[UPDATED WEEKLY]
"You may be his world, but you're the only thing that ever felt like home to me."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Some people never get second chances. Lilah never thought she'd get one with her brother's best f...
Hello fellow readers, I'm sorry it's late for an update but it's still Friday so it counts! I've been busy with my seven month old this week but I appreciate people taking time to read a story I feel really interested in writing. Please vote and share if you enjoy it, it would mean the world and lets me know if I'm doing a good job or not. Any advice is welcomed 😊
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The second the door clicks shut, the heat floods to my face so intensely that my skin tingles and it almost burns. I stare at the hospital gown clutched in my hands, the thin fabric feeling heavier than it should. The nurse's words hang in the air between us, thick and suffocating, leaving me frozen in place.
I shift on the edge of the bed, my limbs sluggish, my head throbbing in time with my pulse. The awkwardness creeping in is unbearable, but I don't dare look at Jackson—not yet. I can already feel the weight of his gaze on me, like he's waiting for me to react, to do or say something first.
Finally, I force myself to awkwardly glance up, half-hoping he looks just as uncomfortable as I feel. And to my slight relief—he does.
Jackson's sitting there, as stiff as a statue, his expression unreadable. But I can tell he's just as caught off guard as I am. His lips press into a firm line, his right eye twitching slightly. He looks almost...stuck, like his brain is still buffering, trying to process what just happened.
If this was a normal situation, I would laugh at his reaction right now. But before I can savor the rare sight of Jackson Brooks looking thrown off, he blinks, snapping himself back to reality. His expression shifts, guarded once again, his usual indifference sliding back into place like a well-worn mask.
"I'll help you up." His voice is low, almost reluctant, like he's already regretting offering. I barely hear him over the ringing in my ears.
He takes a step forward. The motion is so automatic, like he doesn't even register that the last four years have existed—like he didn't shut me out completely, like we haven't been avoiding each other for almost as long as the friendship we had prior. His hand extends toward me—steady, expectant—but I don't take it.
Instead, I force my sluggish limbs to work. My fingers curl tighter around the cold metal railing at the side of the bed, my grip firm as I slowly push myself upright on my own. The second I shift, dizziness crashes over me like a wave, and my head spins instantly, making the whole room tilt. I suck in a sharp breath, my knees wobbling, but I refuse to give Jackson the satisfaction of seeing me falter. I plant my feet on the tile floor, steadying myself before reaching for the folded hospital gown at the foot of the bed.
Jackson's hand lingers in the air for another second before he pulls it back, exhaling sharply through his nose in what sounds suspiciously like irritation.
"Jesus, Lilah." His voice is rough, but he doesn't push the issue. Instead, he plops back into the chair with an almost theatrical plop and exaggerated huff, rubbing his jaw. His shadow of a stubble lightly scratches against his hands.
