Round One -- Ready, Set, Go!
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He always meant to tell her, he always meant to come clean about how he felt towards her and had been feeling long before she even met Brett. A ridiculous man with a ridiculous name. It wasn’t possible that she be linked eternally to a person named Brett, no matter how desperate she was. Somehow, though, he never quite got around to telling her that Brett wasn’t ‘The One’ for her. There never seemed to be that perfect, undisturbed moment, a break in the conversation to fill with: ‘I adore you, please don’t marry him’.
Perhaps they’d become too stuck in their ways, the two of them. Perhaps, after all those years of her being right there for him to claim if he’d chosen to, he only wanted her now because it seemed that she was finally going to belong to someone else forever. Perhaps, what it really came down to was that, in matters of the heart, he was an unabashed coward.
One thing was for certain, he was more like his mother than any of them suspected. Years before, Colleen had tried to stop him from going on his honeymoon with Bianca by staging a heartattack. The woman had no scruples. And neither did he, it seemed. Not when it came to something he really wanted. Someone he truly needed, on such a basic, intrinsic level. Lucky for him, Colleen also had no qualms whatsoever about contacting Liz with the news that he was in the hospital. Even on her wedding day, Lemon still had her phone on and took the call. And within moments, his mother’s natural melodrama had her fleeing City Hall to be by his side.
It wasn’t so very difficult to fake a cardiac event. Not with Leo Spaceman as his personal physician, and not having already suffered one. The only thing Jack was nervous about was that the news be delivered before the ‘I dos’ had taken place. But lying in his hospital bed, and even heavily sedated to appear the part, he felt far guiltier than he’d expected he would.
He’d told himself that he was doing this for her good, as well as to buy himself some time. If he’d honestly thought Lemon would be happy with her intended, he never would’ve disturbed her wedding day. He would’ve sat silently by, watched her utter those binding words while she looked into another man’s eyes and then sealed the bargain with a kiss. He could’ve done it. Maybe. He just didn’t want her to go though with it without knowing all her options.
She’s blurry when she walks through the door, an outline he now recognises instantly. He knows it’s her, he doesn’t have to ask. But the drugs must truly have set in because he can’t totally see her until she’s right there by his side, looking down at him with that soft, concerned expression he vaguely remembers from the first time his heart gave out. She’s not in black, of course. The ivory dress she chose to be married in is plain and conservative, with tailored lines and a vintage air. Her hair is up, although her bangs still flop across her forehead like they usually do and a few tendrils are loose at the base of her neck.
She puts out a hand, curls it round his bare forearm.
“Hey,” she murmurs softly, so softly that he longs to hear her speak like that to him more regularly: “How’re you feeling?”
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