by Rachael Wade
“You’ll know when the time is right. But I’m with Jen. Whatever you do, don’t give it up. Live for the rest of us who can’t.”
“I won’t give it up. Thanks. You can count on me.”
Leaning up on his elbows, Jackson exhaled and glanced back up at the sky. “Guess we better hit the road.”
I sat up to join him, my high heels grinding against the hood as I scooted my legs down to reach the ground. “Hey.” I tugged his hand when he stood to his feet. He shuffled closer to the end of the hood and rested his palm on my thigh, grazing it with his fingertips, sending a shiver down my back. “This Chase guy is an asshole. Whatever he said about your dad being in jail, don’t give it a second thought.”
“But I do think about what he said. All the time. That’s why I lost it, had to get out of there. Because I hate facing it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hate facing that he’s right. He said I’m nothing, just like my dad. It’s true. My dad had it all and fucking lost it. I remember who he was before my mom died. He was a good man. Loyal, hard working...happy. At least he had something to lose in the first place. But me? I’ve been broke from day one, Emma. And it’s only getting harder. It’s a miracle this piece of crap truck made it up here. It should’ve died months ago. I shouldn’t have even spent gas money to come up here, but I needed to breathe, for just two days. Needed to get off that damn island. I don’t have shit to show for myself and I’m 24 years old. Most people my age at least have an idea of what they want to do with their lives, have some kind of direction. Pete’s is the highlight of my week. I can laugh there, be stupid. See my friends, see—” He paused. “It’s the only time I can turn it all off.”
I scooted forward and let my heels hit the dirt, straightening on my feet to bring myself level with him. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it, Jackson, do you hear me?” I didn’t think, just moved. My hands gripped the nape of his neck, my eyes burning into his, lips pressed tight. “Anyone can find themselves on the path your dad did. No one is better than anyone else. Even the most successful people fall. When people are terrified and heartbroken, they do crazy, irrational things. Your father might be a part of you, but you are not him. You’re your own person and you have a choice to do things differently. Don’t let Chase—or anyone else—put your father down or make you feel less than you are. Your dad might have screwed up, but he’s still something. And I know I don’t know him, but I guarantee you, you’re everything to him. You’re his legacy. You’ll always be something to someone.”
Taking my face in his hands, he bent down and pressed his forehead to mine, his breath shaky against my cheek. “Why did you leave with me tonight?”
“I don’t know, I—” Even though I’d asked myself the same question earlier that night, words were lost to me. I came because I wanted to be with him, wanted to comfort him somehow, to reciprocate. But I couldn’t say it, not now. I didn’t want to dig up what I had worked so hard to bury for the last year. But I could still offer him truth.
“Because I care about you.”
His fingers slowly uncurled from my cheeks and his forehead left mine. Like a mask, his fervent expression turned resigned, his eyes lifting and focusing absently on the darkness behind me.
“We should go,” he said, giving my cheek one last soft brush before returning his hands to his sides.
We parted and turned for the truck doors. The engine roared and the headlights flickered, and I reached for my seatbelt.
Jackson’s hand stopped me. “C’mere.” He rested his arm on the back of the seat and motioned for me to scoot next to him. I hesitated just long enough to study the crook of his arm, the way it formed a curled opening just big enough for me to fit, and then I was folded into it, sighing a content, deep breath, my head gently falling to his chest. His sigh mimicked mine and he shifted gears, pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the highway. My eyelids grew heavy and I drifted into an easy sleep, Sublime’s “What I Got” buzzing faintly on the radio.
Chapter 5
“Emma.” Jackson’s breath stirred my hair. “Wake up, we’re home.”
“Hhhmmm?”
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your door.”
I sat up and stifled a yawn, moving to slide to the other end of the seat. I reached for the door handle and glanced down at my feet, struggling to see where I’d dropped my purse.
“Looking for this?” Jackson stretched to the middle console and pulled out my small black clutch.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
He handed it to me and gently caught my wrist, his eyes finding mine in the dim parking lot light. “I had a good time with you tonight.” I remained still, the air in the truck thick as the need in his voice. It was a statement, but something in his tone made it sound like a request. His other hand came up and cupped my thigh. He grasped hard and swung my leg around to pivot my waist, then wrenched me back over the seat toward him, the bare skin of my calves slipping around his hips until our bodies collided. He moved so fast, I didn’t know where his breaths began or mine ended, didn’t know when the space between our mouths disappeared.
All I knew was I intended to keep it that way.
His fingers threaded through my hair and his tongue slipped into my mouth. I opened wide for him and moaned into the kiss, allowing all of the night’s tension to melt there, gasping against him when he hooked one of my legs tighter around his side, digging my high heel into his back. The pressure coaxed a low growl from deep in his throat and he nipped my lip before drawing it back to his tongue, inching his fingers beneath the back of my shirt to smooth them over my spine. I was planted firmly on his lap now, my fingers clawing at the back of his neck.
There were countless reasons to push him away. Too many reasons to stop this—whatever this was—and go straight into my apartment before we did anymore damage. But my insides were on fire, my skin singing from his touch, and a vague ache deepened in the pit of my stomach, one that had wanted to know what it would be like to kiss Jackson again. This time without any reservations.
I squeezed my thighs tighter around him and sucked his tongue. He was every inch as delicious as I’d remembered, and even more so. No matter how desperately I tasted him, I couldn’t get enough. Unable to control my hands, I slipped them under his shirt to trace the contour of his chest and down the slope of his abdomen. Goose bumps shot up my arms when he leaned back to let me feel him, dropping his hands to find my ankles, rubbing his fingers against them in soothing, circular motions.
Sense dug its claws into me. I dragged my lips from his and pushed off his chest, landing on the heels of my hands. “Jack—”
“Yeah, baby?” His voice was low, rough, fingers still playing with the skin of my ankles. “Tell me what you want.”
“Will you walk me up? You can stay...we can put more ice on that eye.”
He paused a beat and grazed his nose over mine and laughed, the husky sound making my fiery insides flare, his hot breath tickling my cheek. “Oh. Yeah, sure.” He drew his head back and cleared his throat. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself, Em. I’ve been dying to taste you for so long. I can’t get that night out of my head, you don’t even know, baby. I know you made yourself clear with where we stand and all, but I can’t—”
I pressed my fingers to his lips and pinched down to silence them. “Just come up. We don’t have to figure everything out tonight.” I dropped my hand from his mouth and gave him a peck on the cheek. My mind flashed forward to what would happen if I brought him upstairs, and my stomach fluttered as I focused in on his heady, tropical scent and his firm, strong body. Part of me wanted to play nurse, tend to his injuries, and keep a distance between us. But another part of me, a part that was suddenly filled with urgency, started to forget our friend/enemy status and steadily focus on our attraction. This wouldn’t be a casual hook-up or a friends with benefits deal, would it? What was Jackson to me, anyway? A single memory sparked and reminded me of the one thin
g I knew: he was the man with the blanket that night. The man with the strong arms, empathetic face, and soothing voice.
He was Jackson.
Biting his bottom lip, he nodded with a wry smile, letting me slip off his lap. The seat groaned beneath me as I shifted toward the passenger door, filling the truck’s tense silence. It didn’t matter how conflicted I was now. It was too late. I’d already asked him to come up. Jackson ran his hands down his thighs and drew in an edgy breath before turning to get out.
We walked quietly up the apartment building stairway and I led us inside. Flicking the hall light on, I shrieked when I spotted the human form passed out on the sofa, its back facing us. It groaned and rolled over, an arm and throw pillow obstructing our view of its face, and Jackson shoved me behind him in a protective stance. We scanned the room, looking for signs of anyone else, signs of an intrusion. No broken windows, no nothing. Yet there was an intruder in my home. In the midst of my panic, I managed to fumble for my cell phone with intent to call the cops, but I was unable to pry my eyes from the person on my couch, unable to dial.
I froze and blinked in disbelief, then darted forward to tug at the person’s shoulder.
Jackson called out from behind me. “Emma, careful. Do you know this person? Don’t you live alone?”
Another groan filled the living room and the person swatted my hand away. I tugged again.
“What the hell, Emma? It’s 2 a.m.” the intruder finally said.
I swallowed hard and my shoulders tensed. I knew that voice.
“Chris?” I hissed, yanking at him more forcefully now. He finally turned and sat up on the edge of the couch, releasing a groggy yawn. I reached over to the end table and turned on the lamp for more light.
“Um, yeah.” He ruffled his shaggy blond hair and squinted up at me, his eyes working to adjust to the light.
“No shit, it’s 2 a.m.!” I hauled a couch pillow at him full force, satisfied with the hard thud sound it made when it hit his stomach. “How the hell are you in my apartment right now? And why are you here?”
“I’d like to know the same thing,” Jackson said, his voice gruff. He came to my side and cracked his knuckles, his shoulders and chest strung tight as a bow.
Chris stood and straightened himself. “You never changed the lock. I still have my key, you know. Is this...” he walked closer, “Jackson Taylor? Aw, Em, you have got to be kidding me. Are you for real?” He waved a hand at Jackson, a disgusted curl twisting his lips.
Jackson strutted up to him, bringing them nose to nose. “I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business. Now get your shit and get out, or I’ll put you out. Are we clear?”
Chris snorted, his eyes bouncing from Jackson to me. “This is bullshit. What, is he going to beat me up? Looks like I’ll be round two for the evening.” He gestured to Jackson’s busted lip and swollen eye. “Emma, would you look at him? You’re not safe with him. He needs to be locked up like his father.”
Jackson’s knuckles tightened, pulling them into hard fists, every muscle in his neck clenching. I lunged forward to stand between them. Chris had never mentioned Jackson’s dad to me. I was surprised it was even on his radar. He didn’t give Jackson the time of day back when we went to Pete’s together, except to stake his claim a few times when Jackson hovered over me a little too long at the bar.
“Shut the hell up, Chris,” I spat. “Don’t say another word, or I swear on my life I’ll kick you in the fucking balls myself. I don’t know why you held onto your key for a year, but you have absolutely no right to be here, and I can’t imagine you have anything to say that is worth me listening to.”
Jackson inched closer and I blocked his chest with my hand. “I’m counting to five,” he said, his glare slicing Chris into a million pieces. One glance at their vicious stare down, and I knew this would end badly.
I had to act.
“Say what you want to say, Chris. You have two minutes. Any longer and I’m calling the cops.”
“Damn it, Emma, calm the hell down. What’s gotten into you? Is this dickhead rubbing off on you or something?”
“That’s it.” Jackson pushed past me and grabbed Chris by the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground with a hard shake. “You heard what she said. Now fucking talk.” Releasing him with a sharp jerk, he let his toes touch the floor.
Chris straightened his shirt and nudged Jackson’s chest to push him back, his jaw setting. “Is that how you handle everything? With your fists? You better never lay a finger on Emma, or so help me, God—”
“Chris,” I seethed, my chest tight, “just stop. Jackson would never hurt me. He’s done nothing but...protect me. A loyal concept your brain can’t even grasp.”
“Oh, please,” he laughed. “Loyal? The whole island knows he’s a two-timing asshole who only cares about himself.”
I gritted my teeth, moving to stand in front of him. I could feel the veins popping in my neck. “He’s never hurt me. He’s been there for me in ways you’d never understand, so stop running your mouth as if you know what you’re talking about. Now what is it you’re here to say?”
“I do know what I’m talking about, Emma.” He turned to Jackson. “Yeah, I’ve heard talk about you around the island. Heard you have the same temper as your old man. Everyone knows your daddy beat those whores up he used for his drug runs. What’s his problem? Is he too chickenshit to do his own dirty work?”
“Chris!” I screamed, but it was too late.
Jackson’s fist collided with Chris’s jaw, and Chris stumbled back onto the couch. Jackson bent down and gripped him by the neck, ready to send him another blow, but my next scream stopped him.
“Jackson, stop!”
He froze, fist in midair. He clenched his jaw and turned to look at me, his eyes softening the minute they met mine. His chest rose and fell as his breathing slowed.
I held my hands up, shaking my head. “Don’t. Please. Walk away.”
He held my stare for a second, then turned back to face Chris, putting some distance between them. “You know what, man? You’re right. My dad might’ve screwed up and I’m sure as hell not perfect, but your score card? It’s fucking epic. You cheat on a girl like Emma with the first random chick who gives you a hard-on and have the nerve to bail on her, screw with her college plans, and not even show your face at her sister’s funeral after you make her feel like a worthless piece of trash? Even me, the island’s number one fuckup poster boy, wouldn’t do something so insanely stupid. Congratulations on that supremely stupendous accomplishment.”
And just like that, he was gone. Out the door with a loud slam that left the room cold. A few seconds later, the roar of his truck echoed through the apartment building parking lot, tires screeching as it sped off. I hated that sound. It meant an angry, unstable person driving out there on the road. My brows furrowed and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing away the vision of the drunk driver’s face who’d taken my sister’s life.
“I think you should go,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Chris staggered to his feet and felt his nose, blood on his fingers. “I’m not going anywhere until we talk. I can’t believe that son of a bitch just hit me. I should press charges. You were a witness.”
Resigned, I shut my eyes and sighed, slumping into the loveseat. “I won’t stand up for you. You broke in to my apartment and instigated him, saying shit about his dad.”
“I let myself in with a key.”
“Yeah, a key you have no right to have. I’d tell the cops the truth—you’re an intruder and he was defending me. You haven’t lived here for over a year. Now cut the crap, Chris. What do you want to talk about?”
He felt for the end of the coffee table and took a seat. “I tried getting a hold of your mom tonight, but no luck. Then your cell phone went straight to voicemail, so I just decided to come over. No answer, so I let myself in and passed out.”
“What on Earth would possess you to think it’s okay to do that
?”
“I just knew...what last night meant to you, okay? I know we haven’t spoken for a year, and I know you don’t want anything to do with me ever again. But I just...needed to see you. I was cruising Prescott Lane yesterday afternoon and it all hit me.”
“That you needed to see me.”
“Yeah, that I never went to her funeral, that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, and...”
“And you needed to see me.”
“Yes, Emma. How would you feel if the shoe were on the other foot? Think about it. Say you screwed around behind my back, dumped me, and then a month later, my sister died. You’d feel the like the biggest asshole on the face of the planet.”
A few seconds of glum silence passed between us. I pulled myself from the loveseat and stood in front of him, gazing down at him, hands wrapping around my torso. He eyed my boxer shorts and heels for a moment, but wisely, didn’t comment.
“I’m really glad to hear that buried beneath your selfish, pathetic shell, you actually have the capability to feel a shred of remorse for what you’ve done. I’m thrilled, Chris, really I am. But here’s the thing. You needed to see me. You needed to see me. Why? To relieve some of your guilt. You sitting here right now has absolutely nothing to do with me. You’re here for your own forgiveness.”
“Is it so wrong to need closure? Hell yes, I need forgiveness, Emma. Who are you to deny someone of that?”
“Ha.” My arms dropped to my sides. “Chris, if it’s closure you’re looking for, I can give you that. We’re over. We’ve been over, and it’s okay. Bury that horse. If it’s forgiveness you need, fine. You’ve got it. I’m far better off without you. You did me a favor, really. You screwed up. You’re human. I can deal with that. You want me to give you permission to let go of the guilt? That’s something I can’t do.” I turned for the door and opened it. “So, it’s time you leave. There’s nothing else to say here.”