Page 37 of Love Wells Kept

“Yeah.” My eyes linger on the bed before slicing to her. “This is your bedroom…so I’m happy to go upstairs to the guest room. I don’t want to be a burden.”

She leans against the doorframe, a gentle smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “You’re anything but a burden, Jackson. I figured this makes the most sense so you don’t have to worry about any stairs…. Anyway, it’s been a long day, and you need your rest. We can bicker over sleeping arrangements later.”

My eyes close for about five times that of a typical blink, reminding me of everything I hate about my pain meds. The nod that follows is in slow motion, and before I’ve finished telling her to have a good night, she’s slipped back into the hallway, and the door shuts with a soft click.

In the bathroom, the shower has men’s shampoo next to a bottle of women’s. A blue toothbrush sits slanted in a cup next to a purple one. A men’s razor is set in a drawer below the sink—a few tiny beard trimmings strewn beside it. It’s as if I’m a stranger about to sleep in a married woman’s bed, snooping through her drawers and looking at her husband’s belongings. When I tug open the top drawer of the dresser she said was mine and grab a pair of gray boxers to sleep in, my stomach flip-flops.

And the bed. Fuck. The bed smells like her when she first walks into my hospital room. When she’s smiling, hair bouncing around her shoulders, and hopeful that something changed overnight. When my face nuzzles into the soft down of her pillow, I catch an earthy note amid the tropical. I breathe it in, filling my lungs so I can keep her scent there forever, just in case I wake up tomorrow and forget everything all over again.

I’ve been struggling to sleep—except when the drugs take over and knock me out against my will—because I don’t trust my brain. I’m terrified that if I sleep too long, I won’t wake up. Or I’ll wake up and find the slate’s been wiped clean again, and I’ll be scared, alone, and confused for the rest of my life.

But tonight, smelling her perfume and feeling the echo of her palm’s warmth against mine, the slow hearts her thumb drew on my skin, I’m calm. I don’t get angry about the heaviness in my bones or fight to keep my eyelids open even as my eyes burn. I clutch her pillow to my face, balling up in the center of the bed, and drift off with ease.

Kate

The blaring chime of my morning alarm clock comes a little too early for my liking when I couldn’t fall asleep until nearly three a.m.

When I returned for my second round of bloodwork at the hospital to confirm I’d miscarried, I hadn’t considered that the lab would send those results to my usual healthcare provider. And, as luck would have it, that healthcare provider is also my sister-in-law. Thankfully, when Blair showed up at the house that evening with a worried look and the longest hug I’d had since the accident, she was also able to give me a much-needed prescription for a sleeping aid.

But with it being Jackson’s first night at home, I couldn’t bring myself to take it. In case he needed me, or the kids woke up and went looking for me—only to find a man who looked a lot like their dad lying in our bed but who wouldn’t be able to help them scare away monsters in the way their daddy always can.

Once I’ve woken up enough to roll out of bed, I slide my feet into plush slippers and amble my way to the kitchen, following the strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

I can’t help but notice that our bedroom door is still shut, and I consider checking on him, but think better of it right before the ache to reach for him fully consumes me. Before the accident, Jackson was always an early riser, as ranchers tend to be. It was ingrained in his very DNA by his father and grandfather and all those before. Post-accident, he needs his rest, and there’s still plenty of time before he needs his morning pills, so I take the fact that he’s seemingly asleep as a good sign.

Beryl beams at me from her perch on a counter stool. She already has croissants baking, coffee on, and the sourdough starter fed, and she’s casually flipping through a newspaper.

The earlier the sunrise gets, the earlier the cowboys come in to grab their bagged lunches, which we always make the day before. These days, the guys are typically in and out of here around five-thirty a.m., and it doesn’t matter how long I’ve lived here, I can’t bring myself to drag my ass into the kitchen that early.

“Morning,” I announce wearily to Beryl and to Austin, who’s lost in a mountain of paperwork spread across the table.

He grumbles a half-hearted greeting, then promptly sets his pencil down and looks up once he’s realized it’s me who walked in the room. “How did things go last night?”

“Good, I think?” I sort through the plethora of mugs in the cupboard until I find the biggest one. I think it’s technically meant for soup. “I think it was all kind of weird for him…being here, seeing the kids.”

“It’ll be better for him to be home,” Beryl says, lifting her own coffee mug to her lips and pausing to finish her thought. “Nothing helps someone recover like having people around who love them. You let us know what he needs from us. What you need from us.”

Slow and steady, coffee fills my cup almost to the rim, and I top it with a few glugs of creamer and a hearty spoonful of sugar. I lean back against the counter, relishing the warmth of the mug cradled in my hands and savoring the first sip.

“Right now, this is all I need. Coffee and quiet. A peaceful morning.”

Beryl taps the empty stool next to her. “Then enjoy it, honey.”

With a well-timed yawn, I make my way to sit beside her, settling the heavy ceramic mug onto the speckled white counter. Looking to the ceiling, I gather my hair in one hand and slowly release it. The strands fall across the nape of my neck and fan across my lower back, so thick and heavy I feel it through the threadbare fabric of my pajama shirt.

The quiet doesn’t last for long. It never does.

“Mom-uh.” Odessa storms into the kitchen with wild, uncombed hair slapping her shoulders with every step. “Rhett licked my toothbrush!”

I stare at the slow swirl of unstirred creamer ribboning through my coffee. “He’s your little brother. Rinse it off and you’ll be fine.”

Her jaw hangs slack with disgust. “No. Ew. He’s disgusting.”

“Odessa, you put manure in your mouth when you were a toddler. Your brother’s germs are the least of your problems.”

Austin audibly gags.

“There are new toothbrushes in the hall closet upstairs,” I say, not feeling up to fighting with her over a toothbrush.