Her Ex: The Braxton Brothers Series

by Meyer, Anne-Marie

  Crap.

  She tried it again.

  Nothing.

  Frustration and embarrassment coursed through her. Really? Today of all days her car wasn’t going to start.

  Just her luck. Her first interaction with Jackson was topped off with her car breaking down.

  Cursing under her breath, she tightened her grip on the wheel and stared down at her lap. This was not how she’d seen her life going.

  When Jackson left her in the lurch, she swore she would make something of herself. And yet, here she sat years later with nothing but mounding debt and a broken life to show for it.

  If Jackson knew, he would laugh.

  He’d broken her heart once, and she doubted he had enough humanity in him to not do it again.

  Just as she thought the words, regret filled her chest. She knew that wasn’t true. Jackson had been one of the sweetest, most loving guys she’d ever met. But he’d left. Without a word. Without an explanation.

  Gone.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and she had to shush her mind before the waterworks started.

  Determined to get out of there before the Braxtons came back out of the bridal store, she swung open her door and stepped out. She pulled the release to the hood and walked around to open it.

  She stared in at the engine, completely lost. It was comical that she was attempting to look like she knew what she was doing. Dad had always helped her with all the mechanical stuff.

  Tears welled up again.

  Not anymore. Not since he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Now, he barely knew who she was. Which she wasn’t complaining about. It just made her sad that she was alone. Bobby, her fiancé, was gone on yet another business trip, leaving her to plan their wedding while working full time in the hope of getting her life together so that Dad could finally come home.

  Six months ago, he fell and broke his hip. Things never really healed correctly, so he was forced to use a wheelchair. Add the need for round-the-clock care for his memory, and she was in a pickle. She had no money to remodel the house so that her dad could get around, so he was stuck in a nursing home. A place she’d sworn she would never let him end up.

  It had also thrown her engagement into disarray. They couldn’t come to an agreement on what to do with her dad. Bobby wanted him to stay in the nursing home so they could start their life together, but Isabel couldn’t turn her back on the only man who’d never left her.

  Frustrated, Isabel reached into the engine and fiddled around with some hoses. Just as she grabbed one, its coupling slipped, and she was sprayed with some dark, murky liquid.

  She screamed and jumped back, slamming her head into the hood. She winced and rubbed the bump that was now forming there.

  This was just great.

  “Wow. That was…entertaining,” Jackson’s familiar voice said from behind her.

  Isabel closed her eyes for a moment as she tipped her face up toward the sky. Seriously? Why did fate hate her?

  She swallowed and took in a deep breath. Then, when she felt as ready as she would ever be, she turned and forced a smile.

  Of course, Jackson had to look so incredibly good. He had on a light-blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark dress pants. He didn’t look like he’d aged a bit. Being an adult looked good on him. Why did he have to look so put together? On top of that, he looked like he dripped money. Even his haircut looked expensive.

  Darn him.

  His gaze swept over her, making her feel like an even bigger idiot. She was completely covered in what looked like motor oil—or something similar.

  “Car troubles?” he asked as he stepped closer to her. “Can I take a look?”

  The breeze picked up and surrounded her with the smell of his cologne. It was a mixture of woods and spice. And it was familiar, even though Isabel knew he couldn’t have afforded that cologne as a teenager.

  Isabel stepped back as she watched Jackson dip down to look at her engine. He rested a hand on the outside of the car, and she couldn’t help but notice his muscle ripple under the skin of his forearm.

  Why did he even wear button-up shirts if he was going to roll up the sleeves? Who was he trying to impress?

  Needing to get the heck out of here, she forced all thoughts of Jackson’s body from her mind and asked, “So, can you fix it?”

  Jackson tipped his face toward her, and, of course, his gaze ran over her body once more. Then he straightened and brushed his hands together. “You should probably call a tow truck. I don’t think this car is going anywhere.”

  Isabel’s heart sank. She had work at Humanitarian Hearts this afternoon and then a full shift at the Italian Shoppe this evening. She couldn’t be out a car.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, not really to him, just to the cosmos that were so excited to dump another crappy situation in her lap.

  “Well, since that’s supposed to be in there”—Jackson pointed from her oil-splattered shirt to the engine—“I’m guessing you won’t get this to go anywhere if it’s not attached to a tow truck.” He shoved his hands into his front pockets and shrugged. “But I’m no mechanic.”

  Isabel’s eyes felt as if they were going to well up—again. Not wanting to lose her cool in front of Jackson, she nodded and went to grab her phone. She emerged from the car to find Jackson on his phone, talking to someone.

  He was a few feet away, speaking in low tones. She wasn’t sure who he was talking to, and even though she wanted to listen in, she knew she’d lost the privilege of knowing who he was talking to years ago.

  He had moved on and so had she…

  Even though right now, as she studied him, her body was saying something completely different. Old feelings that should have been completely dead didn’t seem to be as extinct as she’d thought.

  Jackson turned and met her gaze, raising his eyebrows. Of course he would catch her staring at him.

  Add it to the big stinking pile of bad luck she seemed to be dragging around.

  A few seconds later, Jackson hung up. “Zippy’s can’t come get you for a few hours. Apparently, there’s some machinery stuck just off the freeway that he has to deal with first.” Jackson slipped his phone into his back pocket. “But they’ll get to you when they can.”

  Isabel stared at him. Had he just set up a tow truck for her? “Um, thanks?” she said, the words coming out more like a question.

  Jackson met her gaze and then dropped his eyes, blowing out his breath in a slow stream. He shrugged. “Come on, Izzie. We were friends once. I think we can do that again.”

  Friends? Really? They’d pretty much planned out their wedding. All he’d had to do was ask her dad for permission, and she would have run away with him. She’d loved him. And then he’d disappeared without a word.

  She swallowed against the emotional lump in her throat and forced a smile. “Of course. Friends.”

  Ugh, that word tasted bitter on her tongue. Did Jackson feel the same? She peeked over at him to study his reaction. She couldn’t really read it—he looked so stoic and relaxed.

  Which just made her feel worse.

  “Well, thanks,” she said as she marched over to the car. She grabbed her purse from the front seat, swung it onto her shoulder, and slammed the door, locking the car as she stepped away.

  It was a thirty-minute walk to her house, and she knew she would be a sweaty mess by the time she got there. After taking a shower and having to walk to Humanitarian Hearts, she was going to be late. Might as well call them to let them know.

  “Can I give you a ride?” Jackson asked.

  Isabel paused, not sure if she heard him right. “I’m sorry, what?” She turned to see Jackson with an uneasy expression on his face.

  His shoulders were hunched, and his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked just as startled as she felt. He glanced around and then cleared his throat. “I can give you a ride if you need one. My car service just dropped a car off for me.”

  She couldn’t believe what she
was hearing. “Car service?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t really want a driver driving me around my hometown.”

  It was like he was speaking a different language. “Driver?”

  “Yeah,” Jackson said as if he didn’t know what to do with her awkward responses.

  She clutched her purse and nodded. “Sure. Thanks.” It wasn’t like she had anyone else to call. And she really needed some A/C and a minute to catch her breath.

  Jackson looked relieved as he pulled out his keys and headed back to the dress shop. “Let me tell Jenna, and I’ll be right back.” He was gone before Isabel could even respond.

  Now alone, she slammed her car hood shut and leaned against it. Her mind was reeling. She was going to voluntarily get into a car with Jackson Braxton. The boy who’d broken her heart.

  Was she insane?

  Glancing down at her watch, she confirmed her suspicions—it might be insane, but she needed to take him up on his offer if she wanted to get to work on time.

  A few minutes later, Jackson returned. He looked a little annoyed, but when his gaze landed on Isabel, he perked up. “Jenna’s going to get a ride with Layla,” he said as he nodded toward the sidewalk that lead around the building. “Come on, I’m parked over here.”

  Isabel tightened her grip on her purse strap as she followed him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about any of this, and grabbing onto something seemed to ground her. They rounded the corner, and Jackson walked over to a black Lincoln. She tried not to sigh as she realized what she’d suspected all along.

  Jackson had made it. He was rich. He probably had the life he’d dreamed about when they were kids. And he’d done it without her.

  She swallowed as her heart broke all over again. What was Jackson going to think when he dropped her off at the same old house Isabel had lived in her whole life? Would he judge her?

  Probably.

  She was stuck in the same old town, in the same old house, living the same old life as when they were together. She hadn’t changed.

  And she was okay with that. She knew why she’d stayed. Her dad needed her, and she wanted to be there for him. That was never a question for her. But there were moments when she wondered what her life would have been if she’d left. She wondered if she would be happier than she was trying to be right now.

  She wondered if she had been more adventurous, would she have been enough? Maybe then Jackson wouldn’t have run away like he did.

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

  Jackson pulled open the passenger door and waited for her to climb in. Just like the gentleman Sondra Braxton had taught all her boys to be. Once Isabel was situated, Jackson shut the door and jogged to the driver’s side.

  He glanced over at her as he slipped his key into the ignition, and the engine roared to life. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked, nodding toward her car.

  She glanced back. “I don’t think so.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Your dress?”

  Embarrassment flooded her body and settled in her cheeks. She shook her head. “I’ll get it when my car’s done. After all, I don’t need it today.”

  Jackson watched her for a moment and then shrugged as he shifted into reverse. “Suit yourself.”

  Chapter Three

  The silence in the car was deafening. Jackson’s mind was flooded with everything he’d wanted to say to Isabel from the moment he left Honey Grove. He’d never been able to gather enough courage to talk to her, though, and now those thoughts, questions, and feelings were rushing through his head and confusing the heck out of him.

  Isabel sighed and tipped her face toward the window. She wrapped her arms around her chest, drawing Jackson’s focus back over to her.

  She was still the perfect girl he remembered. The sun shone through the windshield, highlighting her creamy, white skin.

  Out of instinct, he rubbed the pads of his fingers with his thumb. Even though it had been so long since he’d touched her, his receptors hadn’t forgotten the feel of her. He knew what she felt like, smelled like. She had filled his soul. His entire being.

  And for the past eight years, he’d convinced himself he didn’t care. She was in the past. But it was hard to ignore the past when it was sitting next to him in the front seat.

  Isabel was very real, and his senses were letting him know.

  He cleared his throat.

  “So, when’s the big day?” he asked.

  Isabel glanced over at him. “In two weeks,” she said as she hugged her chest tighter.

  Jackson didn’t have a lot of experience with people who were about to get married, but he always assumed that they would be happier than Isabel seemed to be.

  “Wow.” The word hung in the air, all strange and awkward. Desperate to redeem himself, he stumbled to say, “I’m happy for you.”

  He didn’t want her to question what that wow meant.

  Isabel nodded. “Thanks. I’m happy too.”

  Jackson gripped the steering wheel tighter. He knew Isabel a lot better than she seemed to be giving him credit for right now. That was not her happy voice. He hated the fact that he knew her smiles, that he knew the tone of her voice like the back of his hand. Something was bothering her.

  And it hurt that she wasn’t being honest with him.

  But he wasn’t that guy for her anymore. It wasn’t his job to make her happy. It was her fiancé’s job, and he was certainly not her fiancé.

  Jackson waved toward the road in front of them. “Where to?”

  She hesitated before she rattled off the address of her childhood home.

  Jackson glanced over at her to see her face tip toward her lap like she was embarrassed. Which was stupid. Why would she be embarrassed about where she lived? It wasn’t like he’d never been there.

  Before he could stop himself, Jackson asked, “How’s your dad?”

  It sounded like a simple question, but there was so much meaning behind it. Mr. Andrews. The man who told him he would never bless their marriage. Who told Jackson that he wasn’t good enough for his daughter.

  Jackson wanted to know how that man was doing.

  “He’s um…good.” Isabel’s voice was quiet—another sign that there was something wrong.

  Why was she lying like this?

  Before he could say anything more, he pulled into her driveway. And maybe that was a good thing. He needed a minute to focus his thoughts before he spoke. Isabel seemed in a hurry to leave the car, and, not wanting to lock her in, he allowed her to open the door and step out.

  She murmured a quick, “thanks” and then took off toward the front door.

  Jackson sat there, staring after her. The familiar gray house wasn’t what it used to be. The paint was peeling, and the windows foggy. The grass looked as if it needed to be cut—definitely not something Dirk Andrews would have allowed to happen years ago.

  It was all so…strange. Isabel wasn’t the same person he remembered. Even this house was different. Everything felt off, and Jackson wasn’t sure what he thought about any of it.

  Before he realized what he was doing, he shut off the engine and pulled open his door. Even though he hadn’t seen her for years, he couldn’t leave Isabel like this. Something was wrong. And it was something more than just her car breaking down.

  He shoved his hands into his front pockets and strode up the walkway. Once he got to the front door, he raised his hand and rapped a few times. He paused, straining to hear sound on the other side.

  Was Mr. Andrews home? Where had Isabel gone?

  When no answer came, Jackson glanced around and found the same gnome standing guard by the door. Its red paint was chipping, and its nose was worn off. And, if Jackson remembered right, there was a key taped to the bottom.

  Reaching down, he picked it up and flipped it over. He cheered inside as he removed the key from the porcelain.

  After he pulled the key free, he shoved it into the lock and turned, praying Isabel wouldn�
��t mace him.

  He pushed open the door. The house looked as if time had stood still. Everything was just as he remembered it eight years ago. The couches were the same. The placement of the coffee table was the same.

  It was clean but old.

  “Isabel?” Jackson called, glancing around.

  The silence was interrupted only by the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall. The same one he remembered from when he and Isabel spent nights cuddled up on the couch, watching movies together.

  Clearing his throat, he pushed away the memories of her and walked further into the house. He remembered every room, every corner, like the back of his hand.

  Once he got to the stairs that were just off the kitchen, he stared at them. Isabel’s room was up there, and he was pretty sure that’s where she was.

  He glanced up and then back down, wondering what the heck he was doing in her house. Was he crazy? Why had he come in here?

  He swallowed as embarrassment filled his chest. He ran his hands through his hair and suddenly felt parched. He grabbed a glass and filled it with water.

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs made him freeze with his hand on the faucet. Heat coursed through his body as he tried to figure out what he was going to say to Isabel. What reason could he possibly give her for standing in her house, uninvited?

  “Jackson?” she asked, her voice carrying through the air and surrounding him.

  He flipped off the faucet and downed the water in one movement. Then he set the glass in the sink and turned. “I was thirsty,” he said before he could stop himself.

  Isabel had changed into a white polo shirt with the logo for Humanitarian Hearts stitched across the right breast pocket. It was tucked into her jeans, and her hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail.

  She looked just the same and yet more beautiful than he remembered. Maybe he’d forgotten how beautiful she actually was in order to protect himself. Convincing himself that she wasn’t as perfect as she had seemed was the only way he’d managed to put her behind him these past eight years.

  She passed by him in the kitchen and grabbed her purse, shoving her phone into it. “Well, this kitchen is always open to you,” she said as she slung her purse onto her shoulder. “Mom always said that.” Her eyes glistened with tears, and Jackson saw her throat tense as she swallowed.