Jameson: The Men of Whiskey Mountain Book 2

by Love, Frankie

  Waverley laughs. “I’m glad to hear you sound so happy after everything. We have so much to catch up on when I get home.”

  “Right, but now you need to focus on your babies,” I told her. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

  I had hung up the phone call, thinking everything was too good to be true. And now, a few weeks later, I still feel that way. Jameson pulls me onto his lap, in the hot tub, kissing my neck. “I’m going to miss you,” he tells me. “I hate the idea of leaving you.”

  “I just need some time to breathe,” I admit. We may have exchanged words like ‘I love you,’ but we haven’t made any promises — I don’t know if I am even ready to. And yes, my soul feels knit to Jameson’s, but there is still a lot about him I don’t know. Things you can’t uncover in a few weeks.

  When he leaves the next morning, I kiss him goodbye, tears in my eyes. “Don’t fret, little one,” he tells me. “I’ll be home soon.”

  “Bring back some chocolate. And potato chips.”

  He laughs. “I’m on it. Any other requests?”

  I almost say a pregnancy test, but I hold back. “Just come back safely.”

  He kisses me again, and I hug him tightly while breathing in his manly smell, all cedar and firewood. “I love you, Jemma,” he says.

  “I love you too,” I tell him, and then he walks down the dock to his seaplane.

  I watch him leave, wondering why I didn’t just go with him. Because suddenly, this big, open wilderness feels like a cavern I could get swallowed up by.

  But then I walk back to the house and make popcorn. I put on a television show Jameson loves and get cozy on the couch. I savor the simple afternoon — the kind of afternoon I have been missing all my life.

  I missed so much since my life has been nothing but a series of near misses and running for my life.

  It’s never been slow and easy. There’s never been time to binge watch TV without wondering how I will pay rent.

  So, I let myself dive deep into the day, the night. I make frozen burritos and pour a big glass of wine. When Jameson calls to check up on me, I tell him I miss him, but that I’m okay. And it’s true. I am okay.

  For the first time in my life, I feel rested.

  In the morning, I take a walk to my sister’s cabin, wanting to see if I can find a pregnancy test at her place. I know it’s still too early to tell, but part of me thinks just maybe I could be. Jameson and I certainly have been making love often enough — the odds are in our favor.

  Thankfully, I find one in her bathroom cupboard. Everything is well organized and meticulous, and I am reminded again how different we are. She was responsibility to my chaos — the calm to my storm. I tuck the test in my jacket pocket and lock the cabin the same way I found it and return the way I came. Walking back through the woods, I inhale deeply, feeling hopeful. Maybe I am finally moving on.

  There are rainclouds overhead, but I make it back to the cabin before it starts to pour. I yawn, ready for a mid-morning nap. I put on a movie in the bedroom and get under the thick, heavy blankets on Jameson’s bed. My bed too, maybe,

  But I wake suddenly only an hour later to the distinct sound of someone trying to let themselves into the cabin. Pounding on the door. In an instant, all my deepest fears resurface.

  Why was I so stupid as to think I was safe?

  “Jameson,” a man’s voice booms. “You here?”

  I swallow. He told me Wavy and Walker were his only neighbors. I get out of the bed, wrapping a robe around myself. I reach for the gun in my backpack and slip it into the pocket of the robe.

  I tiptoe from the bedroom and enter the living room, with its large windows and huge skylights. I see a man at the French doors, a knit cap on, boots and a big camping backpack as he stands there with his back to me,

  When he turns, though, my body becomes ice cold.

  His face is one I hoped I would never, ever see again.

  “Maker,” I whisper, trembling as the name escapes my lips.

  “Let me in,” he says, turning the knob. “It’s about to pour.”

  The sky seems to part, and rain begins to fall; heavy drops, massive thunderclaps, and bright lightning that streaks across the sky. I see a plane — Jameson’s plane — coming closer, but something is wrong. It veers and spirals as it begins to fall from the sky.

  “Oh, god!” I run to the door, forgetting Maker — the man who bought me for sex, who left me for dead, the man I ran from, the man Wavy ran from — is even here.

  Right now, I only care about Jameson and the fact his seaplane is falling from the sky and heading straight for the water.

  “We have to go,” I scream at Maker. “Jameson’s plane went down!”

  Chapter Nine

  Jameson

  One minute I am high in the sky, flying toward home, and the next, my propeller stops working. It’s the last thing I’m expecting, and it comes out of nowhere, this storm. It’s like an omen, but of what I don’t know.

  I don’t wanna die today — I know that much. I have plans with Jemma. Plans for the future, and I have a ring in my pocket to prove it. Of course, she might think I’m rushing things, but it’s been a few weeks. And a few weeks is long enough for me.

  Dying is not a part of the plan.

  My father was happy to see me when I visited him and my mom yesterday. And if I’m gone today, then I’m glad that I did what Jemma suggested and that I made amends.

  I went home and made things right. Fixed what I had broken by running away. My parents were happy to see me but shocked, too. My mom pulled me close and kissed my cheeks and said how much she missed me. “Oh, Jameson, I’m so glad you’re home I’ve missed you so much.”

  Dad wasn’t quite as touchy-feely, but there were tears in his eyes. “I’ve missed you, son.”

  “I’ve missed you guys, too,” I told them. “I just didn’t know what to do after Johnny died,” I said, shaking my head. “I miss him something terrible.”

  My mom made a feast for me like I was the goddamn prodigal son returned, and maybe I am. Perhaps I had gone too far, too long, and I know I broke their hearts in the process. What does that say about me? The kind of man I am? I let grief take over and I disappeared in my self-pity. I buried myself by running away from a good job my father had offered.

  But being there reminded me of Johnny every damn day. I couldn’t bear it, so instead, I made my way in the world. I left home and rarely looked back.

  My parents paid the price.

  “Why now?” my mom asked. “Why did you come home now?”

  “I met someone.” I ran a hand over my beard. “I met the one.”

  My parents wanted to know all about Jemma. Where I had met her, where she was from, but I told them that’s her story to tell.

  “Why didn’t you bring her?” Mom asked.

  “I wanted to talk to you guys first, fix things. Apologize. I’m sorry for making a mess of everything.”

  My parents accepted my apology — and they apologized too. Sure, I’m the one who left, but my parents were a wreck after Johnny died, too. All of us ships without a sail headed nowhere.

  Maybe we’d finally all made our way back to the shore.

  Losing Johnny made me wonder what the point of any of this was. But now that I have Jemma I understand. The point is to love deep and hard and fully. For as long as we can.

  And now, as my plane is headed into the icy cold lake below, I can’t help but wonder why I don’t have more time.

  My life flashes before my eyes, but it isn’t the past — it’s the future. My eyes fill with images of a life with Jemma that hasn’t happened yet. A wedding. Babies. A crew of kids growing up. Kissing her. Over and over again. Loving her. Laughing and jumping in the lake, laughing hard. The sun on our shoulders, freckles her cheeks. Hands held.

  No.

  I can’t lose the life I haven’t even yet experienced.

  Johnny died, and my poor parents lost their eldest son. They aren’t going to lose
me too.

  The wing of the plane breaks off, and air whooshes into the plane. I’m about to give up hope, but with my eyes filled with the love of my life, my hand holds tightly to the yoke, urgently steering the nose of the plane back toward the sky.

  Using all my will, strength, and all my might — I give everything I’ve got.

  And it’s enough.

  It’s not perfect. It’s a messy landing, a fast fall. But when my plane hits the water, I know I’m not dying. I know somehow, I made it out alive.

  The water pushes through the gaping hole in the side of the plane where the wing had broken off, and water starts to rush through. I unbuckle fast as I can, kicking out the door, jump into the cold water and swim to the surface. I’ve lost the plane, but I haven’t lost everything. Because as I swim toward the shoreline and my dock, I see her.

  There’s Jemma. Waiting for me. And she screams my name, terrified. Maker is with her, moving towards a motorboat. They both climb in, and Maker starts the engine, I’m gasping for breath as the cold water fills my lungs, chilling me to the core.

  The motor runs, they’re coming to rescue me.

  “Oh God, Jameson,” Jemma cries. “Oh, God, Jamie, I can’t lose you.”

  “And I can’t lose you either,” I say as Maker takes my hand and pulls me onto the boat.

  “What the hell is going on?” Maker says as he steers the boat back to the dock. “What in God’s name are you doing out in the storm?”

  “It wasn’t a storm when I started flying home.”

  “Oh, Jamie,” Jemma says, wrapping her arms around me. “You’re frozen through.”

  “My heart’s still warm,” I say, smiling at her even though my teeth are chattering and I’m icy cold. I kiss her then because I don’t know how many days I have left, none of us do. And so, we’ve got to make them count every one of them.

  “I love you, Jemma, so damn much,” I tell her. “Marry me.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jemma

  Marry him?

  My eyes open wide as we get to the dock, and I know he’s mad that I haven’t answered.

  “Really?” he says as we walk to the cabin, the man I loathe a few steps behind us. “You won’t even answer me?”

  “I thought you were dead.” I shake my head, marching in the house, grabbing towels and wrapping them around Jameson’s frozen body. Then I glare at Maker as I take Jameson’s hand and drag him to the bathroom.

  I turn on the shower as hot as it can go. “I thought I was watching you die. And to make matters worse, I was going to watch you die with the man I hate the most in the world standing right next to me.”

  I see Jameson’s eyes widen, and then he said, “Oh shit, I was so terrified I didn’t even—”

  “Didn’t even think about how I was here in the cabin with that man. That man who did awful things to me?” I shake my head. “How can I think about marrying you right now when all I can think about is what that man— what Maker— did to me.”

  Tears fill my eyes, and I shove a still fully dressed Jameson into the shower. “Clean up. Warm up and dry off and. Then deal with him because I can’t, Jameson. I can’t deal with a man who hurt me like that. Make him leave.” I walk out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut, and march to our bedroom. Our bedroom. Apparently, that’s what I’m calling it. I feel like this place is my house, my home.

  Jameson wants to marry me.

  I should be the happiest I’ve ever been. But I’m not. I’m suddenly terrified. Because when you’ve always been on the cusp of losing it all, it’s nearly impossible to accept the goodness that life can offer.

  Right now, I don’t know how to accept Jameson’s love. So instead of saying yes, instead of wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him hard and taking a ring and slipping it on my finger, I lock the bedroom door and I fall on the bed, my face in the pillow, muffling my sobs. My shoulders shake, my eyes are red and puffy, and I cry until I fall asleep.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  When I wake up, I straighten my clothes and unlock the bedroom door. As I walk down the hall, I hear the two men talking. The storm outside is fierce. The wind is howling and rain it’s splattering against the windows. Thunder and lightning crash. My spine goes stiff when I see that Maker is still here.

  “Why hasn’t he left?” I ask Jameson.

  “The storm hasn’t passed,” he tells me. My fists are clenched. And Jameson lifts a hand in warning. “I understand the situation, Jemma. And I plan on taking care of it. Maker understands too.”

  “Jemma, can I please—” Maker starts.

  I cut them off, shaking my head. “No, you can’t do anything. Not around me. Not now, not ever. I hate you. You are everything wrong with the world.”

  I turn my back to him and begin slamming my way around the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans, cans of beans and diced tomatoes, chili powder. I find cornmeal and powdered milk, and I realize all the groceries that Jameson must’ve purchased are sitting at the bottom of the lake. That’s fine. We have food here.

  I begin making chili and cornbread, unable to pretend that Maker, the man who treated me like a possession, isn’t a few feet away. I’ve never been good at faking. My hands shake as I try to use the can opener to open the beans.

  Jameson walks over, taking it from me. “Let me help,” he says. “Jemma, it’s going to be okay.”

  I look up at him and wonder. “You really believe that? I should believe that everything is going to be okay? You almost died today. I watched your plane fall from the sky, and I thought you were going to die. I thought it was over. I thought I’d lost you before we even had a chance to live. And it didn’t remind me that life is precious. It reminded me that so much is out of our control. Just like Maker showing up here. This is supposed to be my time to heal, my time to recover, and yet the man who made my worst nightmares become a reality is here in this room with us right now.”

  “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ll go,” Maker says. “I mean it. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have,” he says.

  “Good, you should go. Go stay at your brother’s house,” I shout. “Don’t stay with me.”

  Jameson reaches for a set of keys by the door. He hands them to Maker. “Why don’t you give your brother a call? He and Wavy are still not coming back for a few weeks. Stay there until the storm lets up until you make another plan.”

  “Thanks, brother,” Maker says, slapping Jameson on the back. “I’m so sorry for everything. I never met, for this—" His voice is shaky, and I watch as he blinks back tears. I refuse to care about his sorrow. I refuse to give him sympathy. “I’ve changed, Jemma, I know that might be hard for you to understand. It was hard for my brother to understand too. He left for Whiskey Mountain to get away from me, among other things, and look at me. I followed him here. But I’m not the same man as I was before.:

  “Good,” I say, wiping my eyes. “That means there are fewer people you can hurt. But that doesn’t mean you haven’t already hurt me.”

  I turn to finish making the chili, and I hear Maker leave as Jameson stokes the fire. My heart pounds from the confrontation. I’m proud of myself for speaking my mind, for not backing down. For being strong.

  I don’t turn when Jameson calls for me. I don’t want to talk to him. Talk to anyone. I try to steady my breath as I add spices to the chili on the stovetop. As I slide the pan of cornbread into the warmed oven, I try to focus on what I know is true. I’m healthy. I’m capable. I’m strong. I’m alive. I repeat the words over and over and over again because for so long in my life, I didn’t believe I was healthy or capable or strong. I was hardly living. But now I am. And I’m not going back just because Maker, a man from my past, showed up the same day the man that I love asked me to marry him.

  I won’t go backward.

  “Jemma,” Jameson says, standing beside me. Our elbows touch, he reaches for a knife and an onion and begins to chop it silently. I stir the soup. Tear
s fall from both our eyes.

  “Damn onions,” he says.

  More time passes without words. I don’t know what to say.

  Then, he says, “I can’t lose you. I swear to God my life flashed before my eyes on that plane today. But it wasn’t visions of the past. It was our future. And I was mad. I was mad at the idea of not getting a chance to live that life with you.”

  I swallow, my breath is shaky. “I’m a mess, Jameson.”

  “So am I, Jemma.”

  I shake my head. “You’re a different kind of mess.” I exhale, shaking my head. “You’re a different kind of person altogether.” I ladle the chili into bowls. “You’re a mess who comes from money, and you have a home, you have an actual family on standby.”

  “Don’t hold it against me,” he says.

  “I’m jealous of you, Jameson. You have everything. And I come from nothing. You’re too good for me. I should never have come here. I should go.”

  “Like hell,” he tells me, pulling me close. “I need you, Jemma. I need you in my life. Don’t run the way I ran.”

  His words send a surge of emotion through me. Even though I want to pull away like I always do, his words cement me right where I am.

  “Stay put,” he says. “Stay here. Stay with me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jameson

  “Forgive me,” I tell her. “Forgive me for not kicking Maker out sooner. I didn’t understand it was him who hurt you so badly. When Wavy and Walker talked about it, everything was in vague terms. It wasn't explicit. I didn't realize—"

  She shakes her head, squeezes her eyes shut. “Stop. Please, Jameson. I don't want to go back to those memories. I don't want to think about it. It's too much. I want to let that all go. I want to look to the future. I'm so tired of the past. The last few weeks here with you have been like paradise, but maybe it's all make-believe, too good to be true. Maybe it's a fairy tale — but even fairy tales have endings. Maybe thinking that we could be here, forever like this is asking too much.”