Forever and Always

Chapter Three {Part 2}

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Word Count: 1,392

I don't know how long I've been sitting here. While Jackson's filling out paperwork, Cole and Dylan come. Cole lifts me onto his lap, though I barely notice. I'm still too shocked to feel much. I haven't cried yet. Why haven't I cried yet?

There's an office at the end of the hall, and the door swings open. Jackson emerges the color faded from his cheeks. "You guys should go home. It's getting late."

Home. I haven't so much as thought about it until now. What will it feel like? How can it be home without Kennedy?

"What about you?" Cole asks, frowning.

"I've still got paperwork to fill out," Jackson explains, massaging his forehead.

"We're staying," Dylan informs him. His voice is flat, emotionless.

"Are you sure?" Jackson glances down at me.

"I'll be okay," I say in answer to his unspoken question. Am I lying right now? Maybe. Truth be told, I don't know.

Jackson nods and kisses my temple before leaving again. I wonder how long he'll be. How much time has already passed? I look at my watch. 19:24. The accident was three hours ago.

"Hey... Cole?" I ask, my voice small.

"What is it, Baby?"

"Are you mad at me?" I gulp. My throat running dry as I wait for a reply.

Dylan's head snaps up. "Why would you ask that?"

I shrink back. "I don't know."

"Of course I'm not mad at you. None of us are," Cole soothes. "You didn't do anything wrong, okay?"

"Okay." I don't know if I believe him, though. Maybe.

The sun has disappeared by the time Jackson comes out again. If he looked tired before, he's ready to drop dead now. "Sorry it took so long," he apologizes.

"It's fine. But I'm driving home," Cole tells him.

Jackson nods. He must be exhausted if he's letting Cole drive. "You ready, Baby?"

Am I? "Yes, sir, I think so," I say, beginning to stand.

Jackson sighs. "Don't call me sir. And you shouldn't be walking yet. Let me carry you."

"You can't carry me, you're too tired!" I protest.

"Sav, I want to. Just let me help you." His eyes are begging me to understand, and somehow, I suppose I do.

"Alright," I say. He slips one arm under my back and the other under my legs, cradling me. I feel sort of guilty for making him carry me, but I'm grateful, too. I'm bone-tired, so I rest my head in the crook of his neck and close my eyes.

Even in the car, Jackson doesn't let go. I sit on his lap for the whole drive, listening to the beat of his heart. One-two, one-two. If I count the beats of his heart, maybe I won't think of when Kennedy's stopped. So I focus on the one-two pattern of Jackson's heart, now and then feeling the press of his lips in my hair.

For some odd reason I can't explain, I can almost touch his sadness when he does this. It's like it's right there, fully tangible, a weight pressing down on my shoulders.

I wish I could say something to take away his pain. To protect him as he protects me, blocking out the hurt. But I feel too numb for that. So I let him hold me like he did the night my parents died. God, it's just like a sick nightmare repeating itself.