by Alisha Rai
Jackson hummed and corrected the way Kareem was holding the grater.
“Kareem?” Sadia stepped inside the kitchen, letting the door close behind her. “Do you mind giving your uncle and me a minute to talk?”
“Yeah.” Kareem glanced at Jackson. “Uncle Jackson, you got any games on your phone?”
“Uh. I have a calculator.”
Kareem blinked up at him and then turned to her. “I’m gonna go play on your computer, Mom.”
“Okay, love.”
She waited until he was gone and opened her mouth, but Jackson beat her to it. “I hope I didn’t make things hard on you. I didn’t know how much your sisters knew about me being here.” He didn’t look back at her, but continued working, and she was glad. She didn’t think she’d be able to function under that intense gaze. Not when he used words like hard.
“No. It’s fine. You have every right to be here.”
At that, he did look at her, a narrow, even glance out of the corner of his eye.
“You do.” She changed the subject before he could argue with her. “What are you making?”
“Mac and cheese, but I’m still messing with the recipe. Kareem asked for hot chocolate, though. It’s ready.”
She’d ordered pizza for her and Kareem, but that delivery felt very long ago now. Her stomach grumbled, and she drifted closer. “Oh.”
He grabbed a mug and ladled up a serving of thick, liquid cocoa. He held it out to her. “It’s not super cold out yet, but you used to like this all the time.”
She accepted it, the scent of chocolate teasing her nose. “You’re feeding me a lot today.”
He lifted his shoulder. “It’s something easy I can do for you.”
“You’re already doing a lot for me.”
He grunted.
So about last night . . . “Livvy’s home,” she said instead.
“Yeah, I saw her.”
She waited for him to continue, but got nothing more. “Ah.”
“Nicholas, too.” His motions became rougher as he grated cheese.
“Ahhhh.” Well, Jackson had always cooked when he was upset. “You didn’t punch him, did you?”
“No. Not today.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Were your sisters annoying you?”
She recognized a change in subject when she saw it, but she was still teeming over with enough emotions to allow it. She bit her lip and perched on the stool, cradling the hot chocolate. “Jia wants to quit med school. My parents won’t be happy. Noor and Zara were thinking of ways to get her to do what my parents would want and avoid the drama instead of supporting her and I guess it triggered something in my brain.”
“About how they treated you when you married Paul?”
She hesitated. “How’d you know that? I never said anything about it to you.”
“It’s what you didn’t say. You would have talked about them, and you didn’t, not until Kareem was born.”
She swallowed, thinking back through her emails. She supposed he was right, but the fact that he’d known her so well was a little absurd.
Jackson swiped his arm over his forehead. “I was happy you seemed to reconcile with them. You need your family.”
“I really do. I couldn’t have done what you did.”
He stopped what he was doing and turned to face her. “What do you mean?”
“You left all of us behind.”
“Do you think that was easy?”
“No, I don’t.” She made her voice soothing. “I know you were traumatized by the arrest—”
“It wasn’t the arrest that traumatized me.”
She paused and placed her half-full mug on the counter. “Then what?”
His face was so hard it could have been carved in granite. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
“Tell me. If it wasn’t the arrest and the gossip, what could have made you leave us like that? Was it something your mom or Paul or I—”
“Not you.” He closed his eyes tight and shook his head. “Never you.”
But he hadn’t denied Paul or his mother’s involvement. Since he’d been in sporadic contact with Livvy, at least, she assumed his sister hadn’t done anything to him.
She eased from the stool and approached him carefully. Pain radiated off him. It made her heart seize up. “Jackson? Did something happen between your mom and you before you left?”
His nod was so subtle she might have missed it. Unable to stand the sight of his hurt, she placed a hand on his chest. “And you and Paul?”
Another nod.
“Was it a fight or . . . ?”
He released the breath he was holding in a shudder, then placed his hand over hers and squeezed tight. His opened his eyes and looked down at her. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“No. The past is over. I don’t want to think about it.” He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, and just like that, the air in the kitchen grew very heavy. “I’d rather think about the present.”
She looked at his finger, the single, blunt digit, and couldn’t fight the blush on her cheeks. “Jackson—”
He lowered his head, until his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers. “Hmm?”
“We shouldn’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Touch. This attraction . . . I don’t know where it came from.”
“It doesn’t matter where it came from.” His breath tingled against her lips.
“I’m not . . . I’m not looking for a relationship right now, Jackson.”
“Do you say that to all the people you pick up at the bar?”
Her face turned redder. How could she have told him that? “No. But they know anything we do isn’t serious.”
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, then that blunt, calloused finger slid down her cheek and over her jaw. “Why does it have to be serious with us?”
“Because—because of who you are and who I am. Our past and our family and . . . Kareem . . .”
Before she could continue, he brushed his lips against hers. God, he was such a good kisser. She responded before her brain could issue a proper warning.
When he drew away, she could only blink up at him. “I don’t think of any of those things when I kiss you.”
Neither did she, and that was a problem. “This isn’t right.”
“You always do what’s right?”
“Lately, yes.” She had to. She had too much at stake to indulge herself.
“I’d be the safest wrong thing you could do.” He ran his hand down her arm, then up again. “You said you want me. I want you too. The attraction between us isn’t going anywhere.”
A disbelieving laugh slipped out of her mouth.
He frowned in reaction. “Is it funny?”
“No, sorry.” The no-nonsense, blunt approach to seduction was exactly Jackson’s style though.
“I don’t want to feel like I’m using you.”
“I want to be used. If you need anything physical from me, you can take it. I’m willing.”
“But you’re Paul’s brother,” she whispered.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“But—” Her phone beeped and they both looked at her pocket. She sighed and reached inside and pulled it out, glancing at the screen. “Oh, shoot.”
“What is it?”
“I forgot I told another bartender I would cover their shift tonight.” She’d meant to ask Noor or Zara if Kareem could stay the night with them, but she’d been so annoyed, she hadn’t bothered. “I don’t have anyone to watch Kareem.”
“I can watch Kareem.”
“Hmm.” She glanced up at him.
“If you want me to, that is.”
“I want to stay with Uncle Jackson!”
At Kareem’s shout, Sadia took a huge step back from Jackson, though they weren’t doing anything inappropriate. “Uh—”
“Please mom?” Kareem looked up at hi
s uncle. “Can we make the cookies again and can I have more than one?”
Jackson rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder but waited for her cue. She grimaced. She didn’t particularly want to work tonight, but their conversation right now was effectively over with Kareem hovering. It may be good to have some time apart, where her hands and her brain could be occupied with other stuff. “You can make the cookies and you can have two.”
“Good.”
She was startled at the curve of Jackson’s lips. It was almost . . . almost! . . . a smile. A tiny one, but a smile.
She hadn’t seen him smile in so long. She craved it, almost as much as she craved his body. And now she’d been told she could have the latter, even if she couldn’t—wouldn’t—have the former.
I want him.
He wants me.
I love him.
I can’t fall in love with him.
Complicated. So freaking complicated.
Chapter 17
Sadia crept inside her silent house. She’d had to stay at the bar a little late tonight, and resented every second. Jackson was capable of handling her son for a few hours. She hadn’t been anxious. She’d simply wanted to join them.
Well, join them for fun and to watch their bonding. Join Jackson after for . . . something else.
I want to be used.
She’d texted him twice during the night, and each time he’d responded that everything was going fine. Which made sense, because Jackson was a responsible adult and Kareem was a sweet, generally obedient child.
If Jackson was finally willing to connect with his nephew, she wanted to give him the full opportunity to do so. Kareem deserved to have his uncle in his life.
The light was on in the living room. She walked inside and came to a dead stop.
Oh. My. God. This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
A mountain of pillows and blankets were piled high in one corner. Toys were strewn everywhere. Books were scattered around the sofa like someone had knocked over a tower of them.
Anyone else would say the place was trashed, but after years of being a mother, she knew what she was looking at.
Fun.
Her smile spread when she took in the sight on the couch. Jackson was dead asleep on his stomach, head pillowed by his arms. Kareem had fallen asleep right on top of him, his cheek pressed against his uncle’s shoulder blades. He was being raised and lowered by Jackson’s deep breaths.
As gently as she could, Sadia picked up her son. He was a heavy weight, but she cuddled him close, walking down the hallway and up the stairs to his room. She laid him on the bed, grateful that she’d had the foresight to get him in his jammies before she left for work.
Kareem’s lashes fluttered open when his back hit the bed. “Mom?”
“Shh.” She sank down next to him. “Go back to sleep.”
“I love Uncle Jackson,” he said sleepily.
Her heart gave a little kick. Kids fell in love so easily. Jackson, please don’t forget this boy when you leave. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. We had fun.”
“I’m glad.”
“We made a fort.”
So that’s what that pile of pillows was. She made an interested sound.
“He’s shy.”
She almost laughed at anyone using the word shy to describe Jackson. He wasn’t shy. He was big and rude and could probably pick her up with one arm and—
And he also hated to meet new people and ran away the second he met a stranger and melted into the shadows when there was a crowd.
Maybe he was a little shy.
“Kareem, you may be right.”
“I know. He told me so.”
She smoothed his hair, curious now what they could have talked about. “What else did he tell you?”
“He told me about my Grandpa Sam. He was Grandpa John’s best friend.”
Her smile spread. She’d been around the Oka-Kanes long enough to know the history of Sam Oka, but she hadn’t told her son much about it. Jackson had been the only one of the three siblings interested in their heritage. She could only give her son rough outlines of his father’s people. Jackson could fill in the blanks.
“He said my Grandpa Sam and Grandma Lea were put in a jail cause people were scared of the way they looked.”
Her smile faded. She wasn’t sure if internment camps were an appropriate topic for a six-year-old, but Lord knew if there was a good age to learn about them. “I see.”
He scooched closer, and now she knew why he’d woken up to talk to her. Her baby couldn’t sleep when something was on his mind, and his worried frown was clear. “I’m a quarter Japanese.”
“You are. A quarter Japanese-American, a quarter Hawaiian, half Pakistani-American.” She leaned down and nuzzled her nose against his. “All you.”
“Could someone put me in jail even if I didn’t do nothing?”
Sadia hid her instinctive flinch and placed her hand on her son’s cheek, tracing her thumb over his soft brown skin. “They’d have to get through me first,” she said lightly.
Think of all the evil in the world, all the danger that waits for this boy. How are you going to keep him safe, all by yourself?
She batted away the panic rising in her chest. No. She couldn’t fail at this. And she wasn’t alone. “Me, and your grandmas and grandpa, your aunts and uncles and cousins. There are lots of people who would protect you.”
“Uncle Jackson too. He’s big. He could fight anybody.”
Not everybody. Some things were bigger than muscles. But her baby needed to sleep now. “Yes.” She slid her thumb over his nose and stroked the bridge of it, between his eyes. The rhythmic stroking always made him sleepy, and this time was no exception. Within a few moments, he was breathing deeply.
She sat there and watched him, the minutes ticking by. He was almost seven. In ten years, he’d be leaving for college. If he wanted to go to college.
She fisted her hands to still their shaking. He’d be on his own, away from her protectiveness and control.
Which was scary but also natural and normal, and as it should be, she reminded herself.
She rose from the bed and made her way out of the room and to the living room. She expected to find Jackson still asleep, but he was crouched next to the toy chest. He glanced up, in a white T-shirt and sweatpants, half his hair sticking up, eyes still bleary, a Pokémon toy in his hand.
He’d never looked so sexy. “Leave it,” she said. “I’ll get it later.”
“I don’t mind.” He put the toy away and started gathering Lego pieces.
She perched on the arm of the couch. “Thank you for watching Kareem tonight.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“He told me you talked about your grandfather.”
Jackson grimaced. “Sorry if it was too heavy. I mentioned Sam, and he asked me to tell him a story.”
“No. He should know his own history.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d love to keep all the worst parts of the world away from him, but things don’t work that way.”
Jackson nodded, a dark shadow moving over his face. He’d traveled the world, and she imagined he’d seen some of the nastiest parts of humanity along with the most beautiful. “Yes.”
She ran her hands up and down her thighs. She was nervous. “Do you want a drink?” She popped up before he could respond. She didn’t keep much alcohol in the house because she didn’t like to drink by herself, but there were a few beers in the fridge. She grabbed two and made her way back to Jackson.
He’d made headway on cleaning up the toys and was busy folding the bedding. “A fort, Kareem said.” She handed him the drink.
“Exactly.” He put the comforter on the couch and sat down. She settled in next to him, her legs curled up under her. She’d go change out of her bartending uniform in a second or two, after he left, but right now it felt good to simply sit with him in the quiet.
He took a sip of the beer. “No fancy drink this time
?”
“I don’t keep liquor in the house.”
“Don’t want to bring work home with you.”
She smiled. “Something like that.”
“You’re good at it. Bartending. Coming up with those old drinks.”
She relaxed into the couch. She hadn’t done this in so long, the whole decompressing with someone after work thing. “You know I always liked history. I got this old mixology book, and the customers get a kick out of me putting together something new. It’s silly.”
“It’s not silly. Not if you like it.”
“I do like it.”
“You should do it more often.”
“Ha. Yeah. What would I do with the café?”
He cocked his head. “You could turn it into a bar.”
She started to laugh, and then realized he wasn’t joking. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Alcohol isn’t what Kane’s is famous for.”
“So change what it’s famous for. You’re the owner now. You can do that. Make it a café/bar. Only serve specialty drinks in the evening, not beer and wine. Unlikely you’ll get a lot of drunkards. And it might be profitable.”
That made sense. Paul would have never so much as changed the menu, let alone changed the character of the café by turning it into a nighttime bar. Only Paul wasn’t here anymore.
But . . . “I feel like it would result in more paperwork for me.”
His gaze was a little too astute. “You don’t like owning the café, don’t you?”
“What? No.”
“Yeah, you don’t. That’s okay. Not everyone wants to be a business owner.”
She tried to work up the energy for more protests, but she couldn’t really find them. Finally she sighed. “I should love it. Running a business is perfectly respectable.” It was something that, if she excelled at it, could make her a legitimate success.
He stretched out his legs in front of him. “You don’t have to love anything. It’s okay to be good at something and want to do it even if it doesn’t make a ton of money.”
“I could probably support Kareem and myself on my bartending money,” she admitted. It was the café and its loans that were the drain.