Hearts of Jade (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 3) Page 6

  I sigh as I grab my swimming bag off the hook on the back of the door. “Dec, you know that most times I don’t mind verbally sparring with you, but this time you just need to stick a sock in it and let me help you. Sit tight for a bit and I’ll be right back.”

  When I come back into the bathroom, Declan lets out a long moan and I regret my decision to take the time to change into a bathing suit. I should’ve crawled into the shower wearing my clothes. I just hate wearing wet jeans. “Hop in the shower, let’s get this show on the road. Dinner is going to get cold,” I instruct, as I check the water temperature. I jump into the shower and extend my hand for him to hold.

  A pained expression crosses Declan’s face as he asks, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Sure it is,” I respond, as I fix the plastic bag over his cast and refasten the tape. “I told you that I used to take care my grandparents all the time. I’m really good at this kind of stuff.”

  Declan groans as he replies, “Jade, something tells me it won’t exactly be the same.”

  I shrug. “Dec, I’m not exactly known for playing by the rules, so whatever happens, happens. It’s not going to do anybody any good to worry about it right now. You’re about to collapse where you stand, so please let me take care of you. We’ll sort it all out later.”

  I can tell when he gives up the fight. Usually when we spar, it’s for fun and it’s usually about something lighthearted and stupid. I think one of the last arguments we had was over which flavor of ice cream was the best. The one before that was over whether Coke or Pepsi was the preferable brand of cola. When we argued over the correct way to hang up toilet paper, the argument went on so long that I finally had to settle it with the original patent illustration. In all the years that we’ve been friends, I’ve never known him to acquiesce quite so quickly. Usually, there’s quite a bit more teasing involved and at least a few more rounds of protest votes at least. As I take a moment to study him, his bruises stand out against his pale skin even more than they did this morning and although the swelling has gone down a little bit around his eye, it still looks extremely painful. He looks shaky and frail. It is not a look I associate with him at all.

  Cautiously, I help him step over the side of the tub. I stand him in front of the shower head as I duck around him and grab the handheld shower wand. Living alone, this garden tub always seemed a little excessive to me, but I’m beginning to see its benefits since I can freely move around Declan. I put some of my shower gel on a sponge and start to wash his back and his arms. I can feel his muscles flex under the sponge and I take a second to appreciate the power and symmetry. This is a little disconcerting and I didn’t expect it to be. I touch guys all the time — it’s part of my job. In fact, I’ve touched Declan in some pretty intimate places, but it’s never been quite like this. It’s almost as if there is some weird electrical current sparking between us. I must be imagining things because we’ve never taken our relationship there before. Sure, sometimes we make jokes with each other about our dating status, but it’s never been serious.

  Shaking my head, I try to get my head back in the game and concentrate on what I’m supposed to be paying attention to. I kneel on the bottom of the tub and wash his legs. As I make my way up toward his thighs, he makes a slight choking sound as he commands, “I’ve got it from here.”

  “You sure?” I ask as I stand up.

  Declan closes his eyes tightly and clutches the wet towel at his waist as he nods. “I’m fine.”

  I look around the bathtub enclosure until I find the bottle that I’m looking for and I grab it as I order, “Lean down a little so that I can wash your hair.”

  Declan rolls his eyes and complains, “I suppose I’m going to smell like roses or baby powder or something all day.”

  The corner of my mouth turns up as I retort, “I suppose that could be arranged if you’d like. I have a ton of different kinds of shampoo, but I like this particular one because it smells like pine trees at Christmas.”

  “That’s macho of you J, I’m impressed. I thought you might be all about girly stuff. I’ve seen some of your shoes, remember?”

  “Like I told you, I’m not a big follower of arbitrary rules,” I quip. When I reach up to wash his hair and massage his scalp with my fingertips, he makes a sound that can only be described as a male purr. He opens his good eye suddenly as if he’s in shock that he let his guard down enough to allow that to happen.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles.

  “It’s all right, just relax and let me help you. You’ll get used to it,” I murmur softly.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Declan confesses as he leans his head back against my shoulder.

  I’VE HEARD OF THINGS BEING simultaneously heaven and hell, but I’ve never felt that concept so acutely until now. If it hadn’t been for the hospital incessantly calling my cell phone to check on me to make sure that I made it home, our shower would’ve ended very differently. As fate would have it, earlier today, while Jade was in the pharmacy getting my medication, I was bored and I reprogrammed all of the ring tones on my phone and I assigned the hospital an ambulance siren for a ring tone. While I was amused when I did it, it was not so amusing when things started getting hot-n-heavy in the shower. I was just about to move in for some serious kissing and my phone went berserk. Talk about your complete mood killer.

  I thought I had pulled myself together pretty well and was acting like a relatively normal human being, but things went way off track again at dinner time. I’m still not sure exactly what went wrong. I was having a blast discovering Jade’s hidden talents as a cook. I honestly didn’t know she knew how to do anything except heat up Hot Pockets in the microwave. That’s the only thing I’ve ever seen her eat. I thought she subsists entirely on TV dinners and energy drinks. I’m shocked to learn that she has mad culinary skills. She insists that she’s not that great, but she cooks better than anybody I know. My mom is pretty decent, but nothing like Jade. My mom taught my brothers and me just enough that we don’t burn the house down. Beyond that, I wouldn’t call us gifted. I can grill decent steaks on the barbecue, but I wouldn’t win any contests at the firehouse. I’m supposed to be taking it easy for a couple of weeks because my attackers did some pretty serious damage with the metal pipe and I’ve got some bruised ligaments that the doctors want to heal before I put them under any substantial stress.

  Everything seemed to be going okay until we started talking about Jade’s movie collection and she brought out a dessert. Actually, more precisely, I was arguing with her about whether she was going to let me add a bunch of premium channels to her cable package while I’m staying here. As soon as I saw the Nilla wafer dessert, I made some stupid, off-hand remark, “Sweet! I used to make that stuff all the time with my brother, Finn.”

  Jade abruptly dissolves into tears. Her reaction completely stuns me. I’ve seen Jade in some pretty stressful situations, and I’ve never seen her burst into tears. I have been present when Jett dressed her down in front of customers in a way that would send me crying for my mom and I’ve heard customers at the shop say vile and nasty things to her that made me want to bawl or punch someone. Fortunately, their behavior earned them a lifetime ban from Ink’d Deep. Even through all that, I’ve never seen her like this. I guide her over to the couch and lean her back against my chest, ignoring my tender ribs as she finally relaxes into me and starts telling me about the painful memories involving her brother, Onyx.

  I feel absolutely helpless. There really isn’t anything I can do to help or make the situation better. Her brother is gone and there isn’t anything I can do to fix it for her. Unfortunately, I can’t bring him back. Sadly, I didn’t really know him. He must’ve already gone away to college when I first got my tattoo from Jett. All I can do is try to guess the type of person he was by the imprint he left behind on the people that I care about. The size of the crater left in Jade’s life is understandably huge.

  She had a relationship with her brother t
hat I wish I had with mine. Finn and Rowan are okay as far as brothers go, but nobody would be making any mushy greeting cards about us either. Everything is competitive beyond belief in my family. Who can rack up the most customer contacts? Who can sell the most cars? Who can sell the most warranties? Who can bring in the most customers? Who can shake the most hands in a day? That’s what was discussed at my dinner table when I was growing up. It was part of the family doctrine from before we could speak for ourselves. Before my brothers and I could form our own friendship bonds, we were bred to compete with each other. I just never really felt like I had their support, especially when I decided that I wanted to break away from the family and determine my own path in life. That just isn’t really done in my family. Everyone is expected to branch out and start a new family car lot. It is what you do when you have my last name. Only, it’s not what I wanted to do. Making that decision has cost me nearly everyone I love.

  Although, as I look at Jade dozing on my chest, I realize how unfair my own thoughts are. As annoying and overpowering as my family is, it would only take a few very awkward and condescending phone calls for me to be back in touch with them. We just seem to be at an impasse at the moment because no one seems to know how to make the first move. Unfortunately, Jade and her family don’t have the option. Onyx is forever gone.

  Hearing how the suicide of her brother permeates every facet of Jade’s life makes me contemplate what it would be like if my family was truly absent from mine. Over the last few years I’ve tried to connect with my family, but it usually ends up being a huge train wreck with things more messed up than when I started. So I just started staying away from my family entirely. It seems less painful that way. After listening to all of Jade’s stories, I wonder if my approach really is less painful for everyone. If I’m honest with myself, I miss my mom a lot. Sometimes, I wonder how much she misses me. I hope she is not in as much pain as Jade. I never set out to break my mom’s heart. I just wanted to be my own person.

  Jade becomes restless and shifts in her sleep. She inadvertently elbows me and it’s all I can do to not jump off the couch as she hits one of my fractured ribs. As I suck in a deep breath, I glance down at her and notice a tear trailing down her cheek. I whisk it away with the pad of my thumb. Jade mumbles in her sleep and moves toward the heat of my hand as she snuggles closer and tangles her fingers in my hair. Yep, this is pretty much like walking a tightrope between heaven and hell. For years I have dreamed of holding Jade just like this. These are so not the circumstances under which I wanted something like this to happen. As I raise my other hand to stroke her hair, I am rudely reminded that nothing says romance like a fiberglass cast.

  Two things hit me all at once when I wake up. First, Jade isn’t with me anymore and secondly, at some point during the night, somebody must’ve come in and broken every single bone in my body and tried to pry my face off with a crowbar. What the hell happened to me? I hurt so bad I need to hurl — oh crap, I need to puke. I can’t even move. “Jade!” I bellow as I try to take a deep breath and stave off the inevitable.

  She runs into the living room wearing a microscopically short bathrobe and a towel on her head “Sorry, I was just hoping to get a shower while you were still asleep,” Jade remarks, as she comes around the corner of the couch. As soon as she sees the expression on my face, she stops dead in her tracks and exclaims, “I’m an idiot, I let you get behind on your pain medication and now you’re a mess. I don’t know what happened last night. I guess I shouldn’t have gotten started talking about Onyx. That’s my problem, not yours. You have enough pain going on, I shouldn’t have added to all of that. Even worse, I used you as a pillow even though I knew you were sore. Some Florence Nightingale I am.”

  I start to try to explain that it wasn’t her fault but as soon as I open my mouth, a wave of nausea overtakes me and I have to stop and start breathing funny again. Jade must have read my expression because she grabs a plant off over the side table by the couch and removes it from the decorative galvanized bucket. She hands me the bucket and says, “I’ll be back with a cool washcloth and some ginger ale.”

  “I don’t want to ruin your stuff,” I croak between breaths. “I absolutely hate to throw up. When I was little, Finn used to tell me that throwing up was all of the souls that couldn’t find a place to live in your body escaping so that they could inhabit someone else. I suppose on a certain level, there is part of me that might still believe that to be true.”

  Jade rolls her eyes at me as she replies, “It’s just a bucket from the discount store, it can be replaced. You’re just tossing your cookies, not spewing nuclear waste or anything.”

  Another wave of nausea hits and I have to hunch over the bucket and as usual, my mop of hair is being a gargantuan pain in the ass. This is going to be a colossal mess. I angrily try to tuck it behind my ear, but it’s not very effective. I feel Jade’s cool hand on my shoulder as she suggests, “Let me take care that for you.”

  To be honest, between my colossal shiner and my current headache and nausea, I’m having trouble focusing on the world around me and I can’t really figure out what she’s doing. Apparently, she has a hair tie around her wrist and she is gathering my hair up into a ponytail.

  “Better?” Jade asks when she completes her task.

  Instinctively I nod and that was very last straw. I let loose with a scene reminiscent of some horror movie. I haven’t been this sick since Finn and Rowan persuaded me to drink green beer when I was about nine. When I finally finish my own personal exorcism, I feel about as capable as a newborn. It seems as if every bit of blood has rushed out of my upper torso and down to my feet. I feel shaky and cold. I close my eyes and rest against the back of the couch. I don’t know how long I lay there before I hear Jade suggest, “You might feel better if you rinse your mouth out.”

  I struggle to open my good eye and focus. Wow, I must’ve been out longer than I thought I was, because now Jade is wearing cut-offs and with western cut halter-to that always makes me think she would be right at home at a Texas barn-dance somewhere. She is holding out a tray with my toothbrush, toothpaste and a cup of water with a dish to spit in.

  Ironically, my body chooses that very second to wake the rest of the way up and more pressing needs take over. I look up at her with a startled look on my face as I blurt, “It’s nice of you to do that, but right now I desperately need to pee. The only problem is, I hurt so bad that I’m not even sure I can walk. I think I should’ve stayed in the hospital. I don’t even know how to handle taking a piss right now.”

  Much to her credit, Jade doesn’t even look fazed by my awkward announcement. She merely sets the tray down and proclaims, “From my experience, it’s best to approach this stuff one step at a time. If you really feel bad, I can get you an old coffee can to pee in.”

  I consider myself a pretty worldly guy. After all, I’m a street performer. I’ve seen pretty much everything. I routinely perform at clothing optional Renaissance Fairs, but the idea of relieving myself in a coffee can and needing Jade to take care of that for me is a little too much, even for me. I blush bright red as I stammer, “No, I think I’d like to try going to the restroom on my own. I’m a big boy — or, at least I was a few days ago. Now I’m not so sure.”

  Jade just shakes her head at me as she says, “Declan, you were beaten to the point of unconsciousness. It is a miracle that you weren’t more seriously hurt. Stop worrying about trying to impress me. At this point, I’m impressed you’re still breathing. I’ve cleaned up a lot worse stuff than puke in my lifetime. Get over it.”

  I give her a mock salute, forgetting about my bad hand, “Crap, this is going to be a long recovery,” I mutter to myself.

  Jade grins at me as she quips, “Buck up, Buttercup. Look at it this way; at least you’re not standing on a street corner busking. It’s pouring down rain.” She turns the television on and flips through the channels. After pausing on the guide channel for a few moments she exclaims, “Oh look! There’
s a Rocky marathon starting in about thirty minutes. That ought to keep you busy for a while. Let’s get you up so I can make you some breakfast,” she cajoles as she helps pull me to a standing position.

  I’m not exactly sure what to say about that, I’m almost positive that I didn’t tell her I had Sylvester Stallone posters on my wall as a kid — I’m pretty certain she wouldn’t find that little fact overly impressive.

  Fortunately, my wake-up calls the next couple of mornings are a little less eventful, but being this dependent on someone isn’t getting any easier. I can’t remember sleeping this much since I was a teenager. The last time I was this exhausted, I was in the eighth grade and all three of us got mono. I’m still amazed that my mom survived all of that. My brothers and I were cranky for a couple of months straight — she must’ve thought she was going insane.

  I’m starting to get stir crazy already. It’s funny how when you get something that you’ve always wished for, it doesn’t seem to be what you thought it would be. A lot of people think that being a street musician is an easy gig. I can understand why they think that because I’m free to go places that I want to go and see the people I want to see. I don’t check in with a particular boss and if I don’t like my coworkers, I can just go work somewhere else. Those are the things that I like about what I do. What people don’t see is how incredibly hard I work. I do actually have to keep a pretty regular schedule; my tips are better when people can expect me to be at a certain place, at a certain time. If coffee shops, restaurant owners and fair organizers can count on me to be around, they’re more likely to invite me to play for them again. That reduces the risk for me as a musician. If I don’t have to go into a strange neighborhood, I know that I’m not busking in anyone else’s territory and throwing shade on anyone else. I usually try not to overlap with anyone else’s corner or take someone else’s tips.