Middle of Knight Read online

  Middle of Knight

  Jewel E. Ann

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Jewel E. Ann

  Kobo Edition

  ISBN: 978-0-9961564-7-9

  Cover Designer: © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Formatting: BB eBooks

  To women over forty. We’ve still got it!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Also by Jewel E. Ann

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Knight

  The signs were everywhere. That twenty-twenty hindsight was an evil, gloating bitch. What incentive was there to ponder a question that had already been answered? The PTSD was a catch-all. AJ knew it. Jillian dismissed it. Fate seized it.

  I love you. Why would he say those words? Jillian Knight pondered that question while her brother, Jackson, drove her home from the hospital.

  “So you just ran out?” Jackson asked, making a quick sideways glance.

  “Walked. I walked out. I told AJ I needed to do something.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I needed to get the hell out of there.”

  “Why?”

  “He said … ‘I love you.’”

  “I see … Actually, I don’t. You’re going to have to help me out on this one.”

  “Why would he say that? Was his accident some near-death experience that brought about this rush of irrational feelings? And it wasn’t just that he said it. It was the way he said it. It’s like someone had a gun to his head.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “No … I-I don’t know. That’s just it. What was I supposed to say? Thank you, or I’d rather you wouldn’t?”

  “So what now?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. Food, beer, and then I’ll face him tomorrow.”

  By eleven o’clock that night, with the help of four bottles of Heineken, Jillian had an epiphany. It was a new record for her. Most epiphanies didn’t happen until the end of the sixth bottle of Heineken.

  “Jackie?” she whispered, opening Jackson’s bedroom door.

  “What the hell did you call me?” he grumbled with his head buried in his pillow, the bed sheet draped low on his waist.

  Jillian giggled, then hiccupped. “Jackie … I figured it out.”

  He flipped over, raising up on his elbows, eyes squinted against the hall light. “Call me that again and I’ll knock you out before the beer gets to it.”

  “Scooch over.” She stumbled to his bed.

  “I’m naked.”

  “So … scooch.” Jillian wedged her way into his bed.

  Jackson retreated to the other side, securing the sheet around his waist.

  “I’ve decided to love AJ.”

  “Decided?”

  Jillian rolled onto her side facing Jackson with her cheek rested on her folded hands. “Yes. Why not? Right? He’s mature, and good in bed, and he gets me, and he’s good in bed. He’s strong and grumpy, which I find oddly sexy. Oh … did I mention he’s good in bed?”

  Jackson stared at the ceiling. “Yes, you mentioned that.” He chuckled. “Sex doesn’t mean love.”

  “I never said that. God … all you guys think about is sex.” She slurred each word. “I’m serious. He’s my chance. You’re going to find that happily ever after, and she’s not going to want me living with you forever. AJ will take me.”

  “God, you’re so drunk right now. That’s it, huh? You can just decide to love him, like love’s a choice? And you’re basing this deep emotion on the possibility that he ‘gets’ you, or even more pathetic … that he’ll ‘take’ you. You’re making yourself sound like a stray dog. You need to get off the booze. It’s beginning to rob you of your self-esteem.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’d rather he love me than hate me. He’s had a vasectomy so he’s not looking for a baby mama, and he’s definitely not clingy so in some ways he’s the perfect guy. And I have these feelings for him and maybe they’re love. I’m not going to lose him because my head is messed up. When Cage called and said AJ had been in an accident, I swear my heart stopped. It has to be love.”

  Jackson rubbed his eyes. “You’re thirty years old and just like that you’re making the decision that you don’t want a family?”

  Jillian tried to roll her eyes, but it was hard to do behind heavy eyelids. “That makes no sense coming from my twin brother that doesn’t want children.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You said you don’t like kids.”

  “Misquoting once again. I don’t like other people’s kids. My kids will be awesome.”

  “Will be?”

  “Yes. The whole slew of them. My wife is going to be so hot I won’t be able to keep my dick out of her. She’ll be knocked up all the time.”

  Jillian laughed. “I can’t wait to see that. My nieces and nephews … not your dick in my sister-in-law.”

  “If you don’t want to see my dick then get the hell out of here.”

  “Fine. Good night.” Jillian bumped into the nightstand and then the wall, trying to maneuver her drunk self out of Jackson’s room.

  *

  Morning didn’t care that Jillian had too much to drink the previous night. Neither did the incessant knocking at the door.

  “Jackson!” she called.

  Nothing.

  Unaware of the time—fifteen minutes after noon—Jillian grumbled about the poor etiquette of someone knocking on the door so early. She winced at the throbbing side effect of too much Heineken as she shuffled her bare feet to the front door.

  “Cage, hey.” The morning sun burned her retinas as her nipples saluted the crisp morning breeze.

  Cage cleared his throat, forcing his eyes to stay on hers instead of her barely covered body.

  “Uh … hey. I just brought my dad home from the hospital. He wants to see you. I have to get back to campus, but I’ll be back this weekend.”

  “Yeah … I … um, yeah.” She nodded through her rambling of nothing that made any sense. “I’ll shower and be over.”

  She started to close the door.

  “Jillian?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “For what?”

  “For being here and putting up with him. Even if he doesn’t say it. I know he appreciates it. But mainly for me. It eases my mind to know that someone is … looking out for him.”


  “Oh … sure.” She shrugged it off. “How’s he doing today?”

  “Fine. I think. He’s quiet. Seems a little distracted. I think the accident really shook him up, which is a little weird because he’s been in crashes, around gun fire, and even ejected from a plane that was shot down.”

  Jillian frowned. Cage confirmed her earlier suspicions that AJ wasn’t quite right. “I’ll talk to him. Drive safely back to campus.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  After a long, procrastinating shower that included a review of the previous night’s declaration made under the heavy influence of alcohol, Jillian slipped on a yellow sundress several shades brighter than her mood, red rain boots, and her best smile to mask the courage she struggled to muster. She considered taking him something to eat, but decided one near-death incident that week was enough.

  “AJ?” Jillian called, letting herself in his house.

  “On the couch.”

  She peeked around the corner to the great room. The closed blinds on every window rejected the light as the stagnant air leadened her lungs with doom. “Hey,” she said, her voice unusually small. Damn nerves. “Are you drinking? Before five?”

  AJ tipped back a bottle of beer. Just the sight of it caused Jillian’s stomach to roil.

  “Yeah, why not?” He flipped off the TV.

  She slipped off her boots and sat on the opposite end of the couch, lifting his feet up to sit and resting them back on her lap.

  He nursed his beer, staring at her, but not saying anything.

  “About yesterday—”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not … or I was, but I’m not now.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just forget about it.”

  Jillian traced her finger along the serpent tattoo on his leg. “What if I don’t want to forget about it?”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you do.”

  She glanced up at him, lips parted, eyes wide. “Do you need a minute to rethink that?”

  He took another pull. “Nope.”

  “Would you like me to come back later?”

  “You don’t need to come back at all. That’s all I wanted to tell you.”

  The twenty-four-hour whiplash left quite a sting. Especially since she’d prepared to reciprocate his expression of feelings. Those feelings had taken a backseat to his anger.

  “Are you having a moment or is this about me leaving yesterday?”

  “Don’t be so fucking condescending with me. I’m not having a moment, and I told you to forget about yesterday.”

  Scooting out from under his legs, she stood. “Call me if you need anything.” He didn’t deserve another glance as she pulled on her boots and walked to the door.

  “I won’t—” His voice slurred.

  She turned. “AJ!”

  He shook, tumbling from the sofa with a thunk.

  “Oh my God!”

  A seizure racked his body, stealing him from consciousness.

  Jillian grabbed his cell phone off the sofa table and dialed 9-1-1. They talked her through it and sent an ambulance. She followed it to the hospital, leaving a message on Jackson’s phone, but waited to call Cage, assuming it was most likely a side effect of his accident and the concussion.

  They treated him in the ER, but no one would give her any information because she wasn’t family. An hour later they let her see him.

  “Why are you still here?” His words hung heavy with defeat as she entered the room.

  “Because I love you, you idiot.” It’s not how she’d planned on telling him, but it came out and she couldn’t stop it. The word didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either. It just felt like a word.

  He closed his eyes and turned his head side to side. “Don’t.”

  She sat on the edge of his bed. “I shouldn’t have left yesterday, and I’m sorry. What you said scared me. I don’t feel worthy of that kind of love and—”

  “Stop … just stop.” He opened his eyes. “I meant it when I said it doesn’t matter.”

  “What doesn’t matter?” Jillian’s voice escalated. “Me? Us? Your love for me? Mine for you?”

  “All of it,” he said in a monotone voice.

  “It mattered yesterday. You said—”

  “You didn’t let me finish!”

  Jillian jumped.

  AJ sighed. “You didn’t let me finish yesterday. You left too soon.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I needed you to know that I love you, but then I was going to tell you that I can’t be with you anymore.”

  “Yeah, that makes perfectly no sense whatsoever. You need help. I know you don’t want to talk about the PTSD, but it’s eating you up inside. You may not think anyone can help you, but maybe you just need another opinion.” She refused to back down, refused to be kicked to the curb like an old sofa up for grabs. He could be harsh and hurtful, but she could deal with it.

  “Goodbye, Jillian.” He looked away.

  “I’m not leaving, you stubborn SOB.” She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. He was it—her last chance at love and she was determined to take it. Her past had taken too much already. It wasn’t deserving of him too. He was her future—a future she would fight for.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  Jillian turned.

  A doctor in a white lab coat stood at the door.

  “No … sorry, come in.” She smiled past her anger and released AJ’s face as if she hadn’t just manhandled a patient.

  He nodded, walking toward them. “I’m Dr. Rinehart from oncology.”

  Every last bit of air evaporated from the room. Jillian couldn’t find a single breath.

  “Doctor.” AJ nodded. “This is my friend, Jillian.”

  Jillian looked at AJ, not Dr. Rinehart. “W-why do you need an oncologist?”

  “Tell her, Doc. Why do I need you?”

  Dr. Rinehart gave Jillian a regretful smile. “AJ has a brain tumor. It was discovered on his MRI after his accident yesterday.”

  The air. Where was all the fucking air? The migraines, the personality that flipped without warning, the PTSD pigeonholing for everything … how could everyone have missed it?

  “Cancer?” she whispered.

  “We’re not sure,” Dr. Rinehart replied.

  “When will you know?”

  Dr. Rinehart looked at AJ.

  “When I’m dead and an autopsy confirms it.”

  Jillian turned, glaring at AJ. It wasn’t the time to be mad at him, but she was. How could he say that? Why would he say that?

  “You’re not dying!” She looked to Dr. Rinehart for confirmation.

  “I’ve consulted with the neurologist that saw AJ yesterday. The tumor may be inoperable.”

  “But … you can do radiation or chemotherapy or something else, right?”

  “Yes, there are other options.”

  “But the neurologist confessed that the success rate is lower with tumors like mine. And I’m sure as hell not going to be a guinea pig, so—”

  “So what?” Jillian snapped at AJ. “You’re just going to do nothing? Wait until your headaches get even worse? Wait until you’re having seizures every day? Wait until you—” The familiar pain in her chest crashed like a wrecking ball. She didn’t notice the tears streaming down her cheeks until she tasted their salty presence.

  “Die?” AJ grabbed her hand and squeezed it so hard that pain in her chest exploded into something irreversibly destructive. “Yes, Jillian. I’m going to die.”

  Chapter Two

  There was nothing and yet everything to say, but the nothing won over. AJ left the hospital with a grim nod from the doctor and a handful of medications to help with the migraines and lessen his chances of having seizures. Jillian opened her mouth to speak at least a dozen times on the way home, but nothing came out.

  “Thanks for the ride.” AJ mumbled, getting out of her car.

  “H
ave you told Cage or your parents?” She jumped out and chased him toward his door.

  He shook his head and kept walking.

  “Don’t shut me out.” Raw emotion bled from her words. Everything had happened so fast she couldn’t process it.

  The man that dared anyone to cross him stood in defeat at his door with his back to her, head bowed, hands on his hips. “Why? You shut me out all the time.”

  “I don’t—”

  He turned. “You do. You’re orphaned Jillian from New York. You have a sick need to make men bleed. You’re thirty and your greatest skill is selling sex toys. That’s so fucking pathetic. Yet somewhere along the way, I bought into all of it. Part of me loves you, but I don’t know how and I sure as hell don’t know why, because I don’t really even know you!”

  Her teeth clenched. “You didn’t want to know. You said it yourself.”

  “Well I do now.”

  “Well I … can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t.” She would never be able to make him understand. “I don’t want you to die.”

  Why couldn’t he see the pleading in her eyes that said everything she couldn’t?

  “Tell me what happened to you. Tell me and I’ll make an appointment with the oncologist on Monday.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I have a goddamn tumor in my head. Life’s not fair!”

  She continued to shake her head. It was a nightmare. Eventually she would have to wake up. “You’re blackmailing me with your fucking life? What’s wrong with you? You have a son and parents who love you.”

  “You don’t trust me.” He narrowed his eyes then turned toward the door.

  “It’s not about trust!” She grabbed his arm. “Just…” the anger and desperation pulled the pin to another grenade inside her chest “…forget it ever happened. Please.”

  He laughed. He actually laughed. Her anger held back the tears.

  “Forget what? The biting and clawing? The broken nose? The fact that we can’t sleep in the same bed?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes as shame stole the last bit of fight she had left.

  He pulled away from her. “I can’t.”

  *