But Peyton seemed to have vanished, and in a county as small as ours, that was a feat. No one had seen him, and he hadn’t shown up on the job site he was working. He’d taken nothing of value from me to pawn, and even if I couldn’t find evidence he’d taken anything from my house, I didn’t have anything valuable enough for him to hock and go on the lamb.
Until Peyton was found, Jameson was insisting he stay at my place. I didn’t fight this, because I liked him being there. And a small part of me felt better knowing he was there.
I’d just finished labeling a hundred mason jars of honey and was wondering what I was going to do with my bounty when my phone rang. Now that Nature’s Choice was no longer stocking my stuff and sales had been down at the farmers market, I was going to have to start branching out. But I didn’t know how to begin.
I picked up my phone off the work bench and saw it was Weston.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Is Jameson there?”
I glanced at the clock on the wall and realized I’d lost track of time, something I often did when I was working in my shed. Last time I’d talked to Jameson he’d said he was stopping by his house before he came over, but it was later than I’d thought he’d be here.
“Don’t think so, but I’m in my shed. Let me go look.”
I walked around the side of my house and Jameson was sitting in his truck in my driveway. His head was pressed back against the seat rest and his eyes were closed.
“Um. Yeah, he’s here. You need to talk to him?”
“Yeah.”
I didn’t like the tone of Weston’s voice. Something was wrong. “Everything okay?”
“Just put him on, yeah?” His sharp biting answer was all the confirmation I needed.
Jameson’s eyes opened as if he sensed my approach and he got out of his truck, pinning me with narrowed, accusing eyes. Something was wrong with him, too.
“What’s wrong?” he inquired.
“You tell me.” Jameson’s answer was to clench his jaw. “Here, it’s Weston.”
That earned me another weird look and I handed him my phone.
“Yo,” Jameson said when he took my offering.
The conversation was mostly one-sided. There were a few “whens” and “wheres” and finally a “see you in a minute” then he disconnected and handed me my phone.
“Gotta go,” he told me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not now, Kennedy. I have to go.”
He started to swing up into his truck and I made a split-second decision and jogged to the passenger side and hopped in.
“Kennedy. I have—”
“So go.”
“Need you to get out, babe.”
“Nope. There’s something wrong. So drive and tell me what’s going on.”
“Kennedy—”
“I’m not getting out, Jameson. So if you have someplace to be you should start driving.”
His eyes did a full body scan and I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but when he was done, he fired up his truck and backed out. He was silent until we hit the main road.
“This isn’t cool,” he finally spoke.
“What’s not cool, is your friend calling my phone wondering where you are, and then me finding you in your truck looking like something is very wrong.”
“Got a lot of shit on my mind. I was taking a minute.”
“Taking a minute? From me?”
“Yes.”
Well, that fucking hurt.
Perhaps I’d made the wrong choice insisting on going with him. Jameson didn’t mince words and sometimes honesty stung. Maybe I should tell him to let me out at the next stop sign and I could walk home.
“I told you I’d call the next day.” That was a weird statement and I wasn’t sure why he was bringing it up. “Told you I wouldn’t walk away.”
He looked pissed and he sounded it, too. Normally my first thought would’ve been he was going to break up with me, but there was nothing to break. We’d had sex, we kissed, we had a few meals together, we talked about our days while sitting on my couch, and we had slept in my bed. But we weren’t together in the traditional sense. He could leave at any time and owed me no explanation.
But I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t have hurt.
“I don’t understand why you’re mad about that.”
“I’m not mad. I’m confused. I needed a minute and I was taking it.”
Now I was confused.
“You don’t have to stay at my house, you know. I’ll be fine by myself.”
“I want to stay at your house. I want to sleep next to you. I can’t stop thinking about the next time I get to see you. Hell, I just plain can’t stop thinking about you.”
My belly started feeling funny at his admission. I liked hearing he felt the same way about me as I felt about him. I couldn’t wait until Jameson came home from work. I loved hearing him walk in my front door. Maybe I should’ve been more cautious. Maybe I should’ve kept my feelings in check, but that wasn’t my style. I didn’t want to deny I liked him and I wanted to spend time with him. I wore my heart on my sleeve and it’d gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion but I wouldn’t change who I was. And if this ended badly and Jameson left me brokenhearted, I’d pick myself up, and move on. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
“But if you need some time alone—”
“That’s the thing. I don’t want to be alone. That’s the fuck of it. I don’t think you understand, I’m always alone. I prefer it, I crave it, I need it. My whole life I’ve held myself away from everyone—even my closest friends. But, now, with you…” He trailed off, his statement hanging thick in the cab of his truck and I held my breath. “You’ve changed everything and I don’t understand why. I’ve known you just over a week. A fucking week, Kennedy, and I can’t stand being alone anymore.”
I didn’t say anything mainly because I couldn’t breathe and my heart was pounding in my chest.
“You don’t have to be alone if you don’t wanna be,” I whispered.
“Are you sure about that? You don’t know me, Kennedy, not really. The things I’ve done, the things I can’t tell you, they’ve marked me. Tainted me. Are you really willing to take the chance that a man like me won’t ruin you? I’m fucked-up, babe. I like the silence because I can get lost in my head and not think about what I’ve seen. Silence means no one is around to see how screwed-up I am. I thought I was confused about how I felt about you. But I’m not. I’m struggling with what to do with those feelings because I’m afraid I’m going to snuff out your goodness, and I’d rather die than see you lose the shine in your pretty eyes. I don’t want my bad attitude and judgment to rub off on you. After all you’ve been through, it’s a fucking miracle you’re still so giving and bright. I can’t live with the thought of crushing that spirit.”
I needed to get a few things straight with Jameson. He seemed to have the wrong impression about me.
“If you keep putting me up on a pedestal, you’re gonna be disappointed,” I told him. “You seem to have painted this perfect picture of me that’s not real. I like that you think those things about me, but you have it all wrong. I am the way I am, because the alternative isn’t acceptable. I watched my dad die, Jameson.” I watched as he flinched, but as unpleasant and heartbreaking as the topic was, it had to be talked about.
I’d long ago dealt with the tragedy of losing my dad. The horror of watching him gunned down in front of me.
“The anger bottled up so tight in my chest I wanted to explode. I lashed out at everyone. I hated the man that killed my dad. I hated God for taking him. I hated my mom for falling to pieces instead of taking care of me. I hated the town, the police, the court system who would allow a mentally unstable man on the streets and that man shot my dad. In. Front. Of. Me. I was seventeen, out of control, and using alcohol to numb the pain. For six months I failed myself and I failed my father. I hated that I froze when I saw the gun. I hated that I didn
’t die that day instead of my dad.
“I went off the rails. Completely. My grades went in the toilet. My attitude sucked. And again, I was going out and drinking whenever I could. I lost my virginity at a party drunk out of my head. I don’t remember anything about it other than it hurt. And not a physical pain. My soul hurt and I found I liked that feeling. So I got drunk again and did it some more.
“I hit rock bottom when I came on to Nixon. I was tore up, I think I’d had a bottle of vodka to myself and I tried to talk him around to having sex with me.” I knew this was going to piss Jameson off and it made me look like a total whore, but he had to know so he could understand.
The only sign of anger coming from Jameson was his white knuckles on the steering wheel. Other than that he stayed quiet and I appreciated it. I wouldn’t have been able to get this all out if he spoke.
“I can’t remember much of what I said or did, I just know I was pressin’ him hard to take me home. After a bit he put me in his truck and off to the Swagger Farm we went. He parked next to the pond and walked me into the woods. Everyone knew about the famous Swagger Shack. No disrespect to McKenna, but he’d nailed a lot of girls in there. He was young and good-looking and playing the field. So we went into the shack and I quickly sobered up.
“He did not take me there to have sex with me, he took me there to lay into me. We had a huge fight. Rip roaring, yelling match. That night he told me I was someone he didn’t want to know. I was embarrassing myself and if my dad could see me, he’d be disappointed in me. Coming from Nixon, someone who was a close friend, it hurt.”
Even now, all these years later my heart twisted thinking about how mad Nix was at me. How he’d looked at me with disgust. If I’d been sober at the time, I would’ve known Nix would’ve never taken advantage of a girl while she was drunk. Hell, he never would’ve touched me in the first place. We were friends—only friends.
“That night, Nixon told me exactly what I needed to hear at the exact right time. When I’d hit the bottom of a very dark pit. I wasn’t only hurting myself, I was hurting everyone around me, too. When we first met and you scowled at me for telling you about my personal problems because you were a stranger and I explained it was only because you were a friend of Nixon’s, can you understand now? Nixon changed my life that night. He saved me from myself. He could’ve done whatever he wanted to me that night, I was so drunk I wouldn’t’ve stopped him. But instead he proved to be the friend I knew he was. A friend I could trust with my life.”
“Sounds like Nix,” Jameson mumbled.
“I had a choice in that moment. Continue to be hateful and self-destruct or find the person I was before my dad was taken. I chose peace. I chose to live my life the best way I could and that was by not being angry at everyone. I didn’t like myself, Jameson. I wanted to die and I didn’t care how long it took. I was selfish and mean and half the time I couldn’t breathe because all I wanted to do was feel pain.
“There’s nothing perfect about me. I screwed up. I own what I did and sometimes it’s still embarrassing living in this small town where I know everyone else remembers, too. I avoided Nixon for a long time, because I was so ashamed of how I’d behaved. I don’t belong on a pedestal.
“And I’m sure I want to take my chances and get to know you better. I’m sure that the things you’ve seen and things you’ve done have left a hole in your heart. But you, too, have a choice. And whatever decision you make is yours, and I will never change who I am. I won’t ever go back to a place where I’m ashamed to look in the mirror.”
Jameson was quiet as he processed all that I’d told him and I appreciated that, too. It was hard for me to tell him how I’d felt and how I’d behaved. It had taken me a long time to forgive myself, many years of living my life the best way I could to finally cut myself some slack.
He pulled his truck in front of Fountain Park and cut the engine. I unbuckled to get out and without warning, I was hauled into Jameson’s lap and his mouth crashed onto mine.
The kiss was deep, wet, and quick. When he pulled back, his face was still hard but his eyes had gone soft. I guessed Jameson didn’t think less of me after hearing how I’d behaved. Either that or he’d just given me the best goodbye kiss known to man.
“You belong on that pedestal, baby, high above the rest of us. Your strength is one of the many things I’m attracted to. And everything you just told me proves you’re as strong as I knew you already were.” He kissed my forehead and smiled. “And I’m happy that story ended without me having to kick my friend’s ass.”
“Did you really doubt Nixon’s integrity?”
“No, not his integrity, but I have first-hand experience how hard it is to say ‘no’ to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. You have no problem saying ‘no’ to me.”
Not that he verbalized his refusal to do what I wanted, he simply redirected me, but the end result was the same.
“Babe, I fucked you on your couch, with my shoes and pants still on, and I did it bare. Twice.”
“Yeah, and it was hot,” I told him, then added. “And the second time you weren’t dressed.”
“It was hot. And I did manage to get you undressed the second time. Which in case I forgot to tell you, might’ve been better than the first, but only because I got to watch you ride my dick. However, the point is, I wanted to take it slow, I had no intention of having sex with you. I wanted to kiss you, then things got a little heavy and I couldn’t say no to you.”
I liked that he couldn’t say no to me. I liked that he was in the moment with me. What I didn’t like was he hadn’t lost control since then.
“But you’ve said no the last two nights.”
“Because I needed to make sure you understood what you were getting into without sex muddying the waters.”
“Now you’re insulting me again.”
“No, I’m not. But how ‘bout this, I needed to understand where I was without sex fucking with my head.”
That was a little better.
“And now? Do you need more time to understand where you are?”
“No.” I couldn’t help my smile and Jameson groaned. “She’s gonna be the death of me.”
“Maybe. But at least you’ll be seeing stars and moanin’ my name when you go.”
I watched Jameson’s face transform as humor took over. I continued to stare as the smile hit. And further, I sat on his lap and not only heard but felt him shaking with laughter.
All of it I liked—a whole lot.
13
Jameson
Jameson couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed with anyone. And considering when he’d pulled into Kennedy’s driveway he’d been in knots, it was doubly shocking. But Kennedy had a way about her that calmed his racing thoughts.
He’d been alone in the office all day and was crawling out of his skin. That’s when he’d started thinking about how much he’d changed. The timespan wasn’t lost on him. In a little over a week, he’d gone from wanting seclusion to needing to be near Kennedy.
It didn’t help that as he was pulling into Kennedy’s drive, one of his favorite songs came on the radio. He’d parked his truck and let the lyrics soak in. The Cody Jinks song summed up his life. Right down to the part about life never being the same. Every time he’d heard the song in the past, he’d zeroed in on the part about bad news always finding him.
That’s what his life had felt like, bad news seemed to follow him.
But then there was Kennedy, and he understood why the Cody Jinks’ lyrics had called to him. His life would never be the same, and the thin line between joy and pain was forefront in his mind. And for the first time in his life he wasn’t scared of falling in love and hurting the other person. He was afraid he’d be the one to get hurt.
Or had that been his fear all along?
“Why are we here?” Kennedy’s question pulled him from his th
oughts.
“Weston was over in Baltimore serving a subpoena and caught a blade to the arm and needs me to stitch him up.”
“What?” she screeched and scrambled off his lap.
“Then why are we sittin’ in the car makin’ out?”
“We weren’t makin’ out, babe. We were talking.”
“Why are we still sitting here now? Wait! Why isn’t he at the hospital?”
Jameson tried not to laugh at the expressions she was making. She was flustered for sure, but she looked damn cute trying to shift through her thoughts.
“He doesn’t need a hospital; he just needs stitches. He would’ve done them himself but he can’t reach.”
She opened her car door and Jameson followed suit. He met her at the hood and grabbed her hand. She was nearly dragging him across the street in her haste to get to Weston.
Jameson unlocked the front door and Kennedy bolted up the stairs and stopped on the landing. As soon as he’d made it to the top, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. When she recovered, she asked, “You’re going to give Weston stitches?”
“Yep.”
He opened the door and waited for her to precede him.
“Took you long enough,” Weston growled as soon as Jameson closed the door.
“You said it was just a flesh wound. I would’ve driven faster if you’d nicked something important.”
“Yeah, a flesh wound that’s bleeding like a motherfucker.”
“Did you clean it and try glue?” Jameson asked.
Weston shot Jameson a look that couldn’t have been mistaken for anything other than what it was and Jameson smiled. His friend wanted to tell him to eat a bag of dicks, but he wouldn’t say it. Not in front of Kennedy.
“Sit down,” Kennedy commanded, coming out of the bathroom with a towel and a wet washcloth.
Weston did as he was told and she pulled the bloody shirt he’d used as a tourniquet from his bicep and winced. The wound was on his bicep but went far enough back out of sight Weston wouldn’t be able to tie off the sutures.
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