If that’s the case, let’s sit down and cry together and break things.”
I just kept blinking up at him, drawing a blank as to how to respond. A few seconds later, I just burst into laughter. I was aware that it probably looked like I was losing it in front of him, but it couldn’t have been further from the truth. Jack actually must have thought I had indeed lost it, because the line between his brows got deeper by the second.
“Something funny?”
“Oh, the things you say to me, Jack Hawthorne.” I sighed, wiping tears of laughter from under my eyes. “I think this might be why I found myself in front of your building, because I probably knew you wouldn’t cuddle me and allow self-pity. If I’d called any of my friends or gone straight to the coffee shop, I would have just felt sorry for myself the entire day.”
When his expression didn’t lighten up, I decided to go ahead and answer his question.
“No, I don’t think I’m going to die. I hope not, at least. He didn’t say it was anything that bad—if I have what he thinks I have, that is. There is always the possibility of ending up having surgery and dying on the table, but then again he might have skipped that part because I don’t think it’d be a very positive thing to tell a patient.”
Jack tilted his head and gave me an impressively exasperated look. “How about we don’t jump to any conclusions yet? We don’t know whether it is CSF or something else. Let’s see the ENT specialist tomorrow and then start to worry about tests and scans and surgeries.”
I nodded and took a deep, deep breath, having gotten a better handle on my emotions thanks to his brand of tough love. “I’m not good with doctors,” I told him, repeating my earlier confession. “I’m not good with stuff like this.”
“I really couldn’t tell.” His beautiful and gentle smile was the last straw for me, and the tears just started to roll down my face.
He must’ve misunderstood my tears, because he rushed to explain. “You have to stop crying. I can’t take it. We’ll deal with it together, if it comes to it, but we’re not going to worry about it before we know what it is exactly. It doesn’t make sense to do so. Agreed?”
“Now you smile at me?” I blurted out, ignoring his support. His face was already blurring as my eyes started to fill with tears, but I managed to hit him on his chest once, lightly. “Now?” I didn’t even realize my voice was rising, but I felt his entire demeanor change as he kept my hand against his chest and pulled me in closer, which only made things worse.
I rested my forehead against his chest, near his heart, and tried to get myself together. When his deeply masculine scent started to mess with me, I grabbed the lapel of his jacket in my fist and pulled back so I could look up at him.
“This is the worst timing, Jack. If it really is brain, spinal cord fluid leak, or whatever the hell it is, he said I’d need to have surgery. I’m afraid of needles! Needles, for God’s sake. Surgery? And that close to my brain or spinal cord?” I took a breath and continued. “I know this is going to sound extremely vain and I hate myself for it, but does this mean they’re gonna cut my hair off? Go in through my skull? How would it even work? I was going to google it on my way over here, but I couldn’t even manage that.”
Both his hands went up to my cheeks this time as he cleared my rapidly falling tears with his thumbs. “We’re not gonna do that.” He leaned down so he could be eye level with me. “We’re not gonna start worrying before we know what’s going on. I told you this already and you’re not hearing me.”
“I just know it’s CSF.” I stared into his eyes. “With my luck, I know it is.” To have something to hold on to or maybe because I wanted to keep him connected to me as long as I could, I lifted my hands and placed them over Jack’s wrists. “I don’t want this, Jack. I have the coffee shop. After years of dreaming, I have it, and I can’t close it if I have to have surgery. We just opened.”