Chapter 409
[ 535 words ]
Chapter 409:
The memory was so beautiful, so perfect, that its contrast with the brutal reality of the present—her father Walter long gone, and her biological father Donovan Sinclair fighting for his life—was a physical pain. A chasm opened up in her chest, and a grief she had been holding at bay for months surged forth.
Her hands stilled. Tears welled in her eyes and began to slide, hot and silent, down her cheeks.
A drop of chicken fat sizzled on the hot oven element, sending up a plume of greasy smoke. She didn’t notice. The smoke grew thicker, and then the piercing, electronic shriek of the smoke detector shattered the quiet.
The alarm blared, a frantic, insistent scream, but Caroline didn’t seem to hear it. She just stood frozen in front of the oven, her shoulders shaking, as tears streamed down her face.
In an instant, Jarrod was moving. He lunged past her, using his uninjured right hand to wrench open the oven door and turn off the heat, while his left arm remained pressed securely to his side to avoid any jarring pain. He grabbed a towel with his right hand and fanned it at the detector on the ceiling until the horrible noise finally stopped. He threw open the small window, letting the cool night air rush in.
M𝘰𝘀𝗍 𝘳е𝗮d 𝘁𝘩і𝘴 𝗐𝗲𝖾𝗄 𝗈𝗻 𝘨a𝗹n𝘰𝘷el𝘴.𝖼o𝗆
When the immediate crisis was handled, he turned. And he finally saw her.
She was leaning against the counter, her head bowed, her body trembling with silent, racking sobs.
His heart clenched. He crossed the small space and gently wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest. He was mindful of his braced right arm, ensuring he didn’t lean too heavily into her, but he held her with a steady, grounding force.
“Hey,” he murmured into her hair, his voice soft. “It’s just a burnt chicken. I wasn’t planning on eating you if dinner was ruined.”
He was trying for levity, a gentle joke to pull her out of the darkness.
She didn’t respond, just shook her head against his chest. A single, scalding tear fell from her cheek and landed on the back of his hand.
The small point of heat was like a brand. It seared through his skin, directly into his soul. The playful, teasing expression on his face vanished, replaced by one of deep, aching concern.
He understood instantly. She wasn’t crying over a piece of burnt poultry. She was crying for a past she could never get back, and for the complicated, heavy road that lay ahead of them.
Jarrod didn’t let her go. After the initial release of her grief in the kitchenette, he didn’t pull away or try to force her to stop; he simply provided the anchor she so desperately needed. When she was finally quiet, a spent and fragile weight against him, he leaned down, his lips brushing against her hair.
He spoke in a low, solemn voice, his tone a vow rather than a hollow platitude.
“The surgeons will do everything they can for Donovan,” he said, his voice steady. “And I will be here with you. Through all of it.”
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his gaze absolute.
“I will not leave you alone. Ever.”
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