His Surrender
Unexpected Love Book 2
Jaclyn Osborn
His Surrender
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.
Text Copyright ©2020 Jaclyn Osborn
All rights reserved
Published by Jaclyn Osborn
Edited by One Love Editing
Cover by Kelley York from Sleepy Fox Studio
Photographer Wander Aguiar
Model Steven Dehler
The author acknowledges all trademarks.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the publisher/author’s written consent.
Note to Reader
Thank you for your interest in His Surrender! I appreciate it. Before you read, I want to address possible trigger warnings in the story. If you aren’t interested in trigger warnings, feel free to skip.
Trigger warnings include:
-mention of a past relationship that was controlling and emotionally abusive.
-one scene where a character is almost sexually assaulted, but it’s stopped before it gets that far.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Other Works by Jaclyn Osborn
Chapter 1
Jay
“How many sexual partners have you had in the last month?” the nurse asked as I sat in the doctor’s office that Tuesday afternoon.
Where I’d once been embarrassed by such things, I shrugged it off now. With my level of sexual activity, I’d made sure to get tested every four months. It was smart.
“Fifteen,” I answered, having already prepared for the question. “And yes, all were with condoms.”
She nodded and marked it on the computer, showing no signs of judgment. Not that I would’ve cared if she had. I’d been in there enough times for her to be used to it. After asking me a few more questions, she finished up the tests and said she’d call when they had the results.
“Thanks,” I said before leaving and getting in my car. I’d gone to the doctor on my lunch break and had to get to the courthouse by one o’clock.
Arriving at the courthouse, I hopped out of my car and shivered at the cold air nipping at my skin. Winters in Arkansas were normally mild, but even so, January was the coldest month. With a frown, I pulled my jacket closer around me and walked faster. I hated the cold. The sun was out, though, which helped my mood.
“You okay, Foley?” Emery Cross asked once I was inside the building, away from the biting chill.
“You can wipe that smirk off your face, asshole,” I muttered, glad no one else was within earshot.
Emery worked as a defense attorney, whereas I was the prosecutor. We went head to head many times in court, some cases minor while others were more high-profile like the Jeff Ritter case we worked the previous year where Ritter had been found guilty of murdering his wife. Though on opposite sides, Emery and I remained good friends. He understood me in ways no one else did.
“I’m an asshole for showing concern?”
“It’s the way you asked it, Cross. You know damn well I hate this time of year.” I stepped closer to him. “How’s the kid doin’?”
Just like that, the humor in his eyes vanished. I smiled. He’d started dating an eighteen—now nineteen—year-old last year named Cason, and I enjoyed pushing his buttons about it.
“He’s not a kid,” Emery said before taking a deep, steadying breath.
“I know,” I said, winking. “I just like giving you a hard time, darlin’.”
He scoffed and turned toward the courtroom door. “Let’s go inside.”
“After you.”
As I followed him, I couldn’t help but check out his nice ass. With black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a body made for sex, Emery had the power to bring even a playboy like me to his knees. On my knees in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the floor of his office… yeah, we’d fucked pretty much everywhere.
But that was over now.
Emery had found someone he loved who loved him back, and I’d never get in the way of that. Plus, I liked the kid. Cason was spunky, easygoing, and adorable as hell. If anyone was going to steal my best friend’s heart, I was glad it’d been him.
The hearing that afternoon was for a man who’d flipped his car in a ditch while driving drunk. Fortunately, he hadn’t done any serious damage to himself or anyone else, but the Jaws of Life had to be used to get him out of the car. Emery and I had worked out the details back and forth and had come to an agreement. The defendant would plead guilty to the charge of driving under the influence in exchange for a no-jail-time sentence of six months’ probation, mandatory AA meetings, and to pay a small fine.
Once it was over, Emery’s client shook his hand and thanked him for everything. He’d be assigned a probation officer soon and start the AA classes. My job there was done. If I made it back to the office in time, I’d be able to sort through the massive stack of paperwork on my desk I’d been meaning to get to all week before my meeting at the end of the day.
“Foley,” Emery called after me once we were outside.
Shivering at the stupid frigid temperature, I stopped on the courthouse steps and turned to him.
“Cason wanted me to ask if you’d come over for dinner tonight,” he said, his cheeks already turning pink from the cold wind.
“Do you want me there? Or is it just something Cason wants?” I grinned at his annoyed expression. “Come on, Cross. Tell me you want me.”
Emery rolled his eyes. “Are you so full of yourself that you have to hear me say how much I want you to come over? Your ego can’t get any bigger.”
“My ego can’t, but something else sure can if the moment is right.”
“You’re unbelievable.” He took another deep breath, something he did often around me, before smiling. “Be at my place around seven. Unless you have a hot date.”
“I can pencil you in. Right between the bartender and the fitness trainer.”
“You serious?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Damn, Foley. You haven’t changed a bit.”
I winked and opened my car door before sliding inside and starting the heater. The bartender had been a joke, but I had every intention of meeting up with the hot fitness instructor later that night.
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
No, but you have, I’d almost told him.
We used to fuck like rabbits and pick up guys together for threesomes, sometimes foursomes. It’d been a wild time after his divorce when he’d finally embraced the sexuality he’d denied for close to twenty years. I missed those days with him, but the Emery Cross I knew now was happier than the miserable and oftentimes angry one I’d known back then.
And so, I welcomed that change, knowing Emery was better because of it.
That evening, I got to his place five minutes before seven. I grabbed the bottle of wine I’d purchased before driving over and walked toward the front porch. Through the open blinds of the living room window, I saw Caso
n and Emery embracing. Cason’s laugh reached me on the steps. The thing that really warmed my heart was the sound of Emery’s answering chuckle.
Yeah. Happy was a good look for my friend.
I knocked on the door. “Police. Open up.”
Seconds later, the door swung open and I was greeted by Cason’s wide grin. “Hey, pretty boy.”
“Hey yourself, childling.”
I heard Emery mumble in the background, “Goddamn you, Jay.”
Cason laughed and stepped aside so I could go in.
Emery was the tidiest person I’d ever met in my life. Everything in the house was perfectly organized and cleaned. Couch pillows were fluffed and evenly spaced out, the rug was vacuumed, and the place smelled fresh—probably one of those scented wall plug-ins he loved from Bath & Body Works. His office at work was the same way. So I was a bit surprised—and amused—to almost trip over a pair of shoes in the floor.
“Sorry!” Cason rushed over and grabbed them. “Forgot to put these away after my jog earlier.”
Emery shook his head but reached for Cason as he passed by, giving the boy a kiss on the temple before allowing him to continue down the hall.
“Teenagers and their messes, right?” I asked. At his scowl, I put my hands up. “I yield.”
“Speaking of teenagers, how’s your nephew doing?”
My brother, Ivan, and his son had moved to Arkansas late last year. Before that, they’d lived in North Carolina. When Ivan’s marriage went south, he and Foster decided to start over in a new place. I had told Emery about Foster’s troubles since moving to Fort Smith—the kid was introverted as hell and struggling with making friends.
“He’s doing okay,” I answered. “School is still hard for him, but he’s in band now and really enjoys it.”
“That’s good. Music is a great outlet.”
“Football is too,” Cason said, coming down the hall.
“Not sure Foster would be good at sports.” I pictured the fourteen-year-old with his long, lanky arms, glasses, and mousy brown hair. He preferred to stay indoors reading a book rather than playing in the sun. “Band is more his style.”
Cason led us into the kitchen where he told us to sit at the table while he finished making dinner.
“Wine?” I asked Emery, holding up the bottle.
“Please,” he said, smiling. “You even grabbed my favorite kind.”
“I’m good like that, Cross. And don’t you forget it.”
“Can I have some?” Cason asked, checking the steaks he was cooking on the small grill on the counter. “I usually don’t drink, but a nice glass of wine sounds good.”
I looked at Emery and raised a brow. “What do you say, Daddy? Can your boy have some wine?”
“For the last time, our relationship isn’t like that,” Emery said, irritated.
“Yeah, but you like when I call you Daddy sometimes,” Cason countered with a shit-eating grin. The look Emery gave him told me he’d be punished later. It was hot.
I stood and grabbed three wineglasses from the cabinet before pouring each of us some.
“Dinner’s done.” Cason slapped each of the steaks on a big plate and piled oven-roasted potatoes on the side before carrying them over to the table.
Emery smiled as he watched Cason, and the amount of love in his eyes was enough to make me feel a bit… something. Not jealous, because I didn’t feel that way about Emery. But I definitely had some kind of weird reaction seeing them both so happy.
Probably relief, I told myself. Because there was no way on God’s green earth that I wanted to fall in love.
“See, babe,” Cason said, setting Emery’s plate in front of him. “This is how you cook a steak.”
They exchanged a look before busting out into laughter. I didn’t know what was so funny.
“Care to share?” I asked.
“One of the first times we hung out, Em tried to cook me dinner and ended up burning the steaks to a crisp.” Cason giggled as he sat down.
“Hung out is an interesting way to put it,” Emery said before lifting the wine to his lips.
“Now that sounds like a story worth sharing.” I grinned as Cason’s gaze flashed to me. He really was a stunner. Light brown hair, brown eyes, and an athletic build. Best of all, he had a fun-loving personality. It was hard not to smile when you were with him.
“Not a chance,” Emery said, putting an end to that idea real fast.
Cason laughed at his man’s too-serious expression and cut into his steak. So did I. It was a beautifully cooked medium, and my mouth watered before I even took a bite. The juices exploded on my tongue, and I had to suppress a moan.
Nothing was better than sex in my book, but that damn steak came close.
Over dinner, Cason talked about college. He’d passed his first semester and had started his second that week. As a Criminal Justice major, he was in a lot of the same classes I’d taken too—some even with the same professors.
Being with the two of them was nice, but around nine o’clock I was ready to head out.
“Thanks for dinner,” I told Cason before looking at Emery. “See you in court next week.” Though I was sure I’d see him again before then.
They walked me to the front door and said bye as I stepped outside. Before the door even closed, Emery was already pulling Cason against him and planting a kiss on his lips. I smiled and continued toward my car, reaching for my phone. I scrolled until I found the name I wanted.
“Hello?” a husky voice answered.
“Ready to fuck?”
Fitness Guy—whose name was Daniel, or maybe it was David—emitted a low growl. “Hell yeah.”
Why change when I loved my life as it was?
***
“Uncle Jay!” Foster jumped up off the couch and ran toward me as I came through the front door of my brother’s house Friday afternoon.
“Hey, Foss the Boss.” I hugged him as he threw his arms around me, his head only reaching my chest, and I ruffled his brown curls. “How’s it goin’?”
“Good.” He pulled back and adjusted his glasses that had gone askew. “Dad’s in the garage working on his bike.”
Ivan worked as a mechanic, and in his spare time as a hobby, he stripped and rebuilt bikes and cars. It sounded like way too much of a headache for me, but then again, he thought the same about me being an attorney.
“Thought I heard your voice,” Ivan said as he came through the side door from the garage, wiping his oil-stained hands on a rag.
His blond hair was shaved nearly to the scalp on the sides and longer on top. He’d followed in Dad’s footsteps and gone into the Marines right out of school, but he’d gotten a medical discharge nine years in after he’d lost his leg during a Humvee explosion. He had a prosthesis now from the knee down.
I suppose the haircut had stuck with him—as did other things.
“Hey, shithead,” I said, going over to pull him in for a side hug.
Ivan jabbed at my stomach. “Prick. You might be my big brother, but show some goddamn respect.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I put my hands up and stepped back. “Should’ve said Corporal Shithead.”
Foster laughed and then his mouth snapped shut when Ivan looked at him. But my little brother was a big softie despite his hard exterior. He sprung forward and threw his arms around Foster before tickling his sides, making the boy squeal and try to break free.
“Uncle Jay! Help me!” Foster snorted as he laughed.
I held up my hands. “Sorry, kid. I’m no match for a Marine. Your dad could take me down in a second flat.”
“At least you know your place,” Ivan said over his shoulder.
“Ti cho suka?” What the fuck, bitch? I sprung forward and grabbed him around the waist.
Some things never changed. Ivan and I had always been pretty close, and there we were in our thirties still wrestling and acting like rowdy teenagers. We also tended to break out in Russian when doing it.
“
Who you calling a bitch, bitch?” Ivan elbowed me in the ribs. “And watch your filthy mouth around my son.”
“Hey, I don’t mind.” Foster went over to grab a soda from the fridge. “Prodolzhat’.”
Carry on.
The little smart-ass.
My mom was Russian but had immigrated to America when she was a teenager. She had wanted me and Ivan to know the language, and by the age of five, both of us had been fluent in both English and Russian. Ivan had wanted Foster to know it too.
“Want a beer?” Ivan asked, lightly punching my shoulder before joining Foster in the small kitchen. He had a slight limp when he walked, which told me his leg was probably bothering him today.
“Sure.” I popped open the can when he handed it to me and took a drink. “Thanks.”
“I can make us dinner,” Foster offered.
“Let me worry about dinner.” Ivan ruffled his son’s hair. “Go keep your uncle company.”
Foster smiled and came to stand beside me. He might’ve been timid and quiet, but he really came out of his shell at home. I wished kids his age could see the Foster I knew. He deserved to have friends. Those little assholes had no idea what they were missing out on.
“How was school today?” I asked as Ivan filled a pan with water and put it on the stove to start heating.
“Okay, I guess.” Foster shrugged. “I like my history class and band. That’s about it.”
“How’s the clarinet playing coming along?” He’d had trouble last fall deciding what he wanted to play and had chosen the instrument after his teacher recommended it.
“The bass clarinet,” Foster corrected. “I still suck, but I’m improving.”
“Don’t say you suck,” Ivan said. “We all have to start somewhere.”
“Listen to your dad,” I told Foster. “He might be dumb as a bag of rocks most days, but he knows what he’s talking about.”
Ivan flipped me off, and I wiggled my eyebrows at him.
“Yeah, that’s what Mr. Barnett said,” Foster responded with a nod.
Mr. Barnett. The piano man. Well, that’s what Emery called him. I didn’t know his first name. I’d first seen him at the school last summer when I’d gone with Foster to get his schedule and walk around after they’d moved there. Then I’d seen him again at 906 Cocktail and Cigar Lounge, a cigar bar Emery and I frequented most weekends. He played the piano in a jazz band.
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