Melts away.
I do a once-over of the room, stupidly making sure it’s me he’s looking at like this and not some random-ass ghost in the corner.
My cheeks turn as warm as Noah’s forehead while the room falls quiet—an agonizing silence I’m unsure of how to break. Blame it on the lack of light, the slight darkness encompassing us, but in the still of this bedroom, in the faint light of glow-in-the-dark stars, we share a moment.
A moment that stalls my breathing.
One I’ll never forget as I search his eyes for something.
Questions?
Answers?
What-ifs?
What if Heather had never left him?
How could someone leave this man … this family?
The cord of this—whatever it is—snaps when Noah coughs. I tense, common sense smacking into me with a reminder to pull my shit together. Cohen steps forward, and our attention diverts to Noah. We wait as if his next move will be life-changing.
He doesn’t wake up.
I cast a nervous glance at Cohen, and just as I do, he shakes his head and curses as he stalks out of the room. I place a gentle kiss on Noah’s forehead before tiptoeing out.
Cohen is slumped on the couch when I walk into the living room, his hands clasped between his open thighs, his head bowed.
“No more fever,” I say, proud of my voice for not wavering. “I think he’ll be okay. Just keep him home for a few more days.”
He lifts his head, the tension from earlier reappearing, now stronger than when he answered the door.
He rubs his eyes with the base of his palms as if trying to scrub away the connection we shared. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”
“For … for what?” My pride of not stumbling over my words has left the building, ladies and gentlemen.
“For taking you away from whatever you were doing.” His gaze flicks down my body, and he signals to my short black dress and heels. “You obviously weren’t home.”
“What?” My next words come out in nearly a yelp as I force a casual smile and pull at the bottom of my dress. “This old thing? I hang out at home in it all the time. It’s pretty much my pajamas.”
He snorts while standing. “I took you away from a date, didn’t I?”
I hold up a finger. “Technically, you took me away while I was bailing on a date.”
“That bad, huh?” His lips flicker into a slight grin.
“Dating blows,” I mutter, moving from one foot to the other. “They need an app that screens for douchebags.”
He pulls out his wallet, plucks a fifty from it, and holds it out to me. “For your troubles.”
I swat the money away. “I’m not taking that.”
“It’s cheaper than a hospital visit.”
“Whether or not you want to acknowledge it, I’m Noah’s aunt. Even if I just met him, if he needs anything, I come here as that. Not as a doctor you need to pay.”
He hesitates before shoving the fifty back into his wallet. “Thank you.”
Silence fills the room until I clear my throat.
“Let me, uh … schedule my Uber, and then I’ll be on my way.” I open my clutch for my phone and unlock the screen.
“Whoa, you had to take an Uber here?” he asks as I focus on requesting a ride.
“It was no biggie,” I answer with a dismissive wave.
I take Ubers all the time—to my waxing appointments, yoga, or when I’ve had too many glasses of wine after one of Ashley’s terrible matchmaking dates.
I’m an Uber out of desperation kinda gal.
Thank goodness I snuck out of my date before I showed up as Jamie, Medicine of White Girl Wasted.
“Shit,” Cohen hisses, scrubbing a hand over his strong jaw. “I’d give you a ride, but—”
"No way in hell am I letting you wake him up,” I interrupt.
When I’m finished booking my ride, I smile. “Good night.” I zip my finger toward the door. “I’ll just wait outside.”
He nods, and I feel him behind me as I walk to the door. I glance back, a quick glimpse, and nearly trip over my feet when he doesn’t shut the door behind me.
No, he walks outside, a jacket in his hand, and plops down on the porch step. When I join him, he drags the jacket over my shoulders, and neither of us mutters a word as we wait for my ride.
It’s strange.
It’s uncomfortable but comfortable at the same time.
There’s newness to this, but the familiarity still lingers at the edges.
We know each other but not the new parts, the hidden parts, the hurt parts.
I peek over at him, biting into my lower lip. “Will you tell me how Noah is doing in the morning?”
He nods. “I can do that.”
There’s no holding back my grin.
Our attention moves to the driveway when the Uber car pulls up, and Cohen gives my thigh a light squeeze before he lowers his voice, and says, “Good night, Jamie.”
4
Cohen
Sleep is like a scorned ex.
It hates me.
Last night consisted of checking on Noah every few hours and thoughts of Jamie.
One of those I should’ve been doing.
The other I sure as fuck shouldn’t have been doing.
For hours, I battled with myself on calling her, but finally, I broke down. For Noah. It was always a struggle to decide when to make hospital visits, and if I could get Noah checked out without dragging him to a hospital, I would.
Even when I’d crumpled up her card, I hadn’t been sure if I’d actually toss it. It was more of a show for Georgia. An I couldn’t care less about Jamie attempt. I’d shoved it into my back pocket and then slid it into my wallet when I got home—just in case.
Just in case I changed my mind, which was doubtful.
Or I needed her.
Or because I saw the love on her face as she looked at Noah that night.
That’s Jamie’s character—affectionate, caring, showing every ounce of her emotions on her face.
So I called.
I called, and she came.
Seeing her with Noah last night fucked with my head.
My chest ached, hurt squeezing my throat as I watched them.
It was what I’d wanted from Heather—what I’ve desired for Noah to have. Someone who cares about him as much as I do, a nurturer who comes running in the middle of the night when he’s sick.
Even after I was a dick to Jamie, she was here.
Dressed in a sexy-as-fuck black dress and fuck-me heels.
When she walked in, I knew she’d been out, and jealousy consumed me. Whoever she’d been with, I hated the asshole. I gulped, holding back a shit-eating grin when she revealed she’d ditched the guy.
These feelings are wrong.
So damn wrong.
She’s the sister of my son’s mother, for fuck’s sake.
If anyone’s off-limits, it’s her.
The attraction is mutual, no question about it. Years ago, Jamie drunkenly confessed her feelings for me, and considering I was dating her sister, I shot her down. Sometimes, when I’m tipsy … or lonely … feeling sorry for myself, I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d chosen her—the other sister.
What if I had taken a chance with her?