by Ann, Jewel E
Hell seemed to be the only fitting word to describe the previous year. Lake survived a car accident then flirted with death, locked in a coma for three months before waking to find her leg amputated below the knee. As if that wasn’t enough to take in, they had to share the news of her boyfriend not surviving the crash and Jessica’s death three weeks after the car accident.
Luke held it together for his family. The only time someone wasn’t by Lake’s side during those three months was the day of Jessica’s and her family’s funeral. How could Jessica do that to him? How could she leave him when he needed her the most?
Luke hugged his sister. She didn’t return his affection.
“I’ve been under the weather.”
“I see that. You look like shit. But that doesn’t explain why you stood Charlie up in Houston. She flew out there just to be with you. She rescheduled patients and a speaking engagement because you led her to believe that you were ready to commit.”
“Tea? Coffee?” Luke walked toward the kitchen.
“Neither. Don’t blow me off, too.” Lake followed him like a nagging dog.
An empty refrigerator stared back at him. No Heineken. He’d finished it all off. Fetching the wine opener from the drawer, he grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir from the rack.
“You’re drinking wine?”
“Yep.”
“It’s not even noon, and you stopped drinking wine after …”
With his back to her, he paused, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “I know. After Jessica died.”
Lake sighed. “Please tell me this is progress and not some sort of backslide.”
He chuckled, uncorking the bottle. It was progress for sure. He’d gone from shock to devastation, finally settling into a sinking hole of anger and denial. At one point he told his best friend, Gabe, that he’d rather slit his wrists than ever taste wine again—ever taste Jessica again. Then he met Charlie, Lake’s physical therapist.
The accident happened in San Francisco. Lake wanted to stay after she awoke from her coma instead of going back home to recover. She claimed it made her feel closer to her boyfriend. Luke knew it was because she wanted to be closer to her grieving brother.
Their parents rented a place near the hospital that was handicapped accessible. Tom and Felicity took turns staying with her while the others kept their bed and breakfast going in Tahoe. Once Lake received her prosthetic leg, Luke watched after her, taking her to her physical therapy appointments so their parents could have a break and much needed time together.
“I’ll talk with Charlie. It really is disturbing that you’re closer to her than I am. That’s a big part of my ‘commitment’ issues. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll be letting you down too.”
“That’s it?”
Luke winced at the incredulity in her voice. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. If he did, she would see it. She’d see the lies, the pain, the truth that could put her life in danger.
Stopping an inch short of taking a long pull straight from the bottle, he grabbed a glass and filled it to the rim.
“That’s it.” He took several numbing gulps.
“She flew to Houston. You weren’t there. You didn’t call. You didn’t answer your phone. Jesus, Luke! She was worried about you. Have you even looked at your phone? We’ve all been worried about you since you stood Charlie up and then sent out the I’m-sick-stay-away texts.”
He turned. “We?”
“Yes. Mom and Dad—”
“Wait. Mom and Dad know about the Charlie incident?”
Lake rolled her eyes. “Yes. I called them after Charlie called me about the ‘incident.’”
He swirled the wine in his glass, giving it his full attention as if the answer would appear on the surface. “I would have called Charlie but my phone died.”
“And you didn’t have a charger?”
“I lost it.”
“You could have replaced it.”
“I told you I wasn’t feeling well. I just wanted to get home to hug my own toilet. I’m fine. Charlie’s fine. You’re fine. Just … I’m sorry.” He looked up again. That much was true. “I really am sorry, and I’ll call Mom and Dad then I promise I’ll call Charlie.”
“Flowers, buddy.” Lake pointed her finger at him as she narrowed her eyes. “Lots of flowers. Chocolate too. She loves chocolate and sex.”
“Lake!”
“I’m serious. I’m not a kid anymore. Girls talk about this stuff. She told me you two haven’t had sex yet. Okay … I asked, but whatever. She thinks it has something to do with Jessica. I told her that’s not it. You’re a psychiatrist for God’s sake, you’ve worked that out.”
Luke denied her eye contact again.
“You have worked that out. Right?”
He had. After keeping Charlie at a safe distance for months, he decided it was time to move on. She wasn’t Jessica, and it didn’t take a doctorate degree to figure that out, but he couldn’t stop his heart from missing its sole purpose. Luke thought if he let his mind and body move on, eventually his heart would catch up. Houston presented the perfect opportunity, someplace that felt detached from Jessica, their bed, their life. What were the chances of finding her in the very place he went to escape her?
“Jones!” Lake greeted the small horse as he plodded into the kitchen, carrying his usual security blanket. “You and that crazy sweatshirt. Why are you always carrying that thing around?”
Jones dropped the red sweatshirt at Luke’s feet.
“When I came over to let him out and feed him, he nearly bit my hand off when I tried to take it from him.”
“It was Jessica’s. Well, it was mine, but she laid claim to it.” She’d slipped it on every morning over her naked body. Luke could still see her sitting at the table with her knees tucked up in it, using the extra six inches of sleeves as hot pads to hold her mug of coffee. There were never enough stars in the sky to count how many times a day he fell in love with her.
“Aw, Jones, poor baby.” Lake stuck out her bottom lip. “Mommy’s not coming home.”
Reality gashed Luke’s heart. He wanted to bleed out right there on the floor. Anything to take away the pain of knowing the truth.
Chapter Four
Knight
The day after Thanksgiving Ryn received a call from Jackson stating that AJ had died. His voice held no emotion. It felt like a service announcement from a stranger. She cried silent tears, barely able to say goodbye before he ended the call.
Flying to Portland for the funeral would have been financially straining, and Ryn wasn’t ready to see Jackson, even if she did want to be there for Jillian. Something unexplainable steered her car to AJ’s house on Tuesday morning. She wanted to clean his place one last time. She needed to say goodbye and that was her way.
The shambled dining room took her by surprise. Wilted flowers and shards of glass lay scattered on the floor, amidst smudges of what looked like dried blood. Two place settings remained on the table, but not a crumb of food. Depositing the glass, one piece at a time into a trash bag, Ryn tried to imagine what events led to the scene before her. They weren’t going to have Thanksgiving dinner. AJ couldn’t keep food down. So why the formal setting?
“What are you doing?”
“Shit!” She jumped, sending a sliver of glass into her finger. “Dammit,” she seethed while holding her finger.
Jackson hunched down beside her. “Let me see.”
She shook him off as she stood and headed to the bathroom. “You scared me. What are you doing here?”
He followed her. “I saw your car parked in the driveway.”
Opening several drawers, she found a Band-Aid. “No. What are you doing in Omaha? Why didn’t you go to the funeral?”
Jackson grabbed the Band-Aid from her. She narrowed her eyes.
“Sit.”
“I don’t want—”
He lifted her onto the counter. His touch still heated her skin. For some reason her body didn’t get the
memo that it was no longer supposed to be attracted to Jackson Knight.
“You have a piece of glass stuck in your finger.” He held her finger.
She held her breath.
Retrieving tweezers from the same drawer as the Band-Aids, he washed them under hot water. Ryn couldn’t stop staring at him.
“Here.” He held her finger between his index finger and thumb. “Jillian didn’t want me at the funeral,” he said, keeping his eyes focused on her finger as he eased the sliver of glass from the cut.
“Why?”
With a shrug, he rinsed off the tweezers again then bandaged her finger. “She blames me for AJ’s death.”
“Why would she do that?”
He rubbed his thumb over the Band-Aid. What she wouldn’t have given to read his mind at that moment. The intensity in his expression held the possibilities of a Trojan horse. One crack and his whole world could escape. What then? Would it crush her more than he already had?
“Because nobody wants to believe bad things can happen for no reason. She needs someone to blame.” He brought her finger to his lips.
Ryn sucked in another breath and held it.
“So I’ll take the blame. I’ll let her hate me if it makes it easier for her.”
Ryn eased her finger from his grasp. “That doesn’t make any sense. How could she possibly blame you?”
Jackson’s gaze lifted to meet hers. “Because I was with him when he died.”
“Where was Jillian?”
“Waiting in his dining room.”
Ryn’s brow tensed. “Oh. He must have went quickly.”
He nodded. “Like flipping a switch.”
It wasn’t until Jackson brushed his thumb along her cheek that she noticed her own tears.
“I miss you,” he whispered. The pad of his thumb brushing along her lower lip evoked both desire and anger.
“Don’t.” Ryn pushed him away. Her feet reached for the ground as her heart reached for the door. It needed to escape before her brain served it up on a platter for Jackson to break again.
“I can’t do this.”
“Ryn, I’m sorry.” He touched her hand.
She pulled away. “I forgive you.” Her words were honest. She grabbed a broom to sweep up the glass, not risking another cut.
“But?” Jackson shadowed her every move.
“But nothing. I forgive you. Period.” She moved around the dining room keeping her back to him.
“You forgive me but you ‘can’t do this?’”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
A palpable pain in his voice tugged at her heart. She inhaled a deep breath to break the hold he tried to get on it.
“I did the dysfunctional relationship thing. It nearly killed me. The next relationship I have will be with someone who adores me and wouldn’t hurt a fly. I need someone who will sit on my porch swing, rub my feet, and discuss what color of paint I should use when I get the money to repaint my house. I need a guy who wants to be with me forever every day, not just some days. And I think I’m worth a proper proposal. My guy will drop to a knee and look up at me like I’m his whole world. He will promise to spend the rest of his life making me forget that any man touched me before him.”
A shiver paralyzed her movement as the heat of his breath washed over the back of her neck.
“No man will ever erase my touch.”
Truth. And Ryn knew it.
“Which touch? The one that made me love you or the one that made you leave me?”
Jackson stepped back with a sharp breath. Ryn waited for the release, the string of reasons why she was wrong, the promise that it would never happen again. Instead, he blew out her candle of hope with a long breath of defeat.
“I asked you to give me two weeks.”
“No. You asked me to give you everything, and when I did you threw it back in my face. You told me what you did was unacceptable. And you know what? You were right. I don’t know you and I can’t be with someone I don’t know.” She pressed her lips together, closing her eyes for a brief moment to regain some control. “I’m sorry. You didn’t mean to hurt me—physically or emotionally. I know that. I really do. I … I just want something easy for once in my life.”
“Ryn—”
“No. Please don’t say anything. You know who I want? I want the guy that kissed his sister on the head and whispered, ‘You’ve got this.’” A laugh of incredulity bubbled up her chest. She shook her head with a painful grin. “That sounds so ridiculous, doesn’t it? That touch … the one that made me love you? It wasn’t even me you touched. I fell in love with you because of how you love your sister. Betcha never heard that one before.”
“My sister hates me.”
Ryn shrugged, bending down to sweep the pile of glass into the dustpan. “She’ll forgive you. That love you have for her? It runs deeper than any hate, and it takes so much more to hate someone than to love them. Hate is so exhausting. Trust me, I know.”
“You don’t hate me?” He held open the trash bag for her.
She dumped the glass into it. “No. I love you. But for the first time in over twenty years I love myself more. For the first time in over twenty years I feel worthy.”
Pushing up on her toes, she kissed him on the cheek. He didn’t move.
“Thank you, Jackson Knight. You gave me that.”
*
“You don’t have to watch me clean. Your place is next.”
Jackson couldn’t drag his eyes away from Ryn. Her words stunned him into total disbelief. He didn’t give her up. He didn’t let her go. And he certainly didn’t want her to walk away and thank him.
Another guy? Ryn had things all wrong. Her guy, her forever stood in the same room. Jude Day wanted a lifetime of women for one night. Jackson Knight wanted one woman for a lifetime. But not just any woman. Ryn Middleton—he wanted her and only her.
“I know you’re composing some epic speech. But I’m working and you’re done swimming in my pond.”
“Low blow.” He narrowed his eyes, but she kept working as if she didn’t just sucker punch him in the junk.
“Go.” She chuckled. “I’m working.”
“And why is that? I don’t think you’ll be getting paid to clean here anymore.”
She drew in a shaky breath then glanced over her shoulder at him. “I just … I just need to. For me.”
Jackson nodded before leaving her to clean AJ’s place for some sort of closure. He moved with the focus of a zombie through two piano lessons, giving undeserving praise to women who had no desire to do more than shamelessly flirt with him. They weren’t ugly. Jude would have classified them as doable. Maybe if Jackson would have bent them over Black Beauty and fucked them like their eyes begged him to do, he’d forget about his sister leaving and Ryn rejecting him.
He’d lost himself in so many women over the years. Meaningless sex became a cleansing of sorts. That release that lasted mere seconds gave him a sense of relinquishing control. Ryn thought hating someone was exhausting—so was needing control. Sex should have meant more. Life should have meant more. But they didn’t.
Jude Day killed people, more people than his sister could ever have imagined. Jude Day fucked women, but not for the reasons anyone would have imagined. His parents gave him the fairytale and then they ripped it away. Love, the kind that’s not bound by blood, it didn’t exist. He hated Jessica for pretending that it did. She would break Luke or Luke would break her. The inevitability happened the day Luke sobbed over her empty casket.
Jessica let Luke go because she thought it was the right thing to do. Jackson knew Luke would never see it that way. Jude Day never gave women the chance to break him. He could never be his father.
Jessica never knew her dreams of normalcy and love were built on illusions. She idolized their parents’ marriage. Sunny Day’s blood ran through her daughter’s veins. Their mother loved another, then she built a family on pillars of altruism and loyalty.
Had
Jessica and Claire not been kidnapped, Jude would have told her the truth. Before Claire died, they had no secrets. After she died, Jude’s life revolved around protecting Jessica from herself, her past, and anyone who might shatter her dreams.
“Jackson?”
He lifted his head from his arms crossed on the ledge of the piano. It wasn’t like him to not hear things, but Ryn stood before him.
“Hey.”
“Were you sleeping?”
Relinquishing a sad smile, he shook his head. “Just … deep in thought.”
“Oh. Well, do you want me to come back?”
“Nope.” He stood. “I’m gonna take off. Go for a ride on Jillian’s bike. Supposedly it’s good for clearing the mind.”
“It’s like … thirty degrees outside.”
He shrugged then giving her an easy nod, walked past her toward the back door.
“Jackson?”
“Yes?” He turned.
“Are you upset with me?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because of the cold shoulder and curt nod.”
Tipping his chin down, he chuckled and shook his head. He would never understand women.
“My body temperature runs pretty warm, so it’s unlikely I gave you the ‘cold’ shoulder. And it was just a nod, not a ‘curt’ nod.”
“So … we’re good?”
He sighed. “Are you good, Ryn?”
“So you are upset with me.”
“Oh for the love of—” His frustration released as a growl. “Cheese cubes on a blanket, stable boy my ass,” he grumbled. “I don’t speak ‘woman’. Never have. Never will. When it comes to relationships I have a master’s degree in fucking. You were the exception, but clearly I should go back to what I’m best at. So you go enjoy your porch swing masseur with an eye for the perfect paint color, and I’ll do what I do best. For a brief moment in time I believed monogamy was possible for me. So thank you for reminding me why that’s not possible. It seems as if we’ve both helped each other realize our self-worth.”
The tears in her eyes would not break him. No woman would break him.
Ryn blinked them away. “I … I deserved that.”
Jackson forced a breath out his nose—a half-suppressed, cynical laugh. “No. You didn’t. But until you realize that, you’ll always be the victim.”