Sandover Beach Memories

by Emma St Clair

  The stone that had been pressing on Jenna’s chest a moment before dropped into her stomach. It felt more like a cinderblock, heavy with rough edges. The pain was just so heavy and so sharp at the same time. She swiveled the chair around and Mercer froze.

  “I’m not Jackson.”

  “Who’s not Jackson?” He appeared next to Mercer in the doorway suddenly. Impeccable timing. As always. “What are you ladies doing in here?” His gaze darted between the two women and Jenna tried to read it. He looked more confused than panicked, but Mercer took a big step away from him. Her mouth formed a tight line and her eyes darted around the room. Definite guilt there.

  “Mercer thought I was you. I had the chair turned around,” Jenna said. “She was just talking about the house you guys were looking at.”

  Jackson’s gaze swung to Mercer. “Sorry, Jax,” she said.

  He looked back at Jenna and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.”

  Jenna blinked, hoping it would be enough to hold back her tears. So it was true. Married jerk Steve had been right. Jenna could not have hated herself more in that moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Jackson sighed and leaned on the doorframe. “I’m sorry. I was afraid that, uh, we weren’t that serious yet. I didn’t want to push you away.”

  That hadn’t been the answer she expected. It didn’t really make sense. Did he want to date them both? Hadn’t been serious enough to tell her that he was also dating Mercer? From the guilty look on Mercer’s face, she knew all about Jenna.

  “Are you upset?” he asked.

  Jenna tried to keep her voice level. “Upset isn’t the word. I can’t believe you’re even asking that. You didn’t want to push me away? Well, you have. Steve told me, but I didn’t believe him. I just thought he was jealous.”

  Jackson’s body practically vibrated with a sudden anger. It sucked out all the air from the room. The heat in his eyes did nothing to dispel the sudden coldness in his voice. “Steve? What exactly did he tell you? And why would he be jealous, Jenna?”

  “He saw you two looking at houses and told me all about it.”

  “When did you see him?”

  “Oh, are you jealous now?”

  “Do I have something to be jealous about? What happened between you two?”

  Jenna choked out a bitter laugh. “Other than him kissing me, absolutely nothing. He’s still married to Anna, which he conveniently left out. Now that makes me the cheater. Not that I—”

  “You kissed him?”

  “He kissed me. I wasn’t—”

  “Jackson.” Mercer’s voice was a low warning and she turned toward him.

  He didn’t even seem to hear her. Drawing his shoulders up, he leveled a gaze at Jenna that made her shrink back in the chair.

  “After everything you’ve been through, I cannot even believe that you did this.”

  The words were like a bullet right to her heart. But he didn’t stop.

  “I was so stupid. I fell so hard for you, so fast, after years of holding onto feelings, and you were kissing Steve.”

  “It wasn’t kissing. It was just—”

  He held up a hand. “I’ve heard enough.” With a final, searing look at Jenna, Jackson spun around and practically ran from the office.

  Jenna could not imagine a deeper, more consuming pain than the throbbing, searing, aching burn in her body. She covered her face with her hands like they could offer any kind of protection. It was too late for protection. She was completely gutted.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jackson could not remember feeling rage like this. Hot, piercing, painful. He was practically panting with it. His adrenaline surged, sending sweat down his back and making his hands clench on the wheel.

  People often described anger like feeling as though you were going to explode. To Jackson, it felt like his head was trapped in a vise grip that grew tighter and tighter, crushing him with intense pressure that had to release somehow.

  You should go home, take it out on the bag.

  But he didn’t want to direct his fists there. Not today. He had a different target.

  He peeled out of the parking lot in his Jeep, hitting the causeway and heading toward the marina where Steve ran charters: yachts, deep sea rentals, sunset cruises, dolphin tours. The kind of thing On Islanders avoided and tourists flocked to. A party boat, where Steve was rumored to party as hard as the guests. The thought of it made Jackson’s lip curl. He couldn’t shake the mental image of Steve and Jenna kissing. His stomach turned over.

  How could she do it? Knowing what it felt like to be cheated on, Jenna was the last person Jackson would have expected to do this. No matter their history. It felt like Jackson had been dropped right back into the middle of high school drama. But this hurt so much more. He had finally dared to hope for a future with Jenna. He’d been looking for houses to encourage her to stay. And she kissed Steve. Of all people, that same guy that had her so fooled in high school.

  And his wife was pregnant! Not that it was a surprise that Steve was running around on Anna. The whole island knew. Anna must have known, though she kept her nose just as high in the air as she always had, playing a part. Acting like she didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t.

  Jackson accelerated and passed a slow minivan. He whipped back into the lane so close in front of them that they honked. He sped up.

  A scenario played on a loop in his head, half memory, half imagined.

  Jenna in his office, telling him that she had kissed Steve.

  Steve kissing Jenna, his arms around her waist and her hands in his hair.

  Jackson barreling out of his Jeep at the marina and punching the smile off Steve’s face in front of a group of Off Islanders.

  Each time the loop played, the details shifted. The first part was always short. He needed the reminder to fuel his rage.

  The second part sent it blazing. Once, in the scenario, Steve looked at him over Jenna’s shoulder, meeting his eyes. Once, Jenna did.

  In the third part he felt only sweet satisfaction at the feel of bone crunching under his knuckles. The heat from his anger in full force, burning it all down.

  He squeezed the steering wheel between his hands.

  Jackson dangerously close to completely out of control. It had been years since he had felt so incapable of calming himself down. He remembered the satisfaction of his fist connecting with Steve’s face back in high school, watching the smug look disappear from his face.

  That night a bunch of guys had been hanging out at the pier. Jackson had never liked Steve, and not just because he was with Jenna. He felt like Steve had everyone fooled into thinking he was some good guy. But he hadn’t been then and certainly wasn’t now.

  He hadn’t meant to fight him, though. Mostly they ran in different circles.

  But that night in high school when he punched him—and Jackson felt more fury rising up even thinking about it—Steve had been talking not just about Rachel, but Jenna too. Typical guy talk—the kind that made him feel dirty being a guy.

  “Heard you had a good time with Rachel on the beach, Jackson. Guess she puts out more than her sister. Jenna wanted to wait for marriage,” Steve had said, shaking his head. A few other guys had groaned. “I got tired of waiting, so I moved on with Anna. Guess I should have picked the other sister.”

  Before he knew what was even happening, Jackson’s fist had connected with Steve’s face. It took three guys to pull him off. Jackson had simply lost it. Just as he was about to lose it now. Except they weren’t just kids now and this wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. The longer he drove, the higher his stress levels rose.

  Turn around, man. Not worth it.

  The voice of reason in his head sounded very much like Beau.

  Who at that moment passed him on the causeway, going the opposite direction in the fire station’s red SUV. Beau’s head turned as they passed, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses. He lifted a hand in greeting, b
ut Jackson didn’t respond. He ground his teeth, hoping that Beau would just keep driving the other way.

  But in the rearview mirror, he saw the SUV’s brake lights. Beau made a U-turn and sped up behind him. Jackson pounded his hands on the wheel. Beau passed him, then pulled in front of Jackson, hitting the brakes hard. The other lane was full of cars and Jackson was blocked in. Jackson jammed his foot on the brake and stopped before his bumper made contact with the red SUV. But barely. The cars behind him honked and stopped as well, putting on their blinkers to get around.

  “Are you trying to kill me?!” Jackson yelled out of his open window.

  The SUV put on its hazards and Beau put a tanned arm out the driver’s side window, waving Jackson to pull over onto the shoulder. He considered revving the engine and blowing by Beau, but crawled to a stop behind the SUV instead. For a moment Jackson considered gunning it and speeding away, but he knew Beau would just follow, so he pulled over on the shoulder behind him, hearing a few more horns blaring from the road.

  Jackson was out of the Jeep almost before it was fully in park, and marched up to the SUV. Beau climbed out of the driver’s seat and leaned up against the side of the SUV, almost lazily. Country music still played on the radio, Beau’s favorite.

  “What are you doing?” Jackson shouted. His fists were clenched and he opened them, palms wide, trying to calm himself. “Weren’t you just at Bohn’s?”

  “We were headed back to the station after a call. False alarm. I saw you driving a little … fast. Figured I’d save you a ticket. Cops have a speed trap a mile or so ahead. I don’t think you would have made it.”

  “Great. I’ll slow down.”

  “Not so fast, buddy. I’d love to hear about where you’re headed in such a rush.”

  Jackson considered lying. Saying whatever it was that he needed to say to get Beau to leave him alone.

  But he knew that one of Beau’s best qualities was the worst in this moment for Jackson—his faithfulness. Actually, the word he often thought of in his head was steadfast. It was one of those Bible words that people didn’t use much, which is maybe why it carried more meaning to Jackson somehow. Steadfastness was simply faithfulness acted out over time. That’s how he thought of it.

  Over the past few years, Beau had walked him through his doubts, through the struggle as he began seeing the world through a different lens, through giving up meaningless (but still pleasurable) relationships with women he didn’t care about, and through his struggle to work through his flare-ups with anger. Beau hadn’t made him feel judged for his past or the dumb decisions he still sometimes made. He hadn’t made Jackson feel like an idiot for asking questions. Beau answered patiently, talked him through things, and did not walk away.

  Beau was marked by this steadfastness.

  Jackson wished Beau had less of it right now.

  “So? Are you going to tell me where you’re going or am I going to have to hear it tomorrow when you feel bad about doing whatever it is you’re about to do?”

  “I’m going,” Jackson ground out, “to the marina.”

  “Let me guess,” Beau said. “Dolphin cruise?”

  Typically, this kind of light humor helped calm Jackson down. When he started really working on his anger problem, this was something his counselor had suggested. Beau had been able to diffuse Jackson like he was a bomb expert.

  “Not on a dolphin cruise … hm. Shark hunting? Romantic sunset cruise?”

  Today, this was only making him angrier. His hands moved back into fists again and he did not loosen them this time.

  “I’m going to the marina to punch that smug smile right off Steve Taylor’s face.”

  Beau normally didn’t react in these kinds of moments, but a flicker of something passed across his face. He had been leaning against the side of the SUV and stood up fully now. A door closed and Jimmy walked around the side of the car.

  “Hey, Jackson. Everything okay?”

  “We’re just fine, Jimmy,” Beau said.

  Jimmy sat down on the rear bumper of the car, watching. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  Jackson needed fewer people between him and Steve, not more.

  “Jackson said he’s headed out to see Steve at the marina,” Beau said. “Want to tell us why, buddy?”

  Jimmy snorted. “Steve. Now there’s a guy who doesn’t deserve a single minute of your time.”

  Beau casually but intentionally approached Jackson. “How about we head back to the station. We were about to do a pretty intense workout. Get some of that adrenaline out in a healthy way, maybe tape up and do a little sparring…”

  “A workout won’t fix this.”

  Beau nodded. He was right in front of Jackson now. “Neither will your fists in Steve’s face. Let’s work through it. Why don’t you tell me what prompted you to pay Steve a visit?”

  Jackson clenched his jaw, feeling the vise-like pressure of his anger increasing. He wished Beau would get back in the car and get out of his face. His head pounded.

  Beau stepped closer. “You don’t want to talk? Okay. Let me try to guess. Tell me when I’m getting close. Let’s see—he cut you off in traffic? Shoplifted from Bohn’s?”

  “Just let me go, man.”

  “Can’t do that. This is what friends do. And I’m your friend, Jackson.”

  Beau moved even closer. He was almost nose to nose with Jackson, whose anger was flaring the closer Beau got. Short breaths, nostrils flaring.

  “Back up, Beau.”

  Jimmy stood up and shifted a little bit closer to the two of them.

  “Not going to back up. I think I’ve got this now: it has something to do with Jenna. Hot or cold?”

  “Cold.” Jackson could hear the lie in his voice.

  Beau laughed and Jackson felt his arms tensing up, every muscle in his body taut like strings on a guitar. They were wound too tightly. Any minute he knew those strings would snap.

  “Here’s what I think,” Beau said. He took off his sunglasses, so close to Jackson that his hand almost brushed his cheek. Jackson’s muscles coiled even further. “I think that you need to get back in your car, turn around, and just go home.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  Beau glanced back at Jimmy. “We’ll help you get back in the car.”

  “No.”

  “If the girl is worth it to you, you’ll get back in the car.”

  “I need to go.”

  “No one is ever impressed with a bully,” Beau said.

  “I’m not a bully.”

  “Then why are you about to get into it with Steve?”

  “He was cheating on Anna.”

  Beau froze. “Do you … did he—do you mean that something happened with Steve and Jenna?”

  “It doesn’t matter now. Get back in your car, Beau. Don’t follow me. You too, Jimmy. I don’t need this right now.”

  “We are exactly what you need, Jax. I want to stop you from doing something stupid that you’ll regret later. Let’s talk this out.”

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  “I know you like her, but if Jenna kissed Steve, is she even worth it?”

  Snap.

  Before he realized what he had done, Jackson’s fist was throbbing. Beau had a hand cupped over his cheek, standing back a few feet but still standing. Jimmy right next to him with an arm on his shoulder and the other two guys out of the SUV, all facing Jackson.

  All the anger and the vise-like pressure had deflated with the punch. Jackson staggered back a few feet to sit on the front bumper of his Jeep. Cool shame settled over his skin.

  He had just hit his best friend in the face.

  The weight of knowing this, of seeing just how fast his body reacted without forethought, sank into his chest. He put his head between his knees, panting. His eyes were hot with tears as the adrenaline began seeping out of his body, leaving him with an echoing empty feeling.

  A hand touched his shoulder and he startled, knocking it away. But the h
and grabbed his own. Jackson jerked his head up.

  Beau, cheek already swollen, red where Jackson knew it would later be purple, stood in front of him, holding his hand. His eyes weren’t angry, but compassionate. Somehow that was worse. Jackson looked away, toward where traffic passing by was slowing to watch them.

  “Do you feel better?” Someone else might have said this sarcastically. But Beau’s tone was gentle, his words kind.

  “I feel horrible.” Jackson looked down at his feet, trying to pull his hand away. Beau would not let him go, but crouched down before him, boots crunching on the gravel. He forced Jackson to meet his eyes. “I can’t believe that I hit you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  “But I did mean for you to. Jackson, I instigated you. I pushed you to the edge on purpose. That was the point.”

  “But why? I didn’t want to hit you. I wasn’t—am not—angry with you.”

  “Because I’m your friend. I’ll have a lovely bruise later, maybe a black eye if I’m lucky. I hear it can make guys look sexy. We’ll see how that works for me with Mercer.” He grinned. Jackson couldn’t smile back but felt a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Bottom line is this: I’m okay. And you are too. Now had you continued driving and unloaded on our dear ‘friend’ Steve, you would most certainly not feel okay. You would feel just as horrible, only you might have a lawsuit too. Or the cops might be putting you in the back of a cruiser. Ladies do not like either of those things.”

  “But you didn’t need to do that. You should have let me go.”

  “I know. But I’m your friend and corny as it sounds, I love you. I want the best for you, so I took one for the team. Maybe Steve deserved it—I’m sure he did, actually—but I took it. You see what this is a picture of, right? You see why you can’t go punch Steve Taylor in the face. No matter what he’s done. This isn’t you anymore, man.”

  Jackson stood and pulled Beau to his feet and into a hug. He pulled him in tight, not caring how all this looked by the side of the road to people passing by. Every so often, a car honked, or someone yelled out the window. Beau clapped his hand against Jackson’s shoulder and then pulled back.