My hands are shaking as I close the book, and Jackson’s head lifts from my shoulder. “That’s intense,” he says.

“All this time, I thought she had been liberated. I didn’t think she escaped,” I tell him, confused by the muddled facts I’ve picked up on throughout my life.

“I guess we won’t know until you finish reading,” he says, sounding as tired as I feel.

“I don’t think I can read any more tonight. I feel like it’s all I can focus on, and it’s taking me to a place I’m not sure I’m ready to go yet.” A long sigh exhales from my lungs as I hug my arm around my knee. “I don’t know if that makes any sense…”

“It’s hard information to digest. It would be for anyone,” he tells me. “You probably need to do something after reading to shut it off for a bit. It’s not healthy to hold yourself hostage in a situation you can’t control.” He squeezes his arm around my shoulders…to comfort me…I think.

“Is that the doctor in you speaking or—”

“Experience,” he says. “Maybe both.”

I shift my body, bringing my other knee up onto the couch to face him. “How so?” We’ve learned a lot about Grams in the last few days, but I don’t know a whole lot about Jackson, and I’m curious to find out more about him, aside from the fact that he’s a doctor and a divorcee.

“I lose patients possibly more than other areas of the hospital. I see so much pain-stricken grief in patients and their families that sometimes it’s hard to come home at the end of the day and redirect my attention to something happier, you know?” He places his empty wine glass down on the table in front of us before continuing. “For a long time, I felt guilty about compartmentalizing it and putting my feelings about patients aside when I’m off duty, but I’ve learned over the past few years that if I don’t force myself to shut it down, I’ll become consumed and miserable.”

He’s looking at me with such intensity that I can almost feel his words, and they make me ache for the loneliness he battles in his head. “I’ve wondered how doctors do it, but I’ve always looked at them more like super humans than anything else. I figured they could manage it, so that’s why they were meant to be doctors. I know I’d never be able to handle serious illnesses, deaths, or any of the other associated emotional pain on a daily basis. I honestly can’t imagine going through that all the time. I don’t think I’d be strong enough to turn it off on self-command.”

Jackson rests back into the cushion behind us and glances up toward the ceiling where his lights are creating an aura of colorful diamonds. “We don’t have that option. I wouldn’t make it as a doctor if I didn’t figure out how to separate my personal life from work. That’s one of the first things you have to commit to if you want to have any kind of life outside of the hospital.”

“That makes sense.” With his gaze still stuck on the ceiling, I look around the room for a moment, noticing the lack of pictures on the walls and coffee table. I know men aren’t typically the type to show off photos the way women do, but he doesn’t have artwork up either. “You said you have an older sister, right?”

“Two older sisters, actually,” he says. I know he had told me one, so I’m slightly confused by the change. “They were twins, but one died in a car accident ten years ago. Drunk driver.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I tell him. I’m taken aback by this, and it opens up a new set of questions about Jackson. It’s like I’m slowly peeling away his layers, trying to find out what’s inside of him.

“Life happens, right?”

“That type of life shouldn’t have to happen because of someone else’s recklessness,” I tell him. “What was she like?”

“Carly was a force to be reckoned with,” he says through quiet laughter. “Strongest person I’ve ever known. She stayed alive for about a week after the accident, but her vitals kept failing, and the doctors were having trouble finding the source. They said they did every test there was, but nothing showed up as a cause. Evidently, her sternum had broken so badly that a piece had shattered off and punctured her aorta. The tear was very small and could have been repaired if found in time, but it wasn’t.”

I tend to picture stories when I hear them, and this one nauseates me to think about what he went through at such a young age. “Is that why you’re a cardiologist?” I ask, almost knowing.

“I was already in med school at the time, but I was originally planning on specializing in internal medicine. I changed my plan after Carly died.”

He maintains a straight face through his entire explanation, and I’m not sure I could be as strong. “How are your mom and other sister?”

“Eh,” he says. “They had a tough time getting through the first couple of years after Carly passed. Now they have their moments, but mostly they spend their time harassing me to get remarried and have a family for them.” We both laugh simultaneously because I’m sure he’s heard my grandmother’s demands of me, not to mention her ridiculous bribe. To find out that his family is similar seems ironic and makes me feel less uncomfortable about my situation.

“Our families would get along well,” I tell him.

“It would be a little scary, actually,” he says, leaning forward and pouring a bit more wine into each of our glasses. His comment makes me wonder what he sees in his future, not that I’m exactly sure what I see in mine, but I know it isn’t living with Mom forever.

“We’re supposed to be changing the mood here,” he says, handing me my glass.

“Well, what do you do to cheer yourself up after a bad day?”

He leans back into the couch and takes a mouthful of Pinot. “Hmm, that’s a tough one,” he says.

“Well, you said you watch TV a lot,” I say, encouraging his answers.

“I play a lot of Candy Crush too, but don’t judge.”

I’m not alone. It’s amazing. “No judging. I do the same, and please don’t take this as an insult, but I’m glad to have finally met someone equally as lame.” The laughter flows freely between us. At my age, I shouldn’t be playing Candy Crush until I fall asleep at night, right?

“We’re sad,” I tell him, swallowing a mouthful of the tart wine.

“Not right this second.” He places his glass back down and leans toward me as if he wants to kiss, but I place my hand on his chest, stopping him in place. “Wait, how old are you?”

“How old are you?” he responds with surprise, asking as if I had a reason for questioning him.

“Thirty-one,” I reply.

“I had you pegged at twenty-four, but was suddenly concerned you might be seventeen or something,” he says, sounding relieved.

“Seventeen? What grandmother would be interfering with the love life of a seventeen-year-old?”

“Maybe yours,” he says, fairly.

“Good point.”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“Okay, so we’re good,” I say, wiping the fake sweat from my forehead.

“Am I allowed to kiss you now?”

With the playful mood already between us, I press my finger to my chin, appearing to ponder his question. “I don’t know.”

He steals my wine glass from my hand and places it beside his. “You don’t know?” he asks.

“You’re kind of a bad kisser,” I joke, but with a poor attempt at being serious.

He presses his hand against his chest. “Am I, now?”

“Kinda,” I say, sounding even less serious than I did a second ago.

Jackson moves forward, trapping me beneath him as I fall deeper into the plushness of his couch. He’s hovering over me, and the view from this angle is generating a fire within my veins. Muscles emerge on his arms that I hadn’t noticed, and with the collar of his shirt unbuttoned a bit; I’m able to see a whole lot more of those muscles rippling down the center of his body.

“You think we’re moving too fast?” he asks. “I know you’re still on the rebound and all.” His lips quirk to one side, revealing a sinuous smirk I can’t resist.

“I’m not on the rebound. I’m being revived.”

“That is the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he murmurs.

His proximity is so close, I can almost taste his lips. “Did you know how fast a heart beats right before a kiss?” His words fall warmly against my mouth as I try to think a clear thought while in this position.

“Do you know?” I throw the question back.

“I’ve never tested it out,” he says, his brazen smile reappearing.

“Are you stalling?” I ask him.

“Just enjoying the moment,” he whispers before pressing his lips to mine. My heart beats heavily against my compressed chest, and I know he can feel what he’s doing to me. His lips are so soft against mine, but his movements are meticulous, as if he knows where each nerve ending in my lips begins and ends as he connects the dots. His mouth opens slightly, and I follow in motion, feeling his tongue stroke against mine. I feel his entire body melting into mine, and his hands gently graze the side of my face as his fingers weave through the loose strands of my hair. An unstoppable soft hum vibrates through my throat, and in turn, his grip tightens.

Our bodies tangle as he maneuvers his legs to the ground, lifting me up with him, where I remain wrapped around him.

Where we’re going, what we’re doing, and how it’s going to turn out doesn’t faze me in the slightest because he has stolen a beat of my heart with every kiss. I can’t imagine anything better than this, but something is telling me the best is yet to come. His lips move down my neck, sending a warm, striking shock down the lengths of my arms and across my chest.

Without an initial tour of his entire apartment, I’m not surprised to find a king-sized bed in the center of an impeccably decorated room that’s coated with hues of blues, grays, and white. I’m even less surprised when I fall heavily against his cloud-like mattress. He climbs back over me, repossessing my lips as the bed covers float around us like a storm of feathers.

“I need you. I’ve needed you in my life for so long.”

A fierceness grows inside me, and I tie my legs around his waist, pulling him down closer as I work at the buttons on his shirt—one by one—while sliding my fingers gently down the center of his chest. “I didn’t think you existed,” I tell him, breathlessly.

“I’m right here.” He pulls at my dress, slowly drawing it over my head before his lips become more familiar with my collarbone, then the lacy exterior of my bra. His hands meet in the middle of my back, and I feel the release of my bra’s clasp with the slightest flick of his fingers.

“I’ve never been with a doctor,” I mutter as my back arches toward him, craving more of his teasing touches.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, his lips vibrating against the top of my breast.

My restless hands drag down the sides of his solid core, offering me nothing to hold onto, which doesn’t make much of a difference when he takes my hands within his and presses them into the pillow above my head. He has completely taken control of my body and every one of my senses. He gently moves the tips of his fingers inside of the hem of my panties before sliding them down my legs, allowing the silk fabric to feather against me at a torturously slow pace.

My eyes close in an effort to be patient as I hear a rustling from his drawer. I want to move my hands and help him with his boxer briefs, but I’m obeying the position he left me in.

The world around me is spinning and silent as he removes the last article of clothing that separates us. He slides on the condom and I peer down to steal a glimpse of this amazing man now that we are both bare and exposed. He is as flawless outside as he is inside.

With Jackson’s smooth body pressing against mine, the friction and synced motions between us bring about sensations I’ve never experienced, inviting the understanding of the difference between simply being with a man versus being passionately intertwined in an endless symphony of desire. I try to contain the sounds aching to roar from my throat, but with the beads of sweat forming between us and the gasps of air bringing in little to nothing, I fall helplessly to the stranger of consummation.

Still struggling to pull in a breath of air, I feel as if I’m drowning in a pool of seduction. The release of emotions and what I had thought to be permanent stress makes me feel like a limp rag doll as his body comfortably rests against mine. “Well, did I revive you?” he murmurs weakly into my ear.

“I think you may have given me a new understanding of the word,” I reply.

Jackson props himself up on his side as he twirls his fingers through a loose tangled strand of my hair. “Where have you been?” he asks.

“Making a mess of my life.” It wasn’t meant to be funny, but I can’t help the laughter that follows my statement. I’m good at making messes, I guess.

“I’ve always been under the impression that the bond between two people is something that grows over time, but I’ve been wrong. I think it all starts with a connection and grows into something more than I can comprehend at this moment.”

“You’re a brilliant man,” I tell him. I love that he’s unashamed to admit his worldly assumptions have been inaccurate due to inexperience.

“Thank you.” He looks surprised to hear my simplistic response to his understanding of life but I have nothing to match it with because I agree. “Emma, I want to spend more time with you, and I need you to know that I want to be careful not to rush into anything. I want our relationship to be separate and distinct from the one you had with Mike. I don’t even want you to compare us and keep thinking about how much better I am for you. I just want you to think about me as a new chapter in your life.” He interrupts his explanation with a short, soft kiss, and though I open my mouth to reply, he places his finger down gently on my lips. “However, I can’t pretend that staying away from each other ‘to let time heal’ is going to fix whatever pain we’ve both been through.”

I would only disagree if I were to follow those unsaid rules of dating, but I’ve never been one to follow rules. “Jackson, I’ve only felt this type of comfort and contentment during the times I’ve been you, and I don’t need time to figure that out,” I tell him.

“So, we’re on the same page?” he asks.

I squint my eyes, shamefully knowing what I’m about to say after just two dates with this man, but I’m done wasting precious moments in my life. “Will you laugh at me if I ask you to be my boyfriend?”

“Only if you don’t laugh when I ask you to wear my high school ring.”

I wasn’t expecting the joke, so I teasingly slap his bare chest, causing him to flinch and cover himself from further damage. “You have a high school ring?” I laugh at the thought. He must have been the guy all the girls drooled over, begging to wear his ring.

“No, it just sounded like the right thing to say in response.”

“We’re not being ridiculous, right? After all, we have only known each other for less than a week.” I don’t feel like I need more reassurance, but I want to hear it again.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asks.

“A couple of broken hearts,” I reply.

“We’d survive. You come from a line of survivors, and I’ve been through my own form of hell. I say we just live how we want and throw the rulebook out the window.”

“Damn rules,” I tell him.

“I think my mom and sister will be happy to hear I have a girlfriend.”

“I think my mom and grandmother will start planning a wedding,” I reply with amusement.

He doesn’t respond to the craziness that’s likely to be true, but I don’t think he cares as he kisses me again.

“Will you sleep over?” he asks.

“I suppose I could do that.”

“I figured since you’re already in your pajamas…”

“I’m naked,” I tell him.

“I know.” He wraps himself around me, embracing my body with his. “I like this.”

Now settled down without intention of moving, he grabs the remote and turns the TV on, which immediately brings up the comedy channel. I would have to watch comedy before bed too if I saw what he sees every day.

I fall asleep in the crook of his arm and chest, inhaling the fresh soap scent on his skin as if it were aromatherapy.

Without knowing what time it is, based on the darkness outside his window, I’m startled when Jackson’s phone rings on the nightstand. It shouldn’t come as a surprise since he’s a doctor, and I’m sure he’s on call at times, but my heart pounds with curiosity and a nervousness I shouldn’t feel from assumptions.

I look around for a clock, but the only one is across the room on his cable box, and it’s blurry from all the way over here. “Beck,” he answers.

He rubs his hand over his eyes, pressing his thumb against his temple. Jackson looks over to his side, and I look too, finding an alarm clock showing that it’s two in the morning. “Yes, stabilize her, and I’ll be there in twenty.” He looks over at me with an expression I can’t read, but it makes me more nervous. “No, she does not have a DNR on record, so continue efforts.”

The moment Jackson disconnects his call, he’s out of bed, grabbing his boxer briefs and slipping into his bathroom for a quick second. “Take a deep breath,” he tells me as he returns.

“I can’t. It’s my grandmother, isn’t it?”

“You’re coming with me, but I need you to breathe because I haven’t heard you take a breath in at least thirty-seconds.”

“What is it, Jackson?” There’s panic among my breaths, but the panic is louder than the minimal air escaping my lungs.

“She wanted to go for an unassisted walk and fell. It sounds like she may have dislodged the pacemaker, but I won’t know for sure until I get there.”

“Is she alive?” I cry out.

“They’re keeping her alive.”

Jackson is dressed in a clean pair of scrubs within a minute, and I’m still sitting in his bed, wrapped in a sheet. Since I’m in shock and haven’t found a way to move, he helps me dress. “Come on,” he says.

I’m shaking so hard, I’m having trouble standing, but Jackson takes my hand tightly within his, holding me up with his other hand as we make it to the front door. He leaves me to lean against the wall for a moment as he grabs my bag, diary, and his bag, then returns to my side, helping me out as if I’m completely broken.

“Jackson.” I keep sputtering his name with nothing to follow. He doesn’t have answers, but I want them. “I need her to be okay. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

“I know, Emma,” he says as the elevator closes us inside. With the bags draped over his shoulders, he faces me and smooths my hair out, pulling it together behind my shoulders. His knuckles then tend to my falling tears and his hands cup around my cheeks, forcing me to look up at him through the blurriness. “I will do whatever I can for her.”

“I know,” I mumble through a weak moan.

The doors to the elevator open, and I hardly feel my feet touch the ground as Jackson guides me over to the passenger door of his car. “I thought the pacemaker was put in to regulate her arrhythmia if it happened. How could it cause her heart to stop if it’s not working?”

“I don’t want to give you any answers until I have them. He leans in quickly and places a kiss on my cheek before closing the door.”

We drive much faster through the city then I’ve ever driven before, and we whip into the parking lot with available spaces up front. I jump out of the car as fast as he does, even though I know I’ll be stopped at some point since I won’t be allowed in there again. More waiting than I can stand. I have to call Mom too.

The elevator brings us to the ICU floor, and Jackson stops briefly, gazing at me with pain encircling his eyes. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t let you in there. It’s protocol.” He hands me my bag and opens the door to the waiting room.

I nod through my quivering chin and walk into the empty space I’ve become all too familiar with this week.

After placing my bag down, I pull out my phone and dial mom’s number.

She’s groggy and sounds confused when she answers the phone. “Mom,” I say softly, trying not to startle her more than I probably already have. “Grams fell, and I need you to come down to the hospital.”

“What?” she shouts. “Why didn’t they call me? Did they call me? Did I miss a call? When did this happen? Emma, is she okay?”

“I don’t know, Mom. I just need you to get down here, okay? Please drive carefully…please.”

She hangs up the phone without a goodbye, and I know she’ll be driving like a maniac down the highway. I’ll be worried sick until she gets here—I don’t want anything to happen to her.

My mind is spinning, and I can’t think of any way to calm myself down other than pacing the room a hundred times before my knees start to ache. I know Jackson will tell me something as soon as he knows, but I’m not sure how long it will be before that happens.

I finally drop down into one of the chairs. My foot catches on the handle of my bag, and it falls over, spilling Grams’s diary out onto the floor. As I lean down to pick it up, I contemplate whether I can stand to read it right at the moment. Her story doesn’t making me feel better, it only reminds me of how much she has survived though, and how ridiculous it would be for her to die from her heart of steel after everything she has experienced.

Will she escape death a second time? I curl into my seat, holding onto hope as I impulsively reopen the diary.