Page 59 of Worth the Wait

Before I can respond, my phone vibrates against the table. My mother's name illuminates the screen, unusual for this time of night. Concern immediately overrides all other emotions.

"I should take this," I say, already sliding from the booth. "It's my mother."

I step into a quieter hallway near the restrooms, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Mom? Everything okay?"

Her voice comes through clear but strained. "Everything's fine, honey. Well, mostly fine. Your father had his follow-up with Dr. Kowalski today."

My pulse accelerates, memories of hospital corridors and beeping machines never far beneath the surface even though he hasn’t had another heart attack since the first one. "What did he say?"

"The good news is his condition is stable." She pauses, the weight of unspoken words evident in her silence. "The less good news is there's a specialized surgical procedure that could significantly improve his quality of life. Something about a valvular intervention."

I lean against the wall, free hand pressing against my eyes. "I'm sensing a 'but' coming."

"But insurance will only cover about sixty percent of the cost." Her voice drops, embarrassment coloring her tone. "It's elective, technically speaking. Not immediately life-threatening."

"How much?" I ask simply.

"Jackson, your father forbade me from asking you," she confesses, maternal worry transcending pride. "He's so proud of what you've accomplished. Says watching you argue a case is better than any medicine."

The unexpected vulnerability in her description of my stoic father—a man who once viewed asking for help as weakness rather than wisdom—creates a tightness in my throat that makes it difficult to respond. "Mom. How much?"

She names a figure that would decimate my savings but remains within reach—especially with the signing bonus the junior counsel position would provide. The position I'm competing for against Tarryn. The position that suddenly carries implications beyond professional advancement.

"I'm transferring the money tomorrow," I tell her, decision instantaneous and absolute. "Tell Dad it's an investment in future fishing trips that he's not allowed to refuse."

Her relief is palpable but she still tries to deny accepting it. "He'll protest."

"Let him. I'm still going to do it." I glance toward the booth where Tarryn waits, her profile illuminated by the table’s candlelight. "How is he, really?"

"Stubborn as ever." Affection warms her tone. "The chest pains have been worse lately, but he won't admit it. This procedure could make such a difference, Jackson."

After assuring her the money will be arranged, I end the call and stand motionless in the hallway, absorbing implications thatripple outward like stones dropped in still water. The promotion, already professionally significant, now carries my father's well-being in its wake. The competing presentation against Tarryn, originally a showcase of complementary talents, transforms into something more fundamentally opposed to my instincts—a direct competition against the woman who's reclaiming territory in my heart with frightening efficiency.

When I return to the booth, Tarryn reads my expression with the uncanny perception she's always possessed. "What's wrong?"

I consider deflection before choosing honesty. "My father's doctor is recommending a specialized procedure that insurance won't fully cover. If it helps with the ongoing chest pain, it's worth every penny, but?—"

"But it's a significant expense," she finishes, understanding immediately. "The junior counsel position would help with that."

I nod, discomfort crawling under my skin at discussing financial matters so directly. "The signing bonus alone would cover most of it. But Tarryn, this doesn't change?—"

“Hey,” she says softly, grabbing my hand again, “we’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” I say, hoping she’s right. But there’s a look in her eyes, an understanding that actually does settle the stress and doubt that has suddenly reared its ugly head.

Jealousy isan unfamiliar emotion—one I've rarely indulged and never welcomed. Yet watching Tarryn laugh with Daniel Everett, head of Blake Financial's litigation department, ignitessomething primal within me, a possessive heat that defies professional decorum or rational thought.

Her head tilts back slightly as she laughs at something Daniel says, exposing the elegant column of her neck in a way that sends blood rushing southward despite my attempts at control. Her hand touches his arm briefly in a totally normal gesture, yet my body responds as if to direct threat, muscles tensing instinctively.

Christine materializes beside me at the coffee station, her voice pitched low for privacy while her eyes track my focus with predatory assessment. "Attractive pairing, don't you think? Miguel mentioned Daniel's been looking for someone with Tarryn's contract expertise for the Holloway case."

The implication—that Tarryn might be reassigned, moved to another department, separated from the Westfield account and, by extension, from daily contact with me—sends a jolt of alarm through my system. "Daniel should focus on his own department rather than poaching talent from others."

"Interesting choice of words. 'Poaching' suggests ownership." Christine stirs her coffee with precise movements, each turn of her spoon as deliberate as her strategy. "I actually suggested Tarryn might be perfect for his team. She has exactly the collaborative temperament his department values."

Before I can respond, Daniel says something that makes Tarryn laugh again, the sound carrying across the break room with painful familiarity. When she glances in my direction, her smile falters slightly, awareness passing between us.

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