The Hard Truth About Sunshine(16)

"What do you think, Christopher?" Mags asked me.

"Not interested," I muttered as I looked back down at the floor.

"Why not?" she pushed at me.

Hmmm …  why not?

Because I wasn't sure I could be in close quarters with Jillian for several days. The hour and a half each week was brutal enough. I'd pretty much hated her that first week even though I thought she was hot, but the more I listened to her, the more intrigued I became.

For weeks, I'd listened to her soft voice with that very slight southern twang. Even though she was from North Carolina and further south than me, I had more of a redneck accent than she did. But her voice was light and melodic …  almost musical. And then there was that fucking smile. She always had it. Coupled with the lazy eyes, it was sexy.

But that smile made no sense to me.

Jillian was a person who seemed to always be happy and content. She was maternally affectionate with Connor, joked around with Mags, and even tried a few times to stir some conversation with Barb and me. She was filled with optimism, which meant she really didn't belong in this group, and I thought everyone else in this room was a dumbass for not recognizing that.

But more importantly, and what also boggled my mind, was that Jillian never talked about "her" fears. As far as I could tell, she wasn't afraid of dying. She'd accepted she was going blind and even joked about it. She'd even said one day that she was thankful for the twenty years of sight she'd had, because that made her far luckier than those who were born blind.

I swear to God she was like fucking Snow White …  all tra-lah-lah, skipping through the forest and singing to the birds. I hated it and because I'm a sick fuck, I wanted to see more of it at the same time.

"Christopher," Mags said, and it broke me out of my thoughts. "Why aren't you interested? I'd make it worth your time by giving you credit for a few sessions if you went."

Oh, I was interested all right. Too interested in Jillian's voice, her hair, her eyes, her smell, and her fucking outlook on life, but the problem was that I didn't want to be interested. There were too many dangers and pitfalls to let myself go down that path.

"What's the point?" I asked snidely. "He's gonna die. Seeing the ocean ain't gonna help that."

I expected someone to chastise me for my crudeness. To my surprise, Jillian leaned forward in her chair, tilted her chin up so she could see me a little better because of her droopy eyes, and said, "Come on, Christopher. Where's your sense of adventure?"

A bolt of anger jolted through me, and I glared at her fiercely. "I lost it when I got my leg blown off."

She wasn't repentant or put in her place. Merely giving me a look of disappointment, she said just one word to me. "Typical."         

     



 

"Typical?" I growled at her.

"Typical," she said simply. "You hide away from everything. And it's okay …  I get you feel safer that way. You haven't participated hardly at all, so I guess what I really mean is that your refusal to consider the trip is just typical of you."

A genuine flush of embarrassment swept through me. At that, I was even more embarrassed because she probably saw my face go red. "You know nothing about me," I snarled.

"Exactly," was all she said back.

And then it hit me.

Jillian wanted to know more about me.

Me.

Oh, I didn't think she designed the trip just for that. Her heart was always poking where it didn't belong in the right place and she was definitely doing this for Connor, but she was baiting me to go on this trip.

She actually wanted me to go.

Could I do it? Could I sit in the same car with her for hundreds of miles and smell her, listen to her …  try to figure her out?

I didn't want to look like a pussy who would easily give in, so I left myself an out to try to hold on to my man card. "Okay …  fine. I'll go if Barb goes."

Because no way in hell would she be interested in this type of thing.

I turned to look at Barb, confident she'd save me from myself.

She just shrugged with the same half-angry, half-bored expression she always wore and said, "Sure. I don't have anything better to do."

Aww, Christ. I was screwed.





Chapter 13





Present day …

It's almost midnight by the time we head back to the hotel from our evening's adventure. We left after Jillian and Connor gave Keith and Cammie hard hugs and promises to keep in touch. It seems new friendships were formed. I'd shaken Keith's hand, but I know we'll never talk again. Gave a polite nod to Cammie and thanked her for the beer, but never did apologize for egging her house.

Barb had just muttered, "Later," as we walked out.

The ride back to the motel is silent. There's no conversation because a worn-out Connor fell asleep with his head resting against the window, Barb doesn't talk much anyway, and things are still very awkward between Jillian and me. We haven't spoken or touched since we entered Keith's house. Of course, my first and most pitiful thought is that it was all a mistake.

Were we just totally caught up in the moment when it came to that kiss? Or what about her holding my hand with such affection? I imagine it was because she was grateful to me for stepping in to rescue Connor? Because I was willing to go to the mat for that kid, and she loves him like a kid brother.

That's all it was, right?

Our motel is one of those cheap strip buildings with a long row of units to the left and right of the main office. There's a pool off to the side that's empty and moldy looking. The rooms are so old that they have actual antique-looking keys to open the room doors, and they smell musty.

Our rooms are next to each other, our stuff already brought in before we'd left for dinner and the cemetery. When I park the Suburban in front of my room, Barb's tone is surprisingly gentle when she says, "Connor …  wake up."

I look in the rearview mirror to see her nudging his shoulder. His head pops up, and he blinks his eyes at her before wiping a tiny bit of drool off his chin. Barb actually gives what I think might be a smile as I saw the very corners of her mouth curl upward maybe an eighth of an inch.

We all exit the Suburban. Connor starts toward our room, and Barb walks to hers as she pulls a room key out. Just as she's unlocking the door, Jillian meets me at the front of the Suburban and says, "Christopher …  can I talk to you a moment out here?"

Barb looks over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised in surprise for a moment before she heads inside and closes the door. A tiny thrill runs through me. I'm not sure if it's fear or excitement over what Jillian wants from me, but I just nod my head at her and toss the room key to Connor. He makes a move to grab it and misses. The key clatters to the concrete walkway in front of the door. He gives me a sheepish grin, bends over to pick it up, and goes into our room.

I turn to Jillian and try to appear cool, shoving my hands into the pockets of my shorts. "What's up?"

"I want to talk about that kiss," she says outright, but even her bluntness has a melodic ring to it.

I shrug. "No biggie. I'm sure it was just-"

"I'd like to do that again," she says softly, but the impact of her words slam into me hard.

"You what?" My voice is harsh and disbelieving. "Why?"

Jillian smiles, and it's the one she's given me a few times before so I recognize it. It's the smile of understanding …  as if she knows what drives the words that come out of my mouth, even if I don't.         

     



 

She takes two steps and comes toe to toe with me. I punch my hands further into my pockets as I look down at her. She does her classic chin lift so she can see me better under those droopy eyelids. Without shame, hesitation, or second thoughts, she puts a hand right in the center of my chest where I know she can feel the mad gallop of my heartbeat.

"I'd like you to kiss me again," she says sweetly. "The last one wasn't long enough."

"I don't understand," I mutter, because I'm convinced-absofuckinglutely convinced-that this is wrong and I'm being played somehow.

Jillian tilts her head as her eyebrows draw inward. "What's not to understand? I like you. I really liked our first kiss. I want to do it again, so I'm asking. Unless you found it lacking, of course."

I ignore the "lacking" comment and focus on the source of my apprehension. "You like me?"

She rolls her eyes at me. It's a slow effort because of her condition, but I get the message. My question was apparently stupid.

"Yes, I like you," she says in exasperation.

My eyes narrow at her. "Why?"

Jillian tilts her head back and laughs, and when she looks back at me under the slight weight of her eyelids, the blue of her eyes is sparkling with amusement. "Well, because you're hot, of course. My vision might be bad, but I can still see that."

Okay, that's just bullshit.

And it's like she read my mind, because she steps in just a bit closer to me and murmurs, "And don't think for a moment your injuries take away from your hotness."

"Bullsh-"

"I mean …  you're an asshole. A hot asshole and it's weird I'm attracted to that. But let's be honest, you're not that good of an asshole."

Now I'm confused. "Huh?"