Page 75 of Just One Kiss

He must’ve sensed it because he froze in place.

She expected him to turn for the door. To leave. To run. Because that was what Josh did when things got messy. That was what she wanted him to do so she could cry in peace.

But he stood unmoving, waiting for her to meet his eyes, something she absolutely would not allow herself to do.

She stared at the ground, chewing her bottom lip as if her life depended on it, as if it were the only thing keeping the dam of tears from breaking.

He took the coffee and brown paper bag and set them on the table near the front door. Then he reached out and took her hand before she could pull it away.

“He’s going to be okay,” Josh repeated.

Carly knew he was right. It was illogical to be this worried. And yet, what if he didn’t wake up from the anesthesia? What if the implant didn’t work? What if it malfunctioned? What if their son’s heart condition was scarier and more serious than any of them realized?

How had this happened? And more importantly—why?

Josh inched closer as Carly’s mind spun, the lump at the base of her throat doubling in size. His grip on her hand loosened and he slid his hand up her arm, taking another step closer. “Carly,” he said.

Still, she wouldn’t look at him, but the sob caught in her throat and she realized she’d been holding it together for so very long—it was as if every ounce of fear had pooled inside of her, securely positioned in a little box at the back of her mind, and with every kind word he kicked the box closer and closer to the front of her mind. One more word and he’d knock the lid off and the contents would come spilling out.

He tucked the finger of his free hand under her chin and lifted it until her eyes finally met his.

The box tipped over. Her heart gushed out. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I know you’re worried,” Josh said. “And exhausted.” He looked at her so earnestly, so kindly, something inside her shifted. “But he really is going to be okay.”

“But you don’t know that,” she said through her tears.

With his thumbs, he wiped her cheeks dry, then continued to hold her face in his hands. “Maybe not, but I believe it. I believe he’s going to be fine. He’s going to come through this stronger and better for it. God’s got big plans for him, Carly. I know you know that.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

“Right?”

“Right.” She opened her eyes to find him still looking at her.

“So, we’ll cling to that.”

Josh stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her, and for the briefest moment she let herself be held.

19

What was he doing? He might as well plunge a knife into his own chest.

He told God (repeatedly) he did not want to go to Carly’s house that morning and pray for Jaden. The thought had popped into his head around two, and he’d tried to push it away. Josh Dixon didn’t pray. That’s what Carly would be thinking. And she would’ve been right once upon a time.

But now? Praying had become second nature. Because if he didn’t pray, he couldn’t keep his promise.

Besides, his regret had kept him paralyzed for years—he would’ve tried anything to bury it. Instead—and largely thanks to his teenage son—he was trying to forgive himself.

Jaden talked about God like they were old friends. He was different than most religious people Josh knew. He wasn’t preachy or judgmental, and while Jaden didn’t know everything about his father’s past, he knew Josh had made mistakes. Obviously.

One time, Josh had asked his son how he ever found it possible to forgive him, and Jaden said, “God’s forgiven me for my sins. We all deserve a second chance.”

Jaden would never know how those words had burrowed in, down to a deep place in Josh’s soul. They felt like the answer to prayers he didn’t know he’d been praying.

Then there was the church thing. Josh never went. His parents had gone out of obligation and mostly to be seen—they were, after all, the picture of a perfect family—but Josh had only ever viewed church as a place where he would be judged and not accepted.

And he’d been right back in the day. He’d sit by his parents trying not to lean his bruised back against the wooden pew, aware of the side glances and death glares from the good, upright folks of Harbor Pointe.

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