[chapter fifteen]
Disclaimer: If you've heard of them, I don't own them. Everything else is mine, so no stealing, pretty please. ;-)
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~Shea's POV~
"God, I'm tired." I say, flopping down on Jimmie's couch.
"I know." He says sympathetically, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "You've been through a lot lately."
I roll my head to work the kinks out of my neck as I murmur my agreement. Between planning all the aspects of my mother's funeral, dealing with her estate, settling debts and still trying to hold down a job for the last few weeks, I feel like I've been stretched too thin. I'm tired, I'm irritable, and if it weren't for Jimmie, I would have completely lost it by now.
But he's been a rock. Helping me, holding me, and just being there.
I'm so in love with this man it scares me.
But I can finally feel things begin to normalize, now that things are falling into place. I mean, I still cry every day over my mother, but the woman I knew and the woman I was taking care of were two different people. I had worked through my grief long before she passed away. And in some ways, that's been a help to me.
Now that things are settling down, I can focus on the future.
My future. With Jimmie.
Because the thought of a day without him hurts more than anything. Even when he goes to the tracks on the weekends, I can feel a piece of me die until he comes home.
But when he does come back …
It's like the sun bursting through the clouds.
Someone stop me before I start writing sonnets about the glory of Jimmie Johnson.
"So when do you leave for New Hampshire?" I ask, sinking further into the warmth of his arms.
"Not until tomorrow night. But then I'm off and going all weekend with appearances. I'm gonna be a tired boy when I get back Sunday night."
"I'll take care of you." I say with an evil grin and he smiles in return.
"I'm counting on it." He teases in return.
"I'm hoping to pick up some extra hours at the Silver Spoon Sunday, so I may be a bit later than you." I tell him and can hear him sigh slightly. I've been working tons of hours to make enough money to pay for funeral costs, outstanding medical bills, and all the settling on the house. I know ends will meet someday, but not for a long time yet.
"When are you going to stop working yourself so many hours?" He asks seriously.
"Once I can afford to, Jimmie."
"But you know I said that I would … "
I put up a hand to stop him. "I know. But no. But thank you."
"Listen, Shea … "
Uh-oh. He's gone all serious about the face.
What did I do?
"I was thinking. Now that … well, now that things are … I'm saying this all wrong." He stammers, exasperated.
"I know what you mean." I reassure him. "What now?"
"Well, why are you still working
there? When are you going to go back to Columbia? "