Free Middle of Knight by Jewel E. Ann Page B

say that.” He walked back down the stairs.
    She retreated. “Well, you didn’t say you’re staying.”
    “I didn’t say anything!” An eerie silence followed his echo.
    “I can’t move to Portland with you,” she said, her voice soft—regretful. “But maybe you weren’t going to ask me to anyway.”
    “I don’t know what I’m doing.” His shoulders slumped. “I haven’t even told my son that I’m dying.”
    “You’re not—”
    “Don’t!” He sighed. “I’ll let everyone but you think that a miracle is going to happen. My parents believe it, Brooke believes it—hell, even I want to believe it—but you are my real … my truth. You are the only clarity in this whole fucked-up mess. You don’t have to watch me die to accept that it’s going to happen. But what if they do?”
    She couldn’t look at him. He’d put her up on a pedestal as if she were invincible, a rock that could not be broken. He was so very wrong.
    AJ kissed the top of her head. “I have to go back over there.” He turned and walked up the stairs.
    “AJ?”
    “Yeah?” he answered with his back to her.
    “There’s no acceptance in watching someone die. There’s only a lifetime of regret from knowing you couldn’t stop it from happening.”

Chapter Nine
    I t took Ryn several days to recover from a near-kiss, or a half-kiss, or whatever involved Jackson’s tongue grazing the top of her lip. Her hormones giving her whiplash didn’t help either. Unpredictable periods toyed with her, making it impossible to prepare for them. In the middle of the night she had a hot flash. A. Hot. Flash! What was she, sixty? Then the next minute she thought about sex—nonstop. She imagined having sex with every guy she saw, and it had nothing to do with their looks because she also imagined every couple she saw having sex too.
    Sex. Sweat. Sex.
    Her body couldn’t decide if it wanted to act sixteen or sixty.
    Gunner barked while she made a late dinner: an egg salad sandwich. She knew someone had to be at her house because it’s the only time he barked when she was home.
    “Who’s here, baby?” She looked out the front window and jumped, pressing her back against the wall next to the window, trying to hide.
    “Oh God.” Ryn closed her eyes. Her khaki shorts had permanent oil stains from lemon wood polish and her large T-shirt looked even more grotesque and two sizes too big, resembling a night shirt. She couldn’t bear to think about her bra: a compression sports bra that made her chest one small speed bump. Maybe the large shirt was a blessing.
    The door bell rang. “Just a minute.” She grimaced. He could probably tell from the nearness of her voice that she was two feet from the door. There was never an extra dose of confidence around when she needed it.
    “Hi … what are you doing here?” She tried to keep most of her body hidden behind the door.
    “I’ve been displaced from my house by twins.”
    “Twins?”
    “Five-year-old girls.”
    “Oh … cute.”
    “Not cute.”
    “You don’t like kids?”
    “Just my own.”
    “Oh, wow … you have kids?”
    Ryn didn’t realize she was just one of many victims that fell for that line.
    “Not yet, but mine will be awesome.”
    She nodded slowly. “I see … sort of. Well, I’d invite you in but—”
    “Great. I’d love to.” He squeezed through the small opening. “Nice place.”
    There was nowhere to hide.
    “Thanks. I’m kind of in need of a shower and clean clothes, and I was just getting ready to eat—”
    “Great. I’m starving.” He slid his hands in his back pockets and grinned.
    Jackson looked much more edible than anything she had in her kitchen.
    “O-kay, we’re having dinner together now?”
    “Of course. I need to know if my future wife can cook?”
    Ryn laughed. It was a nervous laugh, a so-we’re-still-playing-this-game laugh. “It’s egg salad.”
    “Minus the egg shells?”
    She gave him a crazy look.