 page)

Chapter 42

I see a small child, her hands pressed against a frosty windowpane as her frantic eyes search the wide expanse of a driveway. She keeps repeating to herself, “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me. Daddy, please come back.” Tears stream down her face, and as the cool gray day gives way to a smoky gray night, not once does she move from the now handprint-stained window. She falls asleep with her head propped on the windowsill and a large-busted woman with graying hair picks her up and holds her tight to her chest. The little girl nuzzles close, whimpers as she’s carried up a set of stairs, and when she’s safely tucked into the large bed, she opens her eyes briefly and stares at the older woman.

“My mom left me.” She hiccups as fresh tears tumble down her chubby cheeks. “And now Daddy has too.”

“Oh, honey,” the woman coos softly. “Sometimes parents do silly things. Your momma didn’t want to leave you, she loved you very much.”

The woman’s soft hands brush the little girl’s cheeks and tuck her tear-stuck hair behind her ears. “You’re my little angel, darling, and I won’t ever leave you,” she whispers as she sits at the edge of the bed until the girl falls to sleep.

A rough bounce jolts me in my seat, waking me from my dream. Fresh tears roll down my cheeks from the memory of the day my father left me with Gran. It’s been sixteen years and it still cuts like a knife. Even as a four-year-old, Gran always said I was more aware of things going on around me than I should have been. And now, as I sit here on this plane, I realize I’m alone. Jordan left me, just like everyone else. What kind of guy sends you off on an airplane to fly alone to rush to the hospital to your grandmother who is lying unconscious and may not wake up? Why would he do that?

A voice blares through the cabin’s speakers saying we’ve landed in Warner and it’s two thirty-seven a.m. I vaguely remember Jordan packing up my suitcase for me and us driving to the airport and him speaking to someone on the phone, telling them to pick me up. Who would he have called?

A tall blonde woman dressed in a navy pencil skirt and a pale pink blouse meets me at my chair and reaches for my suitcase stored in the overhead compartment.

“I’m really sorry about your grandmother,” she says as she passes my suitcase to me. “I hope she gets better.”

“Thanks,” I say hoarsely. The woman’s bright red lips form a tight smile, which reveals her crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She walks me to the front of the plane and tells me to watch my step as I climb down. Standing not far from the stairs is a tall figure, dressed in gray sweatpants and a black shirt. My stomach jumps and then falls to my knees and without hesitation I drop my luggage and run to his open arms. He smells so good, musky and spicy all at once, and his arms hold me so tightly that I can’t hold back my tears.

“I’m so sorry, Jemma,” Vic says as he walks us back to my suitcase. “I’ve called the hospital and they are expecting you.”

“Thank you.” I hope he knows I’m not just thanking him for calling the hospital, but for coming to meet me. For being here when I need him most. For everything he has come to mean to me. Those two little words hold an apology I hope he feels. I was wrong to go meet Jordan; my future isn’t tied to him. Not anymore. I hope there is still a possible future here with Vic.

The truck is warm and smells like him, home and safety, but the ride to the hospital feels stuffy and full of unsaid words that hover between us like a thick fog. By the time we reach the hospital it’s after three a.m., and despite having slept most of the flight from Denver to Warner, I’m exhausted. Vic drops me off at the entrance to go park his truck, saying he'll meet me inside. A stout man probably in his seventies works the small security desk and offers up Gran’s room number. His gray eyes blink a few too many times as he realizes she’s in the cancer ward.

Vic finally emerges through the automatic doors and he brings with him a sense of calm. The familiar warmth of his hand on my lower back makes me pause, but he urges me through the hallway toward Gran. We pass the maternity ward and a pang of sadness washes over me, but I push away any real emotion from my past. I have to get to Gran before it’s too late.

The door to Gran’s room is slightly ajar and the lights are very dim. The smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of the machines keeping her alive send my heart to my knees. A respirator is taped onto her chalky cheeks and her chest rises and falls to the beat of the machine pumping oxygen into her lungs. This helpless woman is not my grandmother. She’s been so strong my whole life, always lifting me up and being there when I needed her. This lifeless shell can’t be her.

Vic’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder and he squeezes gently. “Why don’t you sit with her,” he suggests as he pulls up the blue leather recliner. “I’ll go find some coffee.”

Nodding in agreement, I sit beside her and wrap my hand around hers. The temperature in the room is warm, if not stifling, yet her hands are so cold. Fear mixes with anger as I search her wrist for an almost nonexistent pulse.

“Oh, Gran, why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me you were not getting better?” Leaning my head on the side of her bed, I’m flooded with memories of my life with Gran. My childhood was filled with her love and guidance, and though I was never spoiled, I was given the things I needed to become who I am today. In all ways that matter, Gran was my mother.

What am I going to do when my mother is no longer with me? What will I do with her house? The ranch? What will I do with myself?

A chirp from my phone alerts me to a text. I pull my phone from my purse and see a message from Jordan.

Is everything okay?

Is everything okay? Is he joking? I want to take his message, peel it from the screen, and throw it across the room. Why did he have to be so selfish and fly me to his concert? He should have known Gran was sicker than she led us all to believe. He should have known this would happen. It’s his fault I wasn’t by her side when she collapsed.

Gathering what strength and resolve I have left, I send him a message back.

No!

I hope he understands the restraint in my choice of words. What I want to do is tell him to go to hell. I don’t want anything to do with him, not after what’s happened. Especially after he kissed me like that. Heat blossoms on my cheeks as I recall his hungry lips and his body pressed against mine. Thank God my purse served as a barrier between us. I don’t know if I could have stopped him from going further if I would have felt his desire for me. What am I talking about? His need for me was in the way his tongue took control of mine.

But it’s too late for that. And too late for Jordan. He shouldn’t have asked me to go to Denver.

I shouldn’t have agreed to go.

“Coffee?” Vic asks, holding out a paper cup for me.

“Thank you.” The cup is warm in my hands, making the temperature in the room even worse. “It’s too hot in here, Gran wouldn’t like it.”

Vic glances around the room and locates a thermostat. “I turned it down a couple degrees, hopefully that helps.” He pulls a chair up next to me and studies Gran’s prone form. “Have you spoken to a doctor yet?”

My eyes don’t leave Gran as I shake my head. “I’m sure they’ll send one in soon.” Vic’s head bobs in agreement and we sit quietly waiting for someone to update us on her condition.

Sometime near dawn, someone clears their throat behind us. Both Vic and I apparently fell asleep. We turn to see a man dressed in hospital blue scrubs and a pair of round glasses. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, and with the way his lips are drawn tight, I can only guess at his news.

“Miss?” he asks casually as he reaches his hand to me.

“Jemma Bowers.” His grip is firm and his hand is noticeably dry. He’s not nervous to speak to me. I hope.

“Miss Bowers, I’m Doctor Nash, your grandmother’s oncologist here at the hospital. I’m afraid the news is not good.”

Vic’s arms wrap around me, embracing me in warmth. His strength is the only thing holding me up.

“But the medication?”

“Was experimental, at best. Cancer is an unpredictable mistress. She’s currently in a coma on life support. We’re keeping her alive. Her scans came back last night and the cancer made her body look like a Christmas tree. It’s spread everywhere. At this point, I would recommend talking to any additional family members and making plans for the inevitable.”

“There is no other family,” I say through the salty tears dripping down my cheeks. Vic’s warm arms squeeze me tighter and he pulls me even closer. “Will she wake up?”

Doctor Nash presses his fingers to his lips. “I’m sorry, but she’s essentially gone, Miss Bowers. Your grandmother has a do not resuscitate order on her chart. We’ve been keeping her alive for you. At his request.” His head bobs in Vic’s direction.

My heart stills in my chest and I don’t know how he knew what I needed, but somehow he did. Turning to him, I can see Gran’s condition is taking a toll on him as well. His eyes are rimmed in red and glossed over as though he’s on the verge of crying. Vulnerable is not a word I would ever use to describe Vic, but sitting here with me now, I can see how much he’s putting out there for me.

“So what do we do now?” I ask, still watching this beautiful man sitting beside me.

“I can give you some time with her before we disconnect the life support. Some patients hang on for a few days, others simply slip away. But you can stay as long as you’d like.”

Nodding, I take Gran’s hand in mine and Vic’s in my other. It’s hard not to notice the difference—one is still and slightly cold, the other warm and pulsing with life. “Thank you, Doctor Nash. I don’t want to be selfish and keep her here against her will. I’m ready for you to take her off the life support.”

As much as I despise the words that came from my own mouth, I know it is what Gran would have wanted. Doctor Nash’s lips form a thin line as he moves toward her bed. He studies the machines, then glances back at me as if to ask if I’m sure. My head slowly bobs up and down as he flips a single switch and the screens go dark. Gran’s chest stops rising and falling within five minutes.

Biting back a gasp, the tears sting my eyes and stain my cheeks. I fall against Vic, who keeps his arms wrapped tightly around me. Hot tears fall on my forehead and I know he’s mourning Gran too.

Chapter 43

Jordan

Shit. I hate funerals. I avoid them at all costs, but I had to come, for her. God, I felt like an ass as I left her on the plane, but I couldn’t go back there. For so many more reasons than I care to admit. But here I am, just about to step into a church full of people who have come to pay their respects to Gran. I’m impossibly unprepared to see Jemma again. Hell, after her obvious blow off text I’m not sure she wants to see me.

But I need to see her. I need to get some shit off my chest.

Maybe this isn’t the best time for it. But I may never have another chance.

Soft, dull music greets me at the doors of the church, along with a putrid mix of mildew and every brand of cologne known to man. The chairs, pews, whatever they’re called, are almost full, leaving me a single seat near the rear. I suppose this is for the best. I may have to cut out early.

But then I see her. Her cheeks are pale pink and her hair is styled into some sort of twisted braid that coils around her head like a halo. She’s wearing a black dress that clings to her in all the right places and makes me want to sweep her off her feet and take her to my rental car and do unholy things to her. She turns slightly, catching a glimpse of me, and her eyes widen in shock, most likely.

Shit. I shouldn’t have come.

She smiles politely at the elderly couple she’s speaking with and then starts walking toward me with an even smile that would suggest she’s neither pleased nor disappointed I’m here.

“I’m so glad you came,” she says as her graceful arms embrace me. “How did you know about the funeral?”

Of course she would think I wouldn’t know about it. But I called the hospital the next day, hoping she’d wake up. But then the nurses said she had passed away in the night and I booked my plane ticket the next day.

“Torrance is a pretty small town. It’s not hard to find out.”

Her head bobs up and down in agreement and her eyes fall to my shoulders. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot.” She hugs me again and pulls away. “There’s a luncheon at the house after the graveside service if you’d like to come.”

“Of course,” I say with a smile. I was going to her house no matter what. I need to talk to her.

“Great, I’ll see you after, then.”

I watch her walk back and take her seat as the preacher stands in front of the people gathered.

***

Somehow Jemma’s house has changed since I saw it last. Sure, Gran is gone, but that’s not it exactly. It’s almost as if the whole place is sagging, like the house is weeping over the loss. I haven’t seen Jemma yet, but I know she’s here. I can feel her presence. She has this way about her that fills your senses with peace and calm; and I feel it here.

“Hey, stranger.” A soft hand rests on my shoulder and I’m welcomed into a warm hug. “Thanks for coming. Gran would have liked that.”

“Jemma, is there someplace we can go to talk?” There’s no use in putting this off any longer. This thing between us is only growing heavier. She stands fully upright, scans the crowd of people in her house, and then guides me out the front door to the stables. The horses nicker at us as we walk in and the smell of sweet feed and horse is almost intoxicating. Jemma stands near the wall with her arms folded across her chest, a sure sign she’s feeling nervous.

“Listen,” I say, hoping I can get this all out. “I’m really sorry that I left you to fly back to Warner alone. I had a show the next day and, to be honest, I kind of freaked out.”

“Jordan, I—”

I raise my hand slightly to cut her off. “Please, let me finish.” She sucks in her bottom lip and nods. “I have so much to say, yet none of it seems to be right. So I’m just going to come right out and say what’s most important.”

I take a deep breath and give myself time to man up and talk. “I love you, Jemma. I’ve been an arrogant ass and selfish and, God, I don’t know if I’d even be alive if it weren’t for you. You saved me that day, even though I threw all you’d given me out the window. You’ve been in my thoughts every day for so long, and I’ve tried to do right by you since going to rehab. I know life with me won’t be easy. I’m moody, irritable, and always horny, but I love you. I love you so much it hurts when I’m away from you.”

“Jordan, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you love me, I know you do.”

Jemma’s head keeps shaking side to side in short jerks and tears pool on her eyelashes. Her bottom lip quivers and I think she’s about to burst into tears. God, what have I done? Quickly, I close the distance between us and wrap her in my arms. She melts into my chest and hot, wet tears begin to soak through my dress shirt.

“You’re not in love with me, Jordan,” she says against my chest, making my heart constrict. “You’re in love with the idea of me.”

My arms hold her closer as she tries to pull away. I have to find a way to convince her of my feelings.

“Jemma, you’re wrong. I fell in love with you months ago. You remember that day on the swing? I fell hard sitting there with you.”

She pulls away regardless of my confession and stands back, her moist eyes studying me. I can feel her slipping away from me, like a dream I’m waking from and having a hard time recalling. This can’t be happening.

“Are you in love with him?” I ask, dreading her answer. Her lip quivers and another tear glides down her pink cheek.

“For so long I dreamed about you telling me you loved me,” she begins. Her back is to me and I want so much to reach out and pull her back into my arms. “Since I was fourteen, marrying you has been all I ever wanted. But then I got pregnant and everything changed.”

Pregnant? When was she ever pregnant? “Jemma,” I say, reaching for her.

She turns back to me, holding her hands in front of her. “Please let me finish.” She pauses and I take a step back and run a hand through my hair. “I’ve lived for so long by these rules I created for myself to protect my heart, and as much as I had wanted you to be the one to break through them…” She sighs and closes her eyes. “It was Vic. I never planned on him, never thought someone like him could love me. But he does. And I love him too.”

“Shit,” I say, and clasp my hands behind my neck. This is not how I imagined things going today. I never thought it was possible for Jemma to drive a stake into my heart. Nevertheless, she has, and it hurts like hell. My chest clenches as she reaches for me and I know if I don’t push her away, I’ll regret my actions.

“Listen,” I say gruffly, “I’m going to head out. I’m really sorry about Gran. Take care, all right?”

“Jordan,” she calls as I walk away from her. God, I could use a drink. As calmly as I can, I walk to the piece of crap rental car I’m driving, climb inside, and drive off in a hurry.