And almost as if he can tell I’m thinking about him, he appears in the doorway of my room, a bouquet of posies in his hand. He offers me a little half-smile, and when Ashley follows my gaze, she leaps up out of her seat and over to him. She leans in to whisper something, and he nods before she gives me a little wave and disappears down the hallway.

  Knowing her, she won't go far. She knows better than to leave me alone with Jameson for any real length of time. Knows what it could do to me.

  He enters slowly, glances at the television, and points to it with his free hand. “You like the show?”

  “It's better than Prime Chef.”

  Jameson laughs even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know, if anyone else said that, I’d probably be pissed, but from you, I almost anticipated it.”

  “I guess I'm predictable, huh?”

  He lowers himself into the chair next to the bed and sets the flowers on the small table to my right. “No, Izzy, you are far from predictable.” His concerned gaze sweeps over me. “How are you feeling?”

  “As good as can be expected, I guess.”

  It’s the same awkward question patients always get asked in these situations, and there really isn't any good way to answer it. Nothing has changed since he left yesterday, except I’ve had a few more drugs pumped into me that have artificially made me feel a little better for a very short period of time.

  He nods and glances around the room while he rubs at the back of his neck. “There anything else I can bring you that would make you more comfortable? I was going to cook for you, but I wasn’t sure what you were allowed to eat.”

  Dammit. Why does he have to be sweet?

  It was so much easier when he was an asshole.

  I shake my head. “No. Ashley already went to my place and got me everything I need.”

  He clasps his hands on his lap and rocks forward slightly.

  God, he’s so uncomfortable.

  The confident, shameless Jameson Fury is gone, erased by the stupid disease ravaging my body. A tear trickles down his cheek, and he reaches up to swipe it off.

  Shit. Did I really just see that?

  A vise wraps itself around my ribcage and squeezes. The pain the rest of my body has been experiencing is nothing compared to what I know is about to come. Because I hate seeing him like this. This isn't him. This isn't who he is meant to be. It's not who I want him to be. This shell of a person who stays because of some kind of obligation or pity.

  I can’t allow that.

  “Thank you for the flowers, Jameson. They’re beautiful.”

  He offers me a tentative smile and motions toward them. “I asked Rachel what kind to get you. They were her suggestion. She says hi, by the way. Everyone does. And that they’re thinking about you.”

  “That's nice.”

  And completely unnecessary.

  The whole Fury family is now caught up in my drama all because the two of us couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

  He releases a sigh. “So, what's next?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, are you going to get to go home, or do you stay here now until they have a kidney for you?”

  God, he's cute. So adorable wanting to understand.

  “I stay until they get me a little bit healthier, but I go home until I have a kidney and come back for dialysis three times a week. I’ll be exhausted and weak and still spend a lot of my time in the hospital.”

  This is so much harder than I had prepared myself for.

  I take as deep a breath as I can manage and hold his gaze. “But you don't have to.”

  He stills and narrows his eyes on me. “What do you mean?”

  “You don't need to be here, Jameson. I didn't ask you to—”

  “I know you didn't ask me to be here, Izzy. I want to be here.”

  His words and the emotion lacing them bring the prick of tears to my eyes. The pain he feels is palpable. And here I thought I was the one suffering.

  I blink away the threatening tears and refocus on my mission. “There isn't any reason for you to be here, Jameson. Thank you for bringing me to the hospital. Really. I appreciate it. If it happened when I would have been home alone, I might not be here. But there's no reason for you to stay.”

  “No reason for me to stay?” He clenches his jaw so tightly, a muscle there tics. “Are you serious right now?”

  “I am.” Staring into his rich bourbon eyes, glimmering with tears for me, makes this even harder than I could have predicted. “We had some fun. And great sex.” I force a smile. “But we both know this was never going to be anything more than that. Having fun.” I sweep my hands over myself. “And I'm done having fun for the foreseeable future. You have a business to go run. A restaurant to open. Adoring fans who are waiting for you. So, go. There isn't anything for you here.”

  My words hang between us like atom bombs threatening to decimate everything in their path. In this case, any affection Jameson might have for me. Then they seem to hit him—one by one. Word by painful word.

  He opens his mouth and closes it again.

  It gives me an opening to lay the final blow, the one below the belt sure to knock him down for the count. “Hell. You're probably happy you finally got rid of the competition.”

  “Jesus Christ, Izzy…is that what you really think? That's what you really think of me? That I would be happy about this? You being sick?” He shoves out of his chair and leans over me, anger flaring deep in his eyes that held so much concern only moments ago. “That's how little you think of me?”

  OF COURSE NOT!

  I want to scream the words. I want to tell him how much I want him to stay. I want to have him climb into this bed with me and pull me into his strong, warm arms.

  But I can’t.

  Because I would never burden him with this. With having to sit here and watch me die slowly if I don't get a kidney. Or the weeks and months of recovery it's going to take to get back to a semi-normal life, even if, by some miracle, I do get one.

  All the pills and tests and doctor’s appointments and everything else I will have to go through.

  The emotional expense—I won't make him pay it.

  “I do think that, Jameson. And I think it's time for you to leave.”

  He rears back like I just slapped him, his mouth hanging open and looking completely lost. It hurt him, but the shameless, confident Prime Chef winner like him doesn’t get knocked down for long. Look at the way he came storming back from what I did to his menu. He’ll move on—likely sooner rather than later. And I’ll just be a distant memory of a few good nights.

  I have to believe that. If I don’t, I might reach out for him.

  But he turns on his heel and storms out of the room like he can't get away from me fast enough, eliminating that possibility.

  It's exactly what I wanted. What I knew I had to do from the moment I woke up in this bed and realized what was happening and that Jameson was here. That doesn't mean it wasn't one of the most painful things I've ever had to do in my entire life.

  This alone may kill me even if my damn kidneys don't.

  21

  EIGHT WEEKS LATER

  IZZY

  I glance at Ashley in the driver’s seat. “Do we really need to do this today?”

  She nods enthusiastically before returning her eyes to the road. “Yes. We really do. I told you Rochelle wants to start listing the place again and that we need to come to get a few things out of there before she can do that. You know…personal items.”

  Personal items?

  I don't know what “personal items” I possibly could have left there that are of any importance. If they were, I would've needed them over the last two months and they would already be gone, but if that’s the hang up on getting the place leased out to someone else, then I guess it needs to happen.

  God knows I won’t be using it and can’t afford to pay the rent anymore.

  The closer we get to the restaurant, the more my stomach turns and my hands get clammy. I wipe them against my jeans.

  Ashley catches the move. “Why are you so nervous? I told you…I doubt he'll even be there. It's why we’re coming so early.”

  I peer out the window at the rising fall sun trickling onto the street through the buildings. “I'm just not ready. I don't know if I can handle seeing him right now.”

  Things have been difficult enough with my recovery without throwing Jameson into the mix. I thought being sick and waiting for a kidney was the hard part, but then once they found a match, it was like an entirely new battle erupted.

  First, the infection that almost killed me, then antirejection meds that made me sicker than a dog. It feels like I've been fighting a war for months after finally ending the one with Jameson. And I guess, in a way, I have been—a war for my life.

  I can’t deal with another war in my heart, too.

  Ashley reaches out and squeezes my wrist. “But things are getting better now, hon. It's time to wrap up this chapter and start a new one, right?”

  Her words make sense, but it’s so much easier said than done.

  No amount of time or pain medication can erase the look on Jameson's face when I said those final words to him. When I took the very thing that had once stood between us and used it to crush him. But they had their desired effect. He has stayed away, and I've managed to avoid seeing any sort of press about FURY during my recovery.

  Mostly because I stayed off social media and refused to watch the news out of fear I might see him on a morning show or in a random photo and have a meltdown.

  Books and binging Webflix are my new way of life. But soon enough, I'm going to have to figure out what I'm going to do going forward.

  The sheer cost of my transplant means I can no longer afford to open the restaurant even though I prepaid a year of the lease. There's just too much overhead expense and not enough time to recoup my start-up costs and make any sort of a profit.

  Which leads to a very uncomfortable question I’ve been avoiding asking Ashley since she convinced me to come with her today. We turn onto the street the restaurant sits on, and my heart thunders against my rib cage violently.

  I stare at the familiar buildings passing by. “Will you do something for me?”

  She glances my way. “Of course.”

  “If he is there, will you go ask him if he still wants to buy my range? I could really use the money.”

  I feel like such an idiot not doing it months ago when he offered, but I was being petty and the world looked a lot different back then. My priorities were different. One-upping Jameson and having something to lord over him meant more to me than having the money that could make such a huge difference now.

  Ashley shakes her head. “No. You can ask yourself.”

  She points through the windshield at the front of the restaurants where a familiar lounge chair sits across the two parking spots in the front with none other than Chef Fury reclining on it, looking every bit as delectable as he did that hot summer morning even though it's now fall and he's in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

  Shit.

  “Keep driving.”

  I reach out to grab the wheel—probably not the brightest move—but Ashley is too fast, and she maneuvers as close as she can to Jameson and throws the car in the park.

  “No. You're going to get out.”

  “No, I'm not.” I flick the lock on my door, securing myself inside.

  She chuckles. “Did you seriously just lock your door like that's actually going to do anything?”

  With one finger, she presses a button on her armrest that unlocks all the doors in the car.

  I gasp and scowl at her. “You bitch! You set me up.”

  She shrugs and tries to look innocent. “I have no idea what you talking about. I didn’t know Jameson would be here today.”

  Jameson.

  Somehow, I'd momentarily forgotten the man who was the center of all my dreams and nightmares while I was recovering is right outside this car. My focus drifts away from Ashley and toward the cause of my panic.

  His eyes connect with mine through the windshield, the sweet amber swirling with as many emotions as the last time I saw him, and he pushes up from the chair slowly and deliberately.

  He makes his way to the passenger side of the car and pops the door. I cross my arms over myself protectively, ignoring the slight pull at my side, lingering pain from the transplant that is gradually improving, and refuse to look at him.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I can't.” I raise a hand in his direction. “I can't handle this today. Just no.”

  Instead of closing the door and letting me go on with life, he extends a large hand out in front of me, ensuring it will be in my line of vision even though I won’t turn my head toward him.

  That hand…

  Heat floods my core just thinking about what he did with his hands. The beautiful food he created. How he touched so much more than just my body. How he reached inside to my soul and made me feel so…complete.

  And I destroyed him. I used the words I knew would hurt him the worst to push him away.

  I bury my face in my hands and shake my head. “I can't. I just…can't.”

  “Please, Isabella, just give me five minutes. And then, if you want, Ashley will bring you home.” His voice doesn’t waver or reveal anything.

  Is he still mad? Does he hate me?

  I force my head up and glance at her. A naughty grin tugs the corner of her lips as she doesn't even bother to hide her amusement at the situation.

  Yeah, real fucking funny. I'll get her back for this.

  One thing the Jameson situation has taught me is that I am capable of coming up with some pretty good tricks of my own. She’ll pay for her betrayal once I’m done dealing with whatever Jameson wants.

  You can do this, Iz. Five minutes…

  With the man who almost broke you…

  Because letting him in and letting myself believe in something I could never have almost did break me. But now, I’ve survived a kidney transplant. I can survive Jameson Fury for five fucking minutes.

  I hope.

  After a deep breath and intake of courage, I reach out and place my hand in his. His strong, warm palm wraps around mine, and he gives me a gentle tug. I unbuckle my seatbelt with my free hand and let him pull me from the car slowly.

  Jameson’s being so careful, so gentle with me. The very thing I hate so much, even if it might be a little bit warranted due to the pain I’m still in.

  He pulls me from the car until I'm standing, facing him on the street; the only thing between us is the chilly fall air and the harsh words that were spoken. His hands reaches out to brush a stray hair behind my ear, and I have to physically fight the desire to lean into his warm palm and embrace his touch.

  Instead, I take a fortifying breath. A familiar scent mingles with the one that’s all Jameson.

  Food.

  Something I’ve eaten before.

  Something that makes my mouth water and my stomach rumble.

  “What’s that?” I glance over his shoulder at our restaurants—at least until my half gets leased to someone else. His sign isn't lit. Besides, he never struck me as a breakfast-joint-type chef. “Are you open?”

  He shakes his head. “No. But I have something to show you.” His grip on my hand tightens, and he tugs me forward, but not toward his door, toward mine. “Come on.”

  “What are you doing? Where are we going?”

  He glances back at me with humor dancing in his eyes. Whatever animosity he had for me that day when I said those terrible words and forced him out of my life seems to have dissipated over time. Either that or he's a hell of a good actor.

  I let him open the door to my place and drag me into the unknown.

  JAMESON

  Izzy follows me into the restaurant tentatively, as if she’s waiting for some massive prank like a bucket of water to fall on her head.

  She doesn't trust me.

  Maybe she shouldn't after all the things I did to her. But she will. I just have to give her some time to understand everything that’s happening and where I stand in all of this.

  She freezes just inside the door, her gaze bouncing around the restaurant and the staff bustling around getting things organized. Lifting her head, she sniffs the air, heavy with the smells of some of the things I have them working on. With her jaw hanging open, she whips back and looks at me, her eyebrows raised. “What the hell is going on?”

  “They're getting ready for your opening next Friday.”

  “What?” She takes another step and then shakes her head. “No. I can't. I don't have the money to open anymore. And I'm in no physical shape to do it even if I financially could.”

  I take a step closer to her, needing to be near her even when I know I have to give her time to take in everything. “You'll have help. Ashley quit her job and is going to come work for you.”

  “What? She can't. She's been there for years, working her way up. She's a shoo-in for chef de cuisine when Emilio retires in the next year or two.”

  I shake my head and capture her arms in my hands to hold her steady because it looks like she's about to pass out. Maybe I should've thought through this reveal a little better, but once I knew everything was ready to move forward, Ashley assured me it would be okay—that Isabella was ready for this.

  Maybe she was wrong.

  Izzy’s mouth opens and closes, and she sucks in a shaky breath. “I'm not ready. I can't be ready in ten days. I haven't finalized the menu. I haven't done any advertising. Dammit, I don't have the money to do any of it, Jameson.”

  I take another step closer to her until my chest is almost brushing against hers. Being like this again, close enough to feel her shaky breath and smell that sweet scent I’ve been dreaming about, makes the last few months completely worth it. “Yes, you do.”

  “No.” She shakes her head, a mixture of panic and despair overtaking her beautiful features. “You don't understand. My medical bills—”

  “Are taken care of.”

  “What?” Her eyebrows fly up. “How is that possible?”

 

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