Someone Else's Ocean(82)

Because I needed her too, and as dangerous as it was to get that admission, I didn’t feel so alone in my ache and maybe, just maybe, my confession that I needed her the same would be enough for us for the moment.

My phone vibrated again, and I picked it up to see a local area code.

“Hello.”

“Ian, it’s Jasmine.”

My heart sank as every nerve in my body fired. “No, oh fuck, is she all right?”

“She’s been in an accident. Some asshole t-boned her at a light but thankfully he wasn’t going that fast. She’s got a rash from the airbag, but she’s okay. I’m bringing her home now. She just didn’t want you to worry.”

“Why didn’t she call me?”

The silence confirmed my worst fear. “She had an attack?”

“Yes,” Jasmine confirmed with a whisper, “and it was nasty. They gave her some meds and she’s a little loopy.”

“Okay.”

“Just don’t walk on eggshells, okay, or she’ll know I told you.”

“I won’t.”

“Ian, at some point you aren’t going to be there, right?”

Pressing my lips together I tried to push away the burn in my chest. “Right.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

On the defensive but feeling like a bastard, I answered. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“But you’re going to. And if I’m being honest, I think you already are.”





Pacing the floor, I let out a sigh of relief when the front door opened. Koti appeared with a small red rash on the side of her nose and a larger stretch of it covering her chin.

“So today sucked,” she said with a laugh. “I’m slightly medicated.”

In an instant, she was in my arms. “I’m so sorry.” I pulled away.

“I’m totally fine. Airbags fucking hurt though just so you know, stay as far away from the wheel when you drive as you possibly can. I feel like I got punched by a heavyweight.”

“That bad?”

“Not on Vicodin and Xanax,” she said with a laugh. “I’m feeling pretty damn loose, professor, tonight might be a good time to experiment.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Look at you, rolling your eyes. I do remember you grounding your daughter for that.”

“Are you okay, really?”

She paused when she read my expression. “She told you, didn’t she? That asshole.”

“Why can’t I know?”

“Why should you know?” She ran her hands through her longer blonde hair. She’d been growing it out since I’d arrived at the island. I hadn’t told her, but I loved it that length. I hadn’t told her I loved a lot of things. “Because I’m the man waiting for you, that’s why.”

Ignoring me, she took a seat on the barstool by the island. “You’re cooking for me?”

Her smile was forced, but I went with it.

“Yeah, I wanted to surprise you with my favorite dish from when I was a boy.”

“What is it?”

“It’s called Boboties. It’s spiced meat with egg custard and topped with raisins.”

“That sounds… interesting. Let’s do this, I’m starving. All I’ve had to eat today was flying metal with a side of glass soup.”

I frowned at her indifference, feeling her rattle with nerves across from me. “Not funny.”

She held up her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart in front of her. “A little bit funny. My Jeep is totaled, well, my parents’ Jeep. I don’t even own a car, how am I going to have a baby?”

I froze the workings of my hands and faced her. “You’re pregnant?”

She must have realized her slip. “No. God, Ian, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she waved her hand like any drugged person would.

“Why are you talking about a baby then?”

“I just, in the future if I wanted to have a baby, I don’t even own a car. I’m too poor to be a mother. Never mind, I’m rambling.”

I pressed for more information, high on pills or not, I had to know.

“Are you thinking about a family?”

“I just saw the cutest little boy ever and it made my ovaries ache, that’s all. Don’t get weird.”

“I’m not being weird, you’re being weird.”

“I’m high, what’s your excuse? And why aren’t you cooking, crocky? I’m starving!”

“On it, your highness.”

A beat of silence passed. “He was beautiful though—the baby, Noble—he was perfect. Shy, and just so… they were happy, you know, it wasn’t forced or fake, you could see how happy they were.”

I began slicing some onion. “It’s okay to want a family, Koti.”

She laughed without an ounce of humor. “Yeah, uh, I’d be a great mom. ‘Hold on honey, mommy’s having an anxiety attack in the pantry because I can’t handle making a hundred cupcakes for your class tomorrow.’” She spun on the stool animatedly delivering her own self-deprecating blows as my chest cracked for her.

“Thousands of people with anxiety have children, stop it.”