Page 70 of Second Go-Round
I fought off tears, biting my tongue. My lips. And still, Christine continued offering comfort—to both the dying girl and herself.
Christine struggled to stand, and I offered assistance so she could lean over Mary Rose to kiss her pale forehead as I had done.
“I’m going to live enough for the both of us, Rosie,” Christine whispered. “I’m going to love Nurse Zimmerman as hard as I can, as long as fate allows.”
A tear trickled down my cheek as Christine turned into me, burying her face against my neck. Blinking, I widened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, trying like hell not to cry.
“I love you, Jarod.” The whispered words against my skin broke down the final dam inside me.
I sobbed, embracing the woman leaning against me and all aspects of life as well. Saying goodbye to my favorite little patient and finding the greatest comfort in the verbal declaration I’d been hoping to hear for entirely too long.
Chapter 30
Christine
We celebrated little Rosie with over a hundred people in attendance at a party held in her honor. Same as with the fundraiser, it was a who’s who event, but no alcohol flowed, and the air held grief regardless of the video on repeat showing happier times in her life.
Jarod and I had gone together, and I got to meet his coworker, Wendy, aka Dr. Carr. Having the connection of Rosie, we greeted one another more cordially than if I’d met her the night of Rosie’s ball. We both had tears in our eyes, and she offered Jarod and me best wishes in our newfound relationship.
It turned out, she’d been the one to push Jarod into trying for another go-round with me the evening of Rosie’s ball. I’d turned him down, but things had turned out as they should. Had I agreed to fuck his brains out that night and shit went downhill afterward, he never would have gone to the football game with me. I might have ended up at O’Neill’s with someone else—and I might not have made it out of the rubble alive.
Not one to live thinking too much about the what-ifs, I simply thanked the doctor, hating the crutches shoved under my armpits that made wearing heels and a fancy dress impossible while she looked sleek and sexy in her little black dress.
But Jarod didn’t care what I put on or if I wore makeup. The man stayed by my side, his hand on my lower back while greeting people. He’d told me how beautiful I looked in the pink blouse I wore in Rosie’s honor and the black slacks that slimmed my thighs.
And him in a black suit and tie?
He was utterly devastating to my eyes, heart, and body regardless of the somberness hovering over the hall housing our party.
Uncle Bradley, Auntie Sophie, and her sister Loretta who had arrived late, eventually ended up beside the two of us.
Uncle Bradley held out his hand to Jarod. “We can’t express our appreciation enough,” he said as the two men shook. “Our little Mary Rose adored you, and I know she would be excited to see you with her Chrissy. You were two of her favorite people.”
Jarod’s wet eyes gleamed, the corners turned down slightly, making my own throat tighten up even more. “She was an absolute doll. A breath of fresh air, and it was a pleasure to care for her. She didn’t have enough time, but the joy she brought…” Jarod’s voice broke, and he pursed his lips, nodding.
Her short life had held incredible value. Loving her had been worth the heartache of losing her.
I swallowed against tears, glancing over to find Dad headed toward us. Tasting a lighter dose of the grief he’d endured after losing Mom only made me love him all the more. But I wanted more for him. Hoped for it to the deepest parts of my soul.
He hugged Uncle and Auntie before turning to Loretta. A smile curved his lips, and they hugged, lingering while whispering words of condolences to one another.
Jarod lifted my hand, the brush of his lips over my knuckles turning my focus his way. Emotion poured from his eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to hold him close, press his face to my chest, and run my fingers through his hair. My heart ached for it. Add in my rubbed raw armpits from the damned crutches, and I was ready to call it a night.
We said our goodbyes which included more hugs and tears, before heading back to my house.
As he did whenever spending the night with me, Jarod helped me undress down to my panties and slid in beside me on soft sheets. But instead of shifting into his embrace, I pulled him against me and did what I’d longed to do earlier.
I held Jarod to my breast while he cried, uninhibited and vulnerable.
Had there been any question in my mind about my heart being lost to him, it rested at that moment. And once he sought out my mouth, the salt of his tears between our lips, we celebrated our own lives, further entwining our souls together.
“No more crutches,” I told Dad.
“Thank God,” he said, his happiness clear over the cell.
“Thank fuck is more like it,” I stated, firmly thrilled to have some sense of freedom back.
Being a gimp and needing help to damn near do anything wasn’t a good look on me. Bless Jarod’s little heart for his persistence and his steadfastness in being beside me through it all. Surgery. PT. Bathing. Putting on my damn clothes.
